If he had to trace it back, Leary would have said that it was at the moment that Trotman smashed the limbo dancer in the face with the chair, that he knew that he would not be spending the night rolling about in a bath tub full of sangria and Spanish twins.

The twins hadn’t taken well to the sight of Maxi, the mop handle matador, collapsed on the floor, moaning and clutching at the flow of blood under his freshly flattened nose.

All five feet and six inches of beer-soaked Trotman loomed over the limbo dancer, “Didn’t duck that did you, you slick prick! Stay away from my girl you pigeon-toed broomstick-dodging scum!”

The Spanish faces packed around the bar all turned towards the two gringos and it felt to Leary like he and Trotman were suddenly a long way from home.