"Golly!" said Dai Davies, the Groom of the Stool to the Governor, the Ponty Pilot, in astonishment, "Golly, is it really you?" and Goliath stepped out of the shadows and close to his old friend, an air of contemptus mundi hanging around his shoulders like an old cloak as if to say: 'dinnae expect me tae bother ma erse wi yer crap, ah've goat mair important things tae think aboot,' but, "they teltus you wis deid," the groom stammered, shamefaced, and Goliath waved it away as he might a belch or fart from a child: "jist concussion, so the doc says, a wee bit pebble, nae permanent herm dun, but thon Galilean, ye ken the ane, Jesus bar Joseph, his pals are sayin he raised me frae the deid – ah'd been pit in a wuddin boax and drapped in a hale in the grund, an iffen he hudnae come by ah'd huv been birrit alive, sae ah'm luikin fur him tae thank him, d'ye ken whaur he's bidin?" and the groom thought for a moment than snapped his fingers: "ah dae, Golly, him an his Disciples ur in the Upper Room at Wee Wendy's, mind hur?" and a look of delectation brightened Goliath's eyes: "the midget? wi the muckle Bristols? wha cood ferget hur? lead the wey, Dai, bach, lead they wey."