The Greasy Spoon - 16th March 2026

Bob and Joe discuss the Six Nations, politics, and trips to Blackpool

—We was robbed. 

—Yep. I agree, mate. Ref was a right apeth. 

—Shite Six Nations anyway. 

—Yeah. Some are sayin’ it was one o’ the best. 

—Wha? Must be fucking French. 

—See the President is ’aving a moan again. 

—Yeah. 

—S’up? 

—S’alright. 

—Nah, what’s going on? 

—I’m embarrassed. 

—Wha? Why? 

—Dunno. Think ’cos I was in the service. Feel like we should be helping our allies. 

—Blimey, don’t say tha’ too loud. It ain’t the popular opinion. 

—I know. But Starmer’s a fucking embarrassment. Sorry, but there it is. 

—Well, Joe. We’ll leave that one there. City lost an’ all. 

—Yeah. Shit sporting weekend. 

—Your coffee taste alright? 

—Nah. Tastes like smoke. 

—I reckon she’s been ’aving a crafty fag. 

—Yeah, could be. ’Ere, you know that bloke in the bin? 

—Oh yeah? 

—’E ’ad distinctive tattoos, apparently. 

—Oh yeah, saw that. They arrested three in Blackpool, I think. 

—Yeah, that’s what I ’eard. 

—Might ’av been ’cos they was in Blackpool. An’ that’s it. 

—Ha. 

—You been up there recently? 

—Not fer a couple o’ years. 

—We went up on a ’Arry Shaw trip. I remember doughnut shops, chip shops an’ tat shops. An’ tha’ was it. 

—Tat shops? 

—Yeah, them ones selling beach tat. 

—Oh ar, yeah. 

—Although there was one thing. There was people dancing on the seafront. 

—Yeah? 

—Yeah. Pretty neat, if I’m honest. Northern Soul. Every bugger was ’aving a go. Great atmosphere. 

—Did you join in? 

—No. Me an’ dancing? I look like a broken fucking robot. 

—Er, Bob? 

—Yeah? 

—How’s the old, yer know… 

—Wha? 

—The metric miles. 

—Oh, righ’. Not that bad at the minute. I’m using the— 

—That’ll do, mate. Spare me the details. 

—Ah, yeah. 

—We ’aving another mug o’ smoke? 

—Nah. I think we’ll leave it today. 

—Hopefully Brenda’s back tomorrow. 

—Yeah. If she is, we’ll ’ave a bacon sarnie, righ’? 

—Oh yeah.