The Greasy Spoon - Pardon?

—Alright Joe?

—Pardon?

—I said, are yer alright?

—Ah yeah, not bad.

—Shall we have a sarnie today?

—Wha’?

—‘Ave yer gone bloody deaf?

—Who’s Jeff?

—Wha’?

—Who the fuck is Jeff?

—No, yer yampy bugger, I said “have yer gone deaf”?

—Oh. No need to shout. Yeah, I have.

—Really?

—No. I’m winding yer up.

—Well, pack it in, it’s annoying.

—Grumpy bugger.

—Jeez, the Sky Blues. Thumped. Five nothing.

—Ah yeah, thumped, five nothing—

—I just said that.

—Did yer?

—Yeah. You ain’t messing are yer?

—Dressing wha’?

—Not fucking dressing I said messing.

—Oh. No, I ain’t. Deaf as a fucking post.

—What’s going on?

—Dunno. Me ears are blocked.

—Ah, the ol’ wax build up.

—Yeah, I’m pouring more oil down me ears than me old Allegro used to need.

—Yer need ‘em suctioned, mate.

—Why would I section me ears?

—Fer fuck’s sake! I said: “suctioned”.

—Alright, no need to shout. Yeah, I know. I’m going in a couple of days.

—So I’ve gotta put up wiv yer being deaf for the next few days?

—I reckon so.

—Well, that’s one thing, I can slag yer all I like.

—I Heard that. Piss off. Stop mocking the afflicted.

—Right, can yer manage a sarnie?

—Always mate. Especially if you are paying.

—Right, I’ll get ‘em. You won’t be able to hear Brenda.

—Yeah, true, that.

—You’re agreeing so I have to get ‘em.

—Pardon?

—Piss off.