When days past bleed into present night, and the amber glow of street lamps through the windows fogged by breath.

When a melody from a farther room

drifts you down the staircase of years,

take heart,

take pint,

take yourself

to the moon underwater.

Music Oh, Oh, hello to you all, Matins and Vespers, let them commence here in the moon underwater.

It is I, John Robbins, the landlord of this sacred pub, this pub of the mind that both exists and doesn't

exist in the correct realm, but is also a pub where we invite a guest to furnish their dream

tavern and talk about all things pub related. And usually, I would be here behind the bar,

shining it down with cloth and leather chamois.

And with me would be the lovely Robin Allender, but Robin is running a bit late.

He has been caught in a rift between the other realm and the correct realm, but he will be here

to speak to our guests.

I have it on good

authority. So what that means is the moon underwater has adopted a quite sort of ghostly,

mournful setting. It's got a Havisham vibe to it, a sort of Miss Havisham vibe. There are cobwebs

and black silks and velvets hung over an awful lot of the lamps it's almost like

the pubs in mourning for robin's absence but as soon as he arrives it will reveal itself in all

its splendour but this does mean that i had to sigh for the mist today and there's's a reason Robin sighs for the mist. Because,

you know, he's got a, at least, he's on speaking terms with the mist man. Whereas I was new to it.

...