The Greasy Spoon — 28th March 2026

Bob and Joe discuss mowing the lawn and are joined by Brenda, the lady who works at the cafe

—I mowed the lawn. Although “ploughed a fucking field” would be more like wha’ it felt like. 

—What for? 

—Eh? 

—What’d yer mow it for? 

—It’s a lawn. Yer ’ave to mow ’em. 

—Nah. Bollocks to tha’. I’d do tha’ re-wilding thing. 

—Re-wilding? 

—Yeah. It means letting nature do its own thing. 

—Just let it all grow? 

—Yep. 

—It would look a mess. 

—Nobody says nature is a mess. 

—Yeah, but it’s a garden. Not nature. 

—Wha? I don’t get yer. 

—Gardens, Joe. They’re supposed to be neat and tidy. 

—Says who? The garden police? 

—Well, no, I s’pose. But it’s a thing people do. 

—Fuck tha’. 

—Joe? 

—Yeah? 

—’Ow long ’ave yer lived in a flat now? 

—Ages. 

—Oh, hold up—

—Move over yer old farts, I need to rest me feet a minute. 

—Alright, Brenda? Did yer ‘ave to pay fer tha’ brew? 

—Nah, I get one free. 

—Righ’. 

—Why, Bob? 

—I was gonna get yer one, Bren. 

—Ahh, nice of yer, tha’. 

—‘Ere, Bren, do you mow yer lawn at ‘ome? 

—No, Joe. I ain’t got one. I live in a terrace. Me back garden is a few slabs and a gate. Why? 

—Ah, he mows ‘is lawn. I’d re-wild mine. 

—Ha! Yer lazy sod! 

–Wha’? Bugger mowing. 

—Yer ‘ave to when it’s yer garden, Joe. 

—Fer fuck’s sake… Oh, s’cuse me French, tha’s wha’ he said. 

—Told ya, didn’t I? Bren knows. 

—Hey, fellas? Yer know Sylvia? 

—Er, yeah?

—Lazy arse, we call ’er, being honest, Bren.

—Do yer, Bob? Well, you ain’t wrong. She’s gettin’ the sack. 

—Bloody ‘ell! Does tha’ mean more work fer you, Bren? 

—It might fer a bit. I don’t mind, Bob. I like it ‘ere. 

—We like ‘ere when you are workin’, Bren. 

—Bless yer, Joe.

—Righ’, customers, I’d better get on. 

—See ya in a bit, Bren. 

—Mind ‘ow yer go, Brenda. 

—She’s a bloody top woman, ain’t she, Joe? 

—She is tha’, mate.