So after sitting looking at eachother for three days Pog says at last " OK Oi giv up- Oi'll get de drinks in- ye tight hallions !" So poor old Pog( who was mortally wounded twice fighting Meave the queen of the fairies over a bottle of Baileys) dragged his wooden leg up to the bar. "Sure Oi'd loik t'ree points of yer best sheepdip Sor!" "Certainly!- Sir" says the barmaid" that'll be four and half million italian francs please". "Oi'm afraid dat Oi'm a little short" says Pog. "That's alright sir" she sniggers"you can climb up on the barstool".

"Huh!" mutters Pog and drags his other wooden leg back to the table.

"Did you get the pork scratchings ?"says Badger.

"No!- just a bad case of haemoriods from sittin on a cold toadstool de udder day" replies Pog.