*attempts to climb back in through toilet window, discovers his former slim days are well past, gets stuck then notices Proxy coming into the gents. O poo*
*enters wearing most refined dressing gown and slippers, head freshly pledged*
Earl Grey please, lemon, no sugar.
Oh, and a chip butty with lots of vinegar, me duck.
*wonders if air of refinement has just gone @!#$-upwards*
Please do Liana, please do, I am a little wanting in that area, and no this isn't my cup, that goatee-bearded Irishman thrust it my hands as Proxy approached him with a glint in his eye.
*relief shows itself, plain as Beckham's sillhouette, on my face, as Proxy changes mind and exits toilet. Manage to squeeze through window, despite arms being bound firmly round sides, and tiptoes out of the toilet.
Spies a quiet table, and hides there. Sits on a refined, but oddly damp chair, with the imprint of a world cup still faintly visible on it. Wonders why he can smell a whiff of Guinness...*
*emerges from kitchen after doing washing up*
good heavens ... i leave for a short while and all hell breaks loose ... you lot need a spit and sawdust place ... all this refinement is WASTED on you ...
Oooh, I say, am I invited?
A Devonshire cream tea with 'omegrown strawberry jam and freshly kneaded butter ta, Fishcake.
Oh, and a bucket o' Guinness if you don't mind...
Aargh! Gentlemen! *stands up from behind 'Guardian' where he has been hiding all afternoon in a corner, mildly alarmed by the unfolding events*
I see the lighting in 'Eyres & Graces' has dipped to an early-evening glow and turned itself into a trendy winebar! Drinks? How do you think it will go tomorrow? Will we settle for a point?
*Parks @!#$ next to Andrea, who looks stunning in the full Dutch away strip of strawberry shirt, cream shorts, and matching Guinness-Bucket motif earrings*
I'd definitely slip him in the hole, Martin; we need some freedom of movement up the Argentine back four. Mind you *sips beer* we've been hanging heavy down the left for far too long. I'd like to see Beckham whip a few more up from the right. What's your prediction, anyway? *sips*
"Park it around the corner, Ruggles. I shan't be long, but if I am, wait for me anyway."
*haha what a joker I am*
"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. I've just returned from a delightful session at my local drycleaners. Unfortunately, the velvet cape and silk top hat...ahem...*cough cough*...must wait for another day, but as you can see, I am wearing my baby blue Chinese silk dinner jacket."
*twirls*
"So how does a chap get a spot of tea hereabouts?"
*agast at sight of World Cup ephemera*
*swoons*
*wanders in cautiously* This looks like the kind of place a girl can sit and not hear about football. I'll have a full cream tea, please fish, and a can of anti-world cup spray
*Wolf pants at the door, uncertain whether to enter this world of genteel frippery and sconed merriment. Puts down her dead lamb gingerly, sweeps the bloody corpse into an alleyway and enters, gingerly. Is this place appropriate for a scavenger, she thinks...looking hard at the usual suspects within. Still, that Missi chap looks a bit wolfish and the tea does smell mighty fine...*
Do I have to crook my little paw and do I fit in? I certainly loathe football and as for the Jubilee...well I would wolf down that stringy old biddy with the tiara in a thrice...
Martin T is not here though, is he? A dangerous footballite in a place like this, lowering the tone.
So what (or do I mean who) is on the menu?
*perks up on hearing wolfie has a penchant for sad old bitches with expensive headgear*
Come on in Julia, let me get you a cup of Earl Grey and a muffin, there's going to be a bit of trouble shortly when Proxy realises that the Irishman has snuck back in.
"Oh my, I think we're in for trouble now. Look! Bernie the Envious Vampire just bit Andrea's windy dog! Uh oh. The transformation is already taking place...it's.....it's.....FLATULA!"
*Ruggles enters the Tea Shop with a shopping cart laden with gas masks*
iceman finds the shop is quite full, but still goes in. He is still smoking a fag and doesn't see the no smoking sign. There's a table by the jukebox.
Stands back in amazement.
A juke box in a tea rooms.
"Let's see what's on it," he mutters.
The piano has just vanished...conveniently.
"Large tea, two toast and a Tunnock bar," he asks. And waits.
*wakes up after beating from Ari in world cup thread to find himself in some kind of tea room thread with an open view on pets. *
"Mmm well, this seems very nice"
"evening"
"good doggy"
*picks up menu with a view to some healing sustenance (chicken soup perhaps) and wonders as to the chances of a few painkillers. If all else fails a few good buckets of Guinness should get him back on track for tomorrow's game.
Sees name on menu along with Martin's
passes out again as he is dragged into the kithens by his ankles and Ari shouting, "cover this one in cream and jam and get it to table seven before the tea gets cold!"*
*the following morning*
Iceman is outside the tea shoppe banging on the window crying out "Lianna let me in, let me in. Won't somebody please let me in..." before iceman disappears and becomes a large virtual cat.
Umm...I don't know about that windy dog though.....wolves and dogs have an er awkward relationship. There's also cross breeding to think about...can't have little ill-kempt hybrids running around, especially in this rarified atmosphere.
Ooh the thought of reproductive matters has made me feel quite dizzy. I'll accept a cup of Missi's tea ('No sugar, mate) and try my best to be a lady in here.
*burps and stares at Martin T, who has a glazed look in his face as drools slowly falls down his goatee. Can I hear 'England, England' ?
iceman stands glowering outside the tea shop, he was hungry and he wanted that tunnock bar. Next to him is the magic jukebox. Like in the film "Big" it doesn't require to be plugged in to play.
But iceman doesn't have a license to play music in the street and has to leave on the jukebox which is secretly a time machine and heads five years into the future to see what has become of the tea shop....
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