There is a muttered 'Why I oughta...' from the custard-covered man. The cane is waved exasperatedly and a small slab of metal is immediately clamped over the offending mouth. A weary nod and a 'carry on do, so sorry' wave follow.
"But I live here!" Rincewind points to the pub. "OOH!" he squeaks. "In their jackets? With baths of butter?" He surveys the course again. Maybe he can do this!