The Greasy Spoon - 17th March 2026

Bob and Joe discuss St Patricks Day, The Meningitis outbreak and talking posh

—Mornin’, mate. Paddy’s Day today, innit? 

—Ah yeah. Top o’ the mornin’ to yer an’ all tha’. 

—See Brenda’s back in. 

—Yeah, thank fuck. We might get a decent brew today. 

—I’ll go up. 

—Righ’. 

—She was saying that Sylvia, who was on yesterday— 

—Oh yeah? 

—She might be getting the sack. 

—Why? 

—Told some bloke she wasn’t gonna redo ’is sarnie. 

—Bloody ’ell. Yampy, that, ain’t it? 

—’Ere, Bob? I wanna know ’ow a load o’ kids at a party end up wi’ menginitis. 

—Er, it’s meningitis, mate. 

—That’s wha’ I said. 

—No, you said menginitis. 

—Oh, anyway. Yeah, poor buggers. Brutal, tha’. 

—Proper weird, righ’? 

—Not ’alf. 

—I meant to ask, ’ow’s your Gracie’s wedding plans coming along? 

—Alrigh’ mostly, I think. Bit of a glitch over the dress. But I stay out of it. 

—Best plan, mate. Blokes shouldn’t be anywhere near wedding plans. 

—Definitely. 

—Sarnie then? 

—Too righ’. 

—I’ll get ’em. 

—Top lass, ’er. She’s bringing ’em. 

—Yeah. This place ain’t the same when she ain’t ’ere. 

—City away at Swansea at the weekend. 

—Yeah. They need that one. Get back to winning. Still seven points clear, tho’. 

—I know. Amazing, ain’t it? Imagine us back in the Premier League. 

—I’m bricking it. Don’t want ’em to go up an’ come straight down again. 

—Don’t say it, mate. 

—Fuck me. Tha’s a sarnie, is tha’. 

—It is, Joseph, it certainly is. 

—Fuck me, nobody’s called me tha’ fer years, Robert. 

—Haha. Don’t it sound weird? 

—M’ladies, I present to you Joseph and Robert, the bacon sarnie connoisseurs of Coventry. 

—Hahaha. Yer daft bugger. Sit down.