Phil's problem is his father. His father is 38 and still wants to be 22. His father works as a bouncer and furniture repossessor, and is big, blonde, spotty. His knuckles are tattooed. It's like living with the head of a rival gang. "How much you bringing home each week?" his father said this morning. "You need to get yourself a sideline. Women love villains. I should know."
Money, women, respect, power to terrorize -- Phil has none of these and his father makes sure he knows it.
Phil explodes. "You do that again and you'll get a fucking knife in the ribs." The man stares back at him -- he is blonde and huge and his mouth hangs open.
Then he hurls Phil back against the dividing panel. Phil crumples , withdraws swiftly. He stands hunched in the door area, burning with shame as the train pulls into Waterloo.