Bollix

He put his arm around me, eyes half-closed from alcohol, and smiled blearily: “You're a bollix.” And then, for emphasis: “You're a right fuckin’ bollix.” I'm not entirely sure, but I'd like to think that this was a friendly greeting; […]

Just at this moment a mad, hard-faced pensioner in black zip-up flying jacket, flared jeans and trainers hovers into view, spitting expletives. He sees me watching him and shouts across the cobbled street ‘Ye bollix!’ […] I look up at him and say ‘Sorry?’