Having retrieved the gloves (as ill-fitting as they seemed) from my van, Father Riley (as he was to be known for the next 30 seconds) ushered me towards his Vauxhall Cavaliar. For some bizarre reason, curiosity we'll call it for now, I followed. For all his grubbiness he had a certain charm to him, like a dog you might find in a dtch.

"Now sir, these festivities that I am 'presiding over' (said with more than a tinge of irony I may add) 'i may need some help with"

"I don't know who you think I am..." I confidently replied, for you must be firm with these rugged tipes " but I am an upstanding member of this community. If I can help you in any law abiding way then of course..."

At this point he produced, literaly, the sharpest, shiniest, most elaborately decorated, functional and down right scary knife I have seen in all my days.

"Unfortunately, I didn't stumble on you by mistake my son. I like you, but I also know what you are capable of. My name's Digby by the way. Lets keep driving shall we!"

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