There's not a whole heap of blood around, considering he has a gaping wound in his neck. Probably because he had crawled half a mile or so before anyone had spotted him, and lost what he was going to lose someplace else. He's very, very drunk!! He tells me he was having a lark with some youngsters in the town when one turned nasty at some comment he had made, some funny joke that went wrong. The joke led to him having a bottle shoved in his neck, and a beating he will remember far longer than any of the punchlines he has stored up.
He is refusing treatment, and six burly policemen have cuffed his wrists behind him, and strapped his legs together to stop him lashing out. He is struggling hard against his bindings, and the cuffs are digging in to his wrists, leaving angry marks.
I lean in close. "Jimmy, do you want those cuffs taken off?" He nods. "Then stop p***ing around and let us look after you." He calms for a moment and looks at me. "You get one chance, and one chance only. I'm not joking around here. You muck about once, and these cuffs are going back on and staying on."
The cuffs come off, and the police crowd round nervously. He thanks me for getting the cuffs off, and I start looking at his neck wound. "I need a big torch!" I say. "I've got one, in me pants! Wanna see?" replies Jimmy.
Anyone got another bottle?