“Pub,” he muttered.

“What?” Came a voice like a goshawk, causing his eardrum to vibrate in a most unpleasant fashion.

“PUB!” He hollered.

“Yeh’ve been gone fehr six hours, yeh lazy slug. And yeh tell me yeh’ve been at the pub this whole time?”

“Yar, I’ve been at the pub. I wanted a bleedin’ pint, didn’t I?” He felt his last nerve fraying.

“Wiv who?” Came the next screech from the kitchen. He sat down heavily on the sofa. His head pounded with drink and her inexorable questions.

“Lads,” he finally said.

“WHAT?” This time he swore he could feel a blood vessel in his brain start to give way.

“THE LADS!” He bellowed back.

“Which lads?” Finally she stepped into the living room, drying a plate with a yellow dish towel.

“Look,” he rejoined through his teeth, his last nerve shredded. “I went out for a bit to watch the football and have a pint with the lads. Enough with the questions! I didn’t expect the Spanish Inquisition!”

They both jumped as a dramatic chord filled the air and the front door flew open and banged against the wall.