The Greasy Spoon - 13th March 2026
Bob and Joe discuss the weather and different ways of describing when it's raining
—I’m bloody dripping, Joe.
—And me, mate.
—It’s not stopping to rain, is it?
—Nah.
—Two coffees, please, luv!
—“It’s not stopping to rain.”
—Yeah? I said that.
—Yeah, you did. Daft bloody thing to say, ain’t it?
—Oh aye, I s’pose it is. What does it even mean?
—What’s not stopping?
—Yeah, fuck knows.
—I’ve got another one, Bob.
—Oh yeah?
—“Raining cats and dogs.”
—Ah, I know where that one comes from.
—Do yer?
—Yep. Seventeenth century. When they had serious rain, cats and dogs’d get washed off the roofs.
—Bloody ’ell.
—TWO COFFEES!
—I’ll get ’em.
—She’s a right lazy bugger, that one, ain’t she?
—Yeah. Fucking “service with a smile”? No chance.
—If that Brenda was working, she’d ’ave brought ’em over.
—I don’t know this one’s name, do you?
—Yeah. Lazy Arse.
—Hahahaha!
—Hey up, Bob, another one. “Right as rain.”
—Ah yeah. Like anything was ever right with rain.
—D’you know when that one turned up?
—Yeah. Eighteen‑nineties, I think.
—Bloody ’ell. Are you entering the pub quiz?
—Nah. I never know the answers.
—You will if they ask ones about rain.
—Yeah. Dunno where I picked that stuff up from.
—’Ere, I meant to ask, Joe, did you manage to get your gate open yet?
—Ah yeah. I jimmied it open the other day.
—Was it still swollen shut?
—Yep. Fucking thing. Cheap wood, I reckon. It’s all the damp.
—Yeah. It gets in the wood. Makes it swell up.
—I must be damp then.
—Eh?
—I keep swelling up. Them new trousers are a bit snug.
—Ah, don’t worry, mate. You’ll shed a bit when the better weather comes.
—True. I always put a bit o’ blubber on in the winter.
—We all do. It’s to keep us warm.
—Yeah. I like that excuse.
—Cake?
—Well, I’d better—
—Fuck it. You’ll lose it in the summer.
—Yeah, “fuck it” is right. What we having?
—Fancy a Chelsea bun?
—Oh yeah.
—Right, I’ll go up an’ get ’em. Lazy Arse won’t bring ’em over.
—Ta, Bob.