The Greasy Spoon - 26th April 2026

—Well, I’m here Bob. 

—Er, I ain’t blind. 

—I meant I’m here despite how I’m feeling. 

—Eh? 

—Yeah. 

—What’s up with yer? 

—Feel rough, mate. 

—Yeah? Well, you look rough an’ all. 

—Piss off. I ain’t joking. 

—Stop bloody moaning yer big whinging git. 

—Right. 

—Wait, Joe. 

—What? 

—Now I am worried. 

—Why? 

—Yer didn’t slag me back. 

—Ah, yer short, fat and ugly—

—Better. But now I am worried. So what’s going on? 

—Well, I can’t hear properly for a start off. 

—Nothing new, oh, I mean, eh? How d’yer mean? 

—Me ears are blocked. 

—Ah. I’ve got a bicycle pump somewhere.

—Fuck off, Bob. Although that was quite funny. 

—Yeah, I ain’t doing it for yer. 

—Wha’? 

—Well, yer attach it up yer arse, give it a good pumping and it blows yer ears out—

—Yampy sod, Piss off!

—So is it just yer ears? 

—No, I keep getting short of breath. 

—Does it happen when you reach for yer wallet? 

—Fer Fuck’s sake. I ain’t talking to you. 

—I’m sorry mate, let me get yer a brew. 

—About time, I’m gagging. 

…

—Here yer go, mate. 

—Ta Bob. Hold up, cake as well? 

—Yeah, Brenda says we gotta eat. 

—Why? 

—Dunno. She just said it. 

—Nice, she’s great ain’t she? 

—She is. She even noticed yer ain’t well. 

—Did she? 

—Yeah, she said: “I see Joe is looking even more miserable than usual.” 

—Fuck off, you.