'I'm just glad my Albert weren't here to see. Can't go wrong with a spade and a bit of hard work he used to say.' They tutted again, their old grey teeth clicked and their hairy lips wobbled as they tottered off down the noisy High Street. 'During the war...' one began, but the noise drowned out their voices. 'Come on you lazy Irish gits,' the round man bellowed, the veins in his forehead looked as if they were going to burst. 'Put yer backs into it. Ya bunch of drink-sodden work-shy bastards.' The huge steam-driven crane revved up its engine and let out a mighty roar as it scooped up a generous bucket of dirt and dumped it on the pavement. Almost like ants, the workmen started shovelling through it, hurling stones and rocks into one pile, soil into another. 'Keep a beady eye out for anything of any value. I heard Billy-boy found a bag of silver coins here last week, da lucky bastard. Told ol' barrel-face over there to go screw his granny... with knobs on...' The men laughed loud and one farted. 'Better out than in I say.' 'Dat's about the most clever ting you've said all week, your arse talks more sense dan yer gob...' next »