Patsy ‘Waxy’ McClean steps out of his car into the Derry sunshine.
Here, two miles from the city centre, there’s a bit of Friday evening bustle going on, locals moving in and out of a row of one-storied shops, a group of six drinkers sinking pints outside a pub.
Waxy moves slowly onto the pavement, waiting for Shona, his wife, to join him.
