Neil's Diamond

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Neil’s Diamond

God it was cold. Where was he? – surely a hotel room shouldn’t as cold this. Neil half-opened his eyes; he could still see it, it was still there. The centimetre long pear-shaped object he’d spent half the night awake for was still where he’d left it. The dull light of the room – Neil had been too drunk to turn the light off before falling asleep – didn’t help the object, however. It looked dull like glass. Certainly not like the biggest diamond he’d ever seen.

The night had started badly.
“Neil, meet me and Russ at the deux Beers.”
“Where?” He thought he’d heard the words ‘de Beers’ as in the diamond company but couldn’t be sure.
“You know, that pub just off Hatton Garden where we’ve met before.” It was only a Thursday and Neil had promised that he and his old work mate John - the one with the wife and two children - would meet for a couple of beers before he headed off home on the Northern Line to Barnet. But only a couple.

It was eleven fifteen by the time they left. The seven pints of Stella were working well and Neil was struggling to see straight. John was on form and his new work colleague, Russ, was a riot.
“Let’s go to the Griffin!” announced John as the three of them left the warm fug of the pub and out into the cold November air. Neil was too tired and too drunk to argue and Russ, the youngest of the three, appeared completely up for it.

For some reason the three merry men turned left at the top of Hatton Wall instead of right; they were arguing over who the cute young French barmaid with sexy voice had fancied; the truth was that none of them was remotely in the frame although Neil genuinely found her loosely tied back dark brown hair which fell messily on her tanned shoulders very pretty.
“I won’t tell what she said to me when I bought the last round,” lied Neil, “but I guarantee you that if I’d been bothered she could have been mine.”
“You’ve a better chance of pulling in the Griffin,” replied John as he bumped painfully into a lamp- post and swayed across the pavement in front of Neil. The Griffin was a strip joint.

Neil, seeing the drunken shape of John’s body careering towards him, reacted as slowly as a drunk man might and was consequently caught off balance. He fell to the floor, catching his elbow on the step of one of the jewellery shops as he did so.
“Argg!” he shouted, “that hurts!” Grasping his left elbow he sat with his legs in front of him and suddenly felt painfully sober; so much for the drink numbing the pain. Now he felt sick. He felt it coming.
“No, not that – not now,” said John as he turned away from the inevitable torrent which he knew was about to be emitted from Neil, “Why do you always do this to me?”

A minute later, Neil was feeling much, much better.
“Look,” he said to the still waiting friends, “You to go to the Griffin; I’m going home – I’ve had enough. Go on.” They left without any more persuasion which quietly upset Neil. He was, for goodness sake, still sitting next to his own puke with what could be a broken arm. Is that what friends were supposed to do? Anyway, it was too late – they’d staggered away up the road and were gone within a minute.

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