The BBQ

42 at the moment, mate.

Whoa, whoa, whoa. Slow down, mate.

What about COVID?

Shut up, you wet wipe.

The virus ain't about this weekend.

That's why Boris ain't changing the rules till Monday.

The virus got the weekend off.

God fucking hell, it's a funny old virus, isn't it?

I don't know the half of it. This virus proper clued up, mate.

Proper intelligent virus.

If you're in a group of six next week, you're alright.

Group of seven, you're fat.

The fuck? That's mental.

Mate, yeah, unless you're at work, then you're alright.

The virus knows if you're at work and it won't get you there.

Eh?

Yeah, if you're at school, right, it knows you're at school.

You're safe. If you're protesting, it knows.

You're alright doing that and all.

Restaurants, if you're eating, having a beer, you're fine.

But if you get in an Uber without a mask, it'll fucking kill ya.

Nutty virus, ain't it, eh?

Fuck it, next week, yeah?

No more than six people, eh?

That's S-Club seven-fuckin', isn't it?

And the seven dwarfs.

Yeah, one of them ain't gonna be happy.

You nutter.

Anyway, mate, I best go.

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