That was when he'd seen some weasel trying to chat you up at the bar, and either the alcohol or the crush on you he'd harboured on you for ages kicked in because Gaz found himself pushing in between you and the sleazy bloke trying to get your number.

"Hey, easy, mate. They're spoken for."

The guy had looked Gaz up and down, slurring in reply, obviously drunk enough to start something over being cockblocked. "Oh yeah? By fuckin' who?" "Me." Gaz says, with a surge of misplaced confidence,