"Oh, Theresa Green,
And the sky is grey,"
not to put too fine a point on it, the feisty singer's mondegreen assault on the lyrics increased, rather than decreased, my feelings of homophily, so I took her hand in a more inclusive clasp as we neared the cave-mouth; two hulking brutes stood, like Gog and Magog on either side of the entrance: "oo a oo?" said Gog,"o oo oo a?" said Magog, which, because I had spent a holiday in Dundee when I was 7 I was able to translate, from the inflexions as 'who are you?' and 'what do you want?" so, excising all the consonants from my speech, I told them that we were tourists who wondered if we might join the Puddin Race for a meal? "ee a uo'i a ee oi i u-e a o a ea?" at which the heavily hirsute faces broke into huge grins, which showed a number of gold fillings in the teeth, which puzzled me, but, casting contradictions to the four winds, I pulled Robin into the Cavern where we were greeted to the incongruous sight of three or four dozen Neanderthals, of various ages from one to fifty or sixty, wearing casual late-21st Century dress, seated at tables covered in gleaming white linen and eating from bone-china crockery with silver cutlery and drinking tea and coffee or, in the case of the children, milk and orange juice; one infant, sitting in a high chair, and wearing a bib, laughed as it splashed it's food onto the table, to the concern of the mother, who was busy dabbing with a wet-wipe: "this is obviously no whit we’re spose tae see," laughed Robin. which was when a harassed waitress, a Neanderthal girl of about sixteen rushed up and, taking our elbows, steered us through to an adjacent and smaller cave set out for the visitors to sit on low rocks and use slightly higher, flat-topped boulders, as tables; here the waitresses wore animal skins instead of white aprons and carried thin slices of tree-trunks as trays: "this's mair like it," we both said, allowing ourselves to be uncomfortably seated and given a menu, scribbled on a large leaf!