"Ollie!" George clapped Oliver on the shoulder with a satisfying thump. "And before the straddling gets underway, maybe we ought to swear everyone to secrecy. Because Bill's bird might get scary and beaked if she's really brassed off." She hadn't yet, but George had annoyed her more over journals than he had in person, so far. So maybe she'd getting pecking-like and he hadn't seen. Or maybe she hadn't really been that annoyed by dung and made up countries. It was hard to tell in writing.
"Charlie, this is the worst named pub in the world, you know. Someone ought to tell the owner that pubs are supposed to be named something sexy, you know. Or something that sounds dodgy, at least," George complained, looking around to locate booze and food. And the tied off stairs. He wondered if there was stuff they weren't supposed to see up there, normally. Generally the shite they weren't supposed to see was much more interesting.