Toast your toes in front of the roaring fire in Frank and Dawn's boozer and enjoy the chit chat and coming and going of the regulars. Not much happens - just the small comedies, tragedies and triumphs of everyday life. Warm and cosy as a nice pint of British beer.
Dawn mumsy with Darren, determined to get him behind her beloved bar, not worried that he had no experience, not even taking on board the fact that Darren jumped at his own shadow. Dawn had strong views about misfits and oddballs and wobblers. Frank thought of the sad bastards that Dawn didn't want to give house room to, Harry with one shoe off and one shoe on, who didn't even have a house to live in; Jake covered from the top of his head to the soles of his feet in those tatooes. Old Darren fancying himself as a magnet for poltergeists. This afternoon he'd managed to get himself fired from a charity shop, which must be some kind of record in the career disaster stakes. But the first thing Dawn does, she makes him cock of the walk. Though truth be told it was surprising how good he'd turned out to be at the numbers game.