We have come to a different pub garden and have two emergency dashes to the toilet facilities.
We are sitting in a very nice pub garden, when Squiggle decides to reach across the bench, knocking Hub’s beer everywhere. It drips straight through the slats and onto me.
So now, when next I accompany Pixie to the toilet, it looks like it is to attend to my own toiletting issues rather than hers.
Plus, real ale might very well taste nice, but it doesn’t half pong.
Later on, the fab four have a communal bath, which is quite cosy. Everyone wants to sit next to Tumble, but unfortunately, there isn’t enough room. This leads to devious attempts to usurp one of the current incumbents by pulling their unsuspecting ankles. Consequently, before long, eveyone is sliding alarmingly around the bath, creating impressive tidal waves in the process