Now, Sir, you'll recall the pranks that naughty old roué Sir P and his chum Mr W had organised for the induction of the Venerable Dean and the strapping Curate into the Order of the Golden Garter, well, as it happens, all went, well, swimmingly and the jolly old Dean took to it and performed like a duck to water and the upstanding young Curate wasn't far behind, ooh, you shouldn't laugh but it was more than my poor old heart could stand, so I repaired to the Bunch o Grapes for a glass o brandy and water which is how it came to be that . . . . . oh no, that's a different story, but anyway next evening, I was still there when in comes Sadie, Gracie and Minnie all red-faced and laughing fit to bust their corsets – well, not Minnie, there's nobbut a pick on her so stays is yet to come – about the turns they'd seen at the Music Hall just around the corner and young Gracie a-sayin "I just don't gettit, I just don't understand, wot's a Yuletide log? wot's a hearth-rug? an Sadie an Minnie doubled over and can't hardly get a breath, an Gracie keepin on askin "wot's plates o meat? an wot's chips an peas?" and Gracie near havin a heart attack and little Minnie rollin on the rivose floor an kickin her legs in the air an screechin till the landlord tells em, all three, that if they don't calm down he'll be sendin out for a mutton chop to sort em out and that starts em off again! an Gracie was askin me wot it all meant so I took her into the snug, wrapped me dreadnought about her, cos she was shiverin, an explained it was Cockney Rhyming Slang an that mutton chops meant cops an Barnet Fair meant hair, an it was a Comical Song an I asked her didn't her mother teach the Rhyming Slang to her but she told me "no, I'm Scotch," an that's when she told me she got here after climbing through a hole in a cloak and turned up in Sadie's wardrobe! well, missus, I was nearly suggestin she see a Keith an Proctor cause it seemed to me she needed some kind o medicine, but she got really serious an swore me to secrecy an told me about Sir P an Mr W an wot had happened yesterday, all about the Golden Garter or Ring of Gold an wot the Dean an Curate an the other two had done with little spotty Minnie an then herself an Sadie – well, of course, o course I knew Sadie was a Gay gel, like meself, but I didn't know about the other stuff an I was worried about poor little Minnie an about Gracie who didn't seem to me like she'd chosen the life; so I slipped her a swig from my bottle o poteen that an Irish gent brings me when he visits an you could see the glow on her face when it hit her, and she got fair excited an she said it was uncanny an I asked her wot was an she said that it tasted like the stuff her old dad used to drink back ome, in Scotchland, she said every mornin he would drink a 'Dram o the Pure' before breakfast, so I spoze Pure is Scotch for Poteen, but don't quote me on that, or anythin else as I've told you in this, it's confidential and off the record an strictly entre nous – see, I betcha you never guessed I could speak Frog, did ya? well, thankee sir, a glass o brandy an water will suit me fine an then my room's just round the corner, Bottoms Up as they say in Frog Land! hee hee!