At that moment the dull sound of a rumbling crash from outside filtered through the low murmur of the pub. Arthur choked on his beer, leapt to his feet.
"What's that?" he yelped.
"Don't worry," said Ford, "they haven't started yet."
"Thank God for that," said Arthur and relaxed.
"It's probably just your house being knocked down," said Ford, drowning his last pint.
"What?" shouted Arthur. Suddenly Ford's spell was broken. Arthur looked wildly around him and ran to the window.
"My God they are! They're knocking my house down. What the hell am I doing in the pub, Ford?"
"It hardly makes any difference at this stage," said Ford, "let them have their fun."
"Fun?" yelped Arthur. "Fun!" He quickly checked out of the window again that they were talking about the same thing.
"Damn their fun!" he hooted and ran out of the pub furiously waving a nearly empty beer glass. He made no friends at all in the pub that lunchtime.
"Stop, you vandals! You home wreckers!" bawled Arthur. "You half crazed Visigoths, stop will you!"
Ford would have to go after him. Turning quickly to the barman he asked for four packets of peanuts.
"There you are sir," said the barman, slapping the packets on the bar, "twenty-eight pence if you'd be so kind."