On the train home a drunken scouser pretends to be the conductor, “Tik-hets pleazze, tik-hets pleazze.”
We straighten like prairie dogs and then slowly sink back into our seats.
Still smiling he talks on a strangers phone to a stranger and whilst hovering in the aisle prods the magazine I’m staring into and says “Just kiddin!”
I manage a smile through my sleepiness.
Eventually he disappears and is replaced by an all smiling boozy squad of football fans.
Every now and again they break into song.
One of the more coherent fans speaks fluent football to a couple of older rival fans.
In a language of names, names and more names he speaks philosophically about his loss.