He said that it was clinical, the way that man with the branch beat her. He wrote that she had been asking for it with an outstretched palm. Nobody saw it. There was only her testimony. Nobody denied that it was true. There was no doubt in that. And so began the song. Whisky Jon started up his parp parp band, tapping out the beat on the floor and launched into a trumping version of ‘the whore’s drawers’. The bar was awash.