Before I recount my tale I think it only fair to warn that parental guidance is required as some descriptions could cause future nightmares.It's worth noting that no alcohol has passed my lips in weeks but I had taken a heady cocktail of prescribed medication. Are you sitting comfortably..good..then I'll begin.
I was in a crowded bar,the air was dense with tabacco smoke and I was stood waiting to be served when suddenly I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned around with a start and found myself confronted by a tall elegant man, dressed in a smart dark pin striped suit,purple shirt and a loosened black tie.
''Hello Marek'' he drolled in a soft Irish accent.....my god I recognised that droll and found myself face to face with none other than PaulB. We shook hands and I asked him what he was doing there but the conversation shifted towards the merits or otherwise of George Best..midway through we were joined by a very elegantly dressed lady(whom I did not recognise) who took hold of PaulB's arm and said rather firmly that ''we must go now''.She had an air of concern written across her face.He looked somewhat apologetically and bid farewell.
I then found myself talking to to the late George Best who told me he had played his last game of football and was now going for a 'long rest'.He gave me his signed football programme and disappeared amidst a crowd of strange hangers on.
I awoke on the floor with my wife standing over me asking if I was comfy and would I like a nice cuppa tea.
Right Jeane analyse that!
