O sculptor of time, hammer these hours and shape them for me, smooth granite and marble,

and reveal an alabaster moment in the arms of this evening haze.

Bring forth from thy stone chaos some shapely design.

And create with your hands the retreat I crave in the moon underwater.

Music underwater. Oh, the hatches, the hatches have been battened down at a so long tomps that it's a delight to open up and reveal the first summer gold. Well, the first spring gold, shall I say, to echo visually through the windows

of the moon underwater and create, at the very least least a foreshadowing of warmer climbs to come

here within the pub welcome everyone welcome all welcome hither and hence it is i john robins the

landlord of the moon underwater a magical mystical ineffable pub where I and my dear regular, the lovely Robin

Aunder, help our guests to create their dream pub from several selections written so in ancient

parchments that are beautifully faded but still legible. And here I am gleaming the bar and Robin sits opposite me with a

look on his face of just pure peace. Beatific I think, yes. Beetific, just a look.

Beautific.

Beautific. Is it beatific? I don't know. I think it's a bit of both probably.

A bit from column A, a bit from column B.

Tiffick.

And how do you find the moon underwater this evening, Robin?

On its own terms, if you may.

Well, it's the calm after the storm, isn't it?

It's shelter from the storm.

It is.

Come in and give me shelter from the storm. It is. Come in and give me shelter from the storm. You know, yeah, how did you

cope with the terrible wind? Um, how I, uh, just, uh, make sure it'd put any onions in the curry.

...