“It’s been a decade or more since I set eyes on Daryll, and it’s immediately clear that the intervening years have been less than kind to him. He’s prematurely stooped, with a ruddy complexion and a nest of black hair that’s going thin at the crown. His once-proud nose has been broken at least once, its bulbous tip stained with a frantic network of purple veins that run through his skin like rivers. But then he’s three inches taller than me, and at least six inches bulkier all round, so in some ways he’s actually rather impressive, a sort of angry bulldozer on legs.”