haul out the piano, dust those keys and play that thing, that memory, that old-time rag, play it now amongst the half-full glasses where the long skirts wave and the shirt sleeves rest on the bar

in the moon underwater

a little bit Oh, Robin, Robin, welcome in, welcome in, come in, come in, come in, mate, grab a seat.

Thank you, thank you, thanks.

Welcome to the moon underwater, I, John Robbins, am the landlord of this hallowed pub,

and with me as ever is my trusty Steve, the lovely, the lovely Robin Allender,

here to pass muster on all events that happen.

And pass mustard as well in case you need that as a condiment.

Yeah, because it's quite, I don't know why I put it so far at that end of the bar.

It's a pain.

I should just, I should have it front and centre, like all decent pubs have there,

mustard on a plinth.

But what do you think of the way the moon underwater has displayed itself this evening, Robin?

Well, yeah, beautifully transparent.

It is absolutely remarkably transparent.

You'd have thought that many layers of sort of clear glass would end up becoming opaque.

No, no, I think it's nice to be able to see outside but be inside.

I mean, it's not just windows, it's kind of transparent, transparent wood, transparent

fixtures.

And not a smear in sight?

No, no.

No, it's extraordinary.

...