"Come, come, come and make eyes at me, down at the old Bull and Bush...da, da, da, da, da
Evenin' all. A pint of your finest wine and a packet of pork scratchings please Pete. I've just escaped from the Farmers Arms - there was a lock-in there for two days, Fred wouldn't let anyone out until all the beverages he'd handed over had been paid for. Some folks kicked up a fuss about that, requiring to know why they should have to pay Fred for beer that he knocked off (when there was a delivery at the Weatherforks eatery).
Where's the darts board gone Pete??? These playing cards feel all greasy, where have they been? and there's a strange smell round here, a bit like in an hospital...CTP is it?