The Greasy Spoon - First Edition

—Alright, Joe? 

—Yeah. 

—Yer supposed to say me name.

—Why? Have yer forgotten it? 

—Piss off! Andy said we should. 

—Who? 

—Andy. The bloke who’s gonna write about us on his blog. 

—Oh aye, that muppet. Fuck knows why he wants to do that. 

—He thinks we’re funny. Me name’s Bob by the way. 

—I know what yer name is. Are yer losing the plot? 

—No! I’m telling the listeners. No, readers. Oh, I ain’t sure–

—What’s a blog? 

—Ah, where you write stuff and publish it on the internet. 

—Right. Yer thick apeth. It’ll be readers then, won’t it? 

—Er, yeah. 

—And why’s he doing it? 

—He thinks we are funny. I told you. 

—You fucking are. 

—Ta mate—

—In the head. 

—Piss off! Shut up a minute. I’m Bob, he’s Joe. We are two old blokes who always sit in this cafe in Coventry City Centre. It’s run by Brenda. She looks after us. He moans and I talk about interesting—

—ZZZZZZZZ

—Funny! 

—Have yer shut up yet? Yer sound like a bloody radio presenter. 

—Alright. Jeez. Tough crowd. Here, Joe? What d’yer make of them donations? Yer know the political ones? 

—Ah, politics. Does that Andy bloke want us to talk about that shite? I hate it. 

—He said to mention some topical things. 

—Right. Well, I think the donations are fine. They’re all at it. 

—Yeah, but the Government wants to make them illegal now. 

—Well, they would, wouldn’t they? But that’d be like me listening to your shite for half an hour and then being able to delete it after yer stopped chatting bollocks. 

—Well, yeah. I mean, ta for the fucking lovely analogy. But I s’pose yer right. 

—I am. Yer know it. I have a far more important question. 

—Oh aye? 

—Yeah. Are we having a bacon sarnie today? 

—Ah. Grace says I shouldn’t. What did Maeve say? 

—She said I’m an all grown-up boy so I can do what I think is right—

—She told you not to have one didn’t she? 

—Yeah. 

—Your turn for the brews. 

—Can’t. 

—Why? 

—I’ve got a bone in me leg. 

—Fuck’s sake. That old one? Go and get them in yer tight sod. 

—Right, I will. And if I happen to come back with two sarnies, it’s your fault. 

—Eh? How? 

—I’m telling the ladies you moaned and moaned until I got them in. 

—Ha! Yer fucking would an all wouldn’t yer? 

—Yep.