Gabby is giddy all over again at the memory—of himself and Bobby legging it out of there with what was, in their youth, a small fortune. "Some lovely stories," says the Irishman, wistfully recalling the people and places and predicaments one finds in 30 years as a London publican. "I've sometimes thought of writing a book."
When I tell him he ought to, lest the stories disappear, Gabby reassures me: The oral history of darts and pints and London pubs will survive unto eternity. "The cows come and go," says the wise publican, pulling another pint of Caffrey's and placing it, unbidden, before me. "But bull—lasts forever."
We raise our glasses.