The Greasy Spoon - 4th April 2026

—Good win for the Sky Blues last night, Bob. 

—Oh yeah, three more goals for us, brill. We won’t mention the two Derby scored. 

—I still reckon we are going up. 

—Mate, don’t say—

—C’mon! Eighty three points? Eleven points clear? 

—I know, I know. It’s great. 

—Ey up, Bob, Brenda is on. 

—Sarnie then? 

—Be rude not to. 

—Wait one…

—‘Ere go mate. Get stuck into that. 

—Spot on. 

—Did yer bring a bib? 

—Fuck off, you. 

—See the weather forecast?

—Storm Eric or summat. Gonna be a bit windy. 

—Storm Eric? Nah, storm Dave. 

—Is that it? Dave? I know a bloke called Dave. Remember ‘im that ran the Knackered Legs FC Sunday League team? 

—Oh yeah! I remember ‘im! He formed the team just because his missus got sick of ‘im moaning about sore knees. 

—Yeah, yeah, that’s ‘im alright. He weren’t windy though. 

—Joe? You’ve got sauce on yer chin. 

—‘Ave I? Balls. I’ll dip me next bit of sarnie in it. 

—Bloody hell, Bob, have yer heard that about teachers and young lads?

—Ah yeah, misogyny innit? 

—Yeah, although that could be a teacher from Ireland. 

—Eh? 

—Miss O’Gyny, get it? 

—Fer fuck’s sake, Bob! It ain’t a laughing matter. Young fellas being nasty to teachers. It ain’t right. 

—Yeah, I know that. I’d clip the little fuckers around the ear. 

—Well, that ain’t the answer either—

—Bloody is. Little shits would know who was boss, then, wouldn’t they? 

—It starts at ‘ome if yer ask me. 

—Likely, mate. I think we should fine the parents. Every time yer little Jonnie is rude to a female teacher? Kerching! One hundred pounds fine. 

—That’s a fine idea, mate. I like that. 

—Ta, Joe. I ‘ave ‘em now and then. 

—Yeah, I remember yer last one was in 1989; I think it was—

—Fuck off.