‘Morning Harry.’

‘John. You well?’

John Plont climbed into the van and turned up the heating. ‘Missus was a bit runky and the mutt had a touch of the dribblets but otherwise, can’t complain. You got the worksheet?’

Harry Pettimoron handed over a clipboard and started the engine. ‘Just checking it. A couple of underwibbling grommoids, a spectral orc was debilitating twibilitis and an another of them leaking photoroids.’

‘More photoroids? Has Colin negotiated us an upgrade for them yet? Last one pretty much jellied my tooblocket. Helen was dead unimpressed.’

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