"Hungover?" Tim looked round and saw the Old Man on the step above his; "just a bit," he replied, "how can you tell?" as the Old Man sat down beside him and produced his bottle and two paper cups, the kind you get with coffee to go; "they've been washed out," and Tim accepted one, into which his friend poured a couple of fingers: "just like Flossie," said Tim and the Old Man said: "he's a pal of mine," then said: "when you scrub up, Tim, you're quite an Adonis, but today your general facies indicates that you've either been sleeping rough or drinking too much in order to get to sleep, so, how's the job? still weighing you down?" and Tim laughed – a genuine chuckle: "oh yes, but Mr Speaker got the Dame's knickers in a twist – put a stop to Plan A! she was incandescent - 'cos there's no Plan B! mind, I didn't think much of Plan A, anyway – if you rerun a Meaningful Vote again and again, the House quickly rumbles that they were all Meaningless; and that whole process makes a protestation that the Opposition only want another Referendum because they didn't like the outcome of the first, sound pretty hollow; you know I voted for her as Party Leader thinking she would bring something new to the Party and Parliament, but now it feels like Tammany Hall, reeking of skulduggery – d'you know people call Number Ten 'The Bunker'? as in Hitler's Last Stand?" and the Old Man nodded: "it's not very original, but it's apposite," and Tim looked at him: "you don't sound Irish tonight, what are you anyway? sorry if that's rude," and the Old Man laughed: "idle curiosity is never rude, it shows you're thinking about things – you could call me Irish, certainly Celtic, there's probably some Pict in there too," he said, then added: "how's your orthography? still up to the mark, or has the booze affected it?"