harry2

We last left Harry having just signed on the Hart and having celebrated with his first ever taste of alcohol which had left him violently sick and in a cab with the lucious Louisa.

The feelings Lousia went through as she contemplated the circumstances that had prevailed could arguably be called warm but that would only be because of the trickcal of vomit that rolled down her face. Or could it be because of the mounting rage from inside. Her reaction was not one of a tender caring and compassionate member of society more one of an angered Irish quick tempered celt. She swiftly grabbed Harry by the collar and pulled him from the cab and into the gutter whilst nimbly relieving him of his wallet in order that she may take whatever money he had to compensate for the horror of the minutes that had preceded.

Poor Harry, he found himself on the streets of South Ham, dazed by the previous few minutes unable to comprehend what had happened. He pulled himself to his feet and staggered to a near by bench in Russel Howard park. An on rush of a hangover had started to descend and thumping in is head ached throughout his body. How could it be that son of superstar Roy Race could end up penniless in a park in a small town like Basingstoke. Eventually Harry gave up thinking and laid himself down upon the bench and slept through the barmy August evening.

Shortly after dawn, Mick Irv cycled past the park and saw the lad as he rose from his inadequate slumbers. Mick made a double take and recognised Harry from the previous day in the pub and turned his bike around and asked Harry what he was doing. Alas, poor Harry had no idea how he made it to the park and couldn't even fathom the sick down his shirt.

Mick walked Harry to Basingstoke train station where he could leave the town for good. Mick wished Harry well and bed him a cheery goodbye. It was only as the ticket clerk had made out a ticket for a single to Melchester that Harry realised that his wallet had been taken. "you'll have to report it to the police mate" said the clerk. "Where can I find them" replied Harry. "Im employed to sell tickets young man not act as an advice service, go away. Next please." The South West Trains clerk countered.

Harry eventually, by asking two members of the public, found his way to the police station. They told him that they were supposed to be catching criminals and not escorting lost men with hangovers even if thier dad was famous. Stumbling out of the pub and lost for what to do next Harry saw the White Hart and so began an ever revolving web of returning to the scene where his nightmares were to reoccur.

At last Harry met a friendly face in Jason and explained all that he could remember of the night before and how he had made it to the station only to find himself penniless. Fortunately for Harry, Jason had in the last five minutes sacked a member of staff for helping himself to a glass of lemonade so Jason offered Harry a piece of carpet to sleep on and a glass collecting job at 50p per hour.

For the boy with dreams of playing for West Ham this was some climb down but how else would he save enough money to escape back to Melchester. Harry decided that he didn't care how awful the Scottish and Newcastle terms of employment were he would stick it out and when he had enough money for his fare home he would simply run away one morning.

That night after having a shower Harry collected his first glass and emptied his first ashtrays. Things were quiet and he even got a chance to talk to some of the locals and it whilst sweeping the forecourt from the drinkers outside the pub that he got to know Kurt who was rolling a very special sort of cigarette.

In Episode 3:
Its obvious whats going to happen he's going to get hooked on crack or something. But the footie season is just around corner so its worth reading episode 3 to see who Harry lines up for on that first Sunday. And don't rule out another attempt at the tottie, it could be Louisa again or another likely lass.And quite frankly this story can't go on much longer without a passing side swipe at the fact that the lad is ginger.