Identity


I looked to my right and could see his muscle bound forearms tattooed with the St Georges flag and an English bulldog. I twisted my dreads furtively. His hand was grasped vice like around the beer glass. Mine gripped tightly around the bottle of lager. There was silence in the pub as we both stepped forward. Then simultaneously we both jumped in the air and clasped our arms around the others shoulders respectively and then with clenched fists punched the air. Goal. Beckham. Enger-land, Enger-land! We shouted deliriously in unison.