'Sod it, the Kronen...' Without thinking Alf rushed back down the stairs and, like a well-oiled machine, changed the barrel at lightning speed. Suddenly remembering the mess on the floor, and being careful not to fall arse over tit when slipping in it, he could not see a trace. Looking closer at the concrete floor, he saw a thin sooty black line. It ran from the steps to the back wall of solid brick, and stopped. He knelt down and touched it; it was dark powder, which he rubbed on his fingers and sniffed. It was so bitter his eyes filled with tears, and smelled of sulphur, which made him cough and splutter, and stung his nostrils, yeauchhh! He gasped and laughed at his own stupidity. 'Must get these old chimneys swept out. The dam soot is leaking into the cellars.' He scampered back up the stairs. The gunpowder on the floor swished and blew into nothingness. Alf, Johnny and Heather sat around the biggest table in the downstairs bar. It was 9.50 am the following morning and, after what felt like no sleep, the cleaning and restocking of the place began at 10.00. They all sipped large mugs of steaming coffee and chomped loudly on Alf's special home-made bacon butties. The bread was crusty and about five inches thick. Heather had trouble getting one in her mouth.. next »