‘The ball squirted out from between two fully committed challengers and came rolling towards Cyril. The tall sandy haired jacko with ‘pepper in his boots’, as it used to be called, came running towards him to retrieve it. Cyril felt suddenly very conspicuous and awkward not knowing how to react if the scruff was rude or aggressive about his watching them.
He needn’t have worried; the scruff smiled a genuinely cheery smile at him and said, “Hello, Mr Cunningham!” before scooping the ball round with his left foot and hoofing it unerringly back to his mates and chasing after it.
“Hel..ugh..oh”, Cyril stammered by way of reply. He was suddenly gripped by a very powerful sense of recognition of someone whom five seconds previously he’d have sworn he had never set eyes on before. Slightly bewildered Cyril found himself thinking, ‘Yes, yes, I… I’ve definitely encountered that scruffish man-jack afore… but where?’ Cyril peered down the long gloomy galleries of his memory but saw no one even vaguely like him…’