Brizzle

We are in Brizzle. The Academy. In a room with a hobbit hole for a door. A room full of whiskey and grapes. There is internet. Bananas. Oranges. Strongbow for the Boy Jeres. Rancid were in here yesterday. I can smell them. Amy Winehouse is here tomorrow. I can smell her too. My senses are heightened, you see. I am the Princess And The Pea. You are The Pea. I can feel you, even now. Catch me on the otherside of this bottle, and still I will.

Dan is washing the grapes. They are full of pesticides, apparently. Is nothing sacred?

Yes.

It must be.

Those eyelash mites might disagree mind. Bloody eyelash mites!