If he caught me watching them he'dcome up beside me and watch too but he always spat out somethingderogatory.As a matter of fact, we'd kind of... deve...oped the habit of making funof them together.It wasn't all that understanding and inclusive of us but it did give ussomething to chuckle about over a glass of merlot if we were waitingfor a programme to start.But still, no matter how much we might mock them and how much I mightpity them, there was still a part of me that envied that. “Jesus Christ, couldn’t you wait till everyone got up then start hammering. And what is that wearisome smell, I want to be sick,” I called out.Joe stopped what he was doing, turned to my father who was turning some bacon over in the frying pan. “Costa, hasn’t your son ever got drunk?” he asked my father, with a smirk on his face.“I guess no,” my father replied.“Michael, you want one or two eggs with your bacon,” my father invited me, holding a piece of bacon over the pan, as I watched the oil. More

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