Young-drunk-man-in-a-suit continued to hold his cracked, soon-to-be-dead phone up to my face. In his drunken sway, with eyes barely focussed, his demeanour switched suddenly from startlingly desperate to that of a damp and pathetic dog.
“You see . . .” he snivelled, “I love her. I know I’ve only known her for one date, but, she’s . . . she’s . . . I love her -”
And, before I could Judo-chop myself away to safety, young-drunk-man-in-a-suit flopped his head forward onto my chest and started to cry.
With hundreds of drunken revellers staggering about me in various states of inebriation, I continued to stand there, handset radio held to my ear waiting for a response from the police . . .