—Ey up, Bob.
—Aright, Joe?
—Yeah, although I have an important thing for us to discuss.
—right mate, I’m all ears.
—I know, that’s ‘ow yer keep that ‘at on.
—Fuck off.
—Wha’? It’s true.
—‘Ave yer got something important, or what?
—Ah, yeah. Teabags mate.
—Oh aye, what about ‘em?
—I found a box of round buggers at ‘ome.
—ROUND ones?
—Yeah, bloody PG Tips or summat.
—No WAY! Where the hell did they come from?
—Dunno. I said to Aoife about ‘em, she didn’t know either.
—Blimey.
—Yeah, so we got talking about ‘em and Aoife reckons they’ll be fine. I said no way.
—No way is right.
—Round buggers, see? They won’t steep properly.
—Correct, Joe.
—Yeah, slide around the sound of the pot, they do. No chance of steeping. Same in yer mug. Slide around. Piss weak tea.
—Yep. 100% there, Joe. So what’s the problem?
—Aoife still reckons they’ll be fine as reserve bags. I said bung ‘em in the bin. I explained the steeping thing.
—What did she say?
—Said I was being daft. But it’s true ain’t Bob? Square ones bounce off the side of the pot. And do a right good steeping.
—Spot on, there, Joe. What did Aoife say?
—She was, let’s say, skeptical.
—Ah.
—But, she’s a clever one, my Aoife.
—True, apart from the fact she married you—
—Bollocks.
—‘Ow d’yer mean, though?
—Well, I said, the round teabags, right?
—Yeah?
—I said: What do they do with all the corners?
—Aoife was on it straight away. She said we are getting ripped off. She’d never buy round teabags.
—Good woman.
—Yep. She said I should write a letter to the tea companies that make round teabags. And ask ‘em what they do with the corners.
—Bloody hell! What a woman. Great idea. Are you gonna do it?
—Damn right.
—I’ll get us a brew, Bob.
…
—There you go, mate.
—Ta, Joe.
—Bob?
—Yeah?
—I’m worried. I was up at the counter ‘aving a think.
—What were yer thinking?
—Aoife. I reckon she might ‘ave been taking the piss. Yer know, about the letter.
—Ah, yeah. Maybe don’t write it, Joe.
—I won’t. Still not using round bloody teabags, though.
—Too right, Joe.
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