(INDISTINCT CHATTER)

I'M DYING TO HEAR YOUR IDEAS
FOR THE FIREPLACE CONFERENCE.

- IT'S QUITE NICE. DO YOU WANT TO SMELL IT?
- NO, THANKS.

WELL, HE MIGHT MAKE THAT NOISE. BE A BIT WEIRD.

- I BROUGHT THE BROCHURES.
- CAN I GET YOU A DRINK?

- HELLO. HOW ARE YOU DOING?
- WHAT ARE YOU READING?

YOU HAVE BEEN FOUND GUILTY OF...

DO YOU WANT TO KNOW WHAT I THINK?

I DIDN'T KNOW WHO YOU ARE,
YET I STILL GOT IN WITH YOU.

I LIKE THE ASTROTURF THEY PLACE ON THE WOOD THERE.

- ALL RIGHT, LADS?
- ALL RIGHT, ALAN.

- CAN'T YOU USE TWO?
- I SUPPOSE THAT MIGHT WORK.

THAT IS A FUNNY STORY.

THE FERRARI
OF THE COAL-EFFECT GAS FIREPLACE INDUSTRY.

IT WAS A HUMOROUS INTRO INTO A SONG,
WHICH HAS BEEN TAKEN TOO LITERALLY

I WANT TO DO A COUPLE OF JOKES.

AND FROM 1993 MANUFACTURERS HAVE BEEN LEGALLY
OBLIGED TO LABEL THEM "CRAB-FLAVOURED" STICKS.

AND HE REALISED
THAT NOT ONLY MUST THEY PART COMPANY,