‘The punters are all half-dead. Remember Hungarian Joe? Drank there every day, died in his flat and nobody found him for five weeks.’
‘Who’s Hungarian Joe?’
‘Hungarian fellow. Went by the name of Joe.’
‘You joking? That’s where Ron was mugged taking a piss on a tree. Got hit on the head with a traffic cone. 6’2”, he is – which is a long way down. Should’ve seen him. Had eyes like a Chinese.’
‘Staff just chat all the time. Can’t get a feckin’ drink.’
Pub We’re In
Another pint there, love?