Christmas Day With the Pilot [Nathan/Open to one]

[Niamh Dunlevy]

OOC - I'm allowing one other member to participate in this sequel thread, simply because it would make an interesting plot.

Country: Jolly old England, the city of London!
Current Time: 09:30
Weather Conditions: Clear and bright, a lovely sunny day! Truly a Christmas blessing. However, it's still cold, being only a couple of degrees below freezing.

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Niamh shivered slightly, pulling her jacket close to try and keep warm. The night she had spent in the stable had been a little too comfortable, and had taken down her cold tolerance a notch. Drummer was well, though, showing a bit of his old self earlier that morning, and the stable owner had promised to give the horses bran mash for Christmas. It was the perfect gift for the Pavee's horse-brother, especially after all he had done for her.

Speaking of things done, one could say this outing was a Christmas present for a new friend. Nathan Knight - a pilot who Niamh had met only the night before - had asked the young woman to walk around London with him. He was grieving the loss of his brother, who had apparently died on the surgeon's table on Christmas Eve. Such an event was one of the worse things to happen to a person on such a cheery ocassion, and as such, Niamh felt it was right to keep him company. She also owed him; he had proved to be a gentleman, protecting the woman from a flying beer bottle flung by an ignorant drunk. Not many people seemed to be willing to that for a "Gypsy" - not even the soldiers, who were supposed to be protecting the United Kingdom. How hypocritical of them.

Smiling at a few children as they ran past, giggling and squealing with joy as the played with their new toys, Niamh was vaguely reminded of her own family. Her mother would invite over family and neighbours from all over Ireland, and it was incredible how nearly a hundred people could fit into one small farmhouse. Christmas Eve and Day at the Dunlevys' was the only thing Niamh truly missed about the settled-down life.

Sighing, Niamh clicked her tongue absent-mindedly, glancing at the farrier's behind her. Nathan said he'd meet her here - hopefully, he would, and the two could enjoy Christmas Day. She hoped the night had been okay for him; her father always said that even the strongest men cried at night....

[Nathan Whyte]

Christmas morning alone was a first for the tall New Zealander, and it felt odd as he slowly padded around the small room he was letting for a weekend. Dressed only in a pair of trousers and a vest, he slowly ate, but there wasn’t much hunger. His mind was elsewhere. It felt odd, split around the world, half of it back in Aotearoa , but the rest of it with a fiery Irish girl who was waiting for him.

He took another look at the clock on the wall, and with a groan realised it was still only half past seven. He got dressed, a fresh pair of trousers and a navy jersey being the key parts of this outfit, and he sat at the main table, slowly writing out a letter back home in his flowing script.

After wasting time in anticipation, he slipped his feet into the polished leather boots by the door from the night before. He laced them up tightly and slipped a large leather coat over his shoulders as he walked down the stairs to the street.

The snow was still there from the night before, it hadn't had chance to melt yet, and small groups of people, ranging from children scampering with their new favourite toy to families out for a walk in the cold. He gave a few cheery smiles and waves as he began trudging along the barely visible footpath, hands in pockets and the collar of his jacket upturned to try and keep the cold out.

As he turned the corner, the beautiful young shame of Niamh was visible against the wall of the farriers. A pair of children seemed to be talking to her, and Nathan gave a small smile to her.

[Niamh Dunlevy]

"Yes, t'at is a very pretthy horsey," Niamh said, smiling down at a young girl and her sister. The two were pretending to be jockeys, racing around on their brand-new hobbyhorses. The children giggled and grinned, and were about to say something, but then their mother called them over.

"Merry Christmas, ma'am!" chirped one of the girls, and the pair ran back over to their mother. Niamh waved at them, grinning, and sighed contentedly. She remembered back before Drummer had been born, and instead of a stocky colt to play with, she had had a hobbyhorse her own father had made her. It was still in her room, back on the coast of Ireland.

Turning her head, Niamh suddenly blinked, startled slightly to see Nathan standing nearby. However, that expression was quickly turned into a happy one, and the Pavee quickly walked up to her new friend. He looked better then he had last night, but some tinges of sadness were still in his face...

"Buri Talosk Rispu, Nat'an!" Niamh said merrily, striding over to the pilot. "I hope you had a good resth, Nathey-boy. Oh, and as fer t'at gibberish, t'at's how m'fat'er always said 'Merry Christhmas', and his grandfat'er, thoo."

The woman then grabbed Nathan in a tight bear hug, quickly releasing him afterwards to preserve his dignity.

"So, whathcha wanna do firsth, laddie?"

[Nathan Whyte]

Niamh stook her arms around Nathan, and an involountary rush shook his system, warming him from his head to his toes, despite the frigid conditions. Before she could part, he rubbed her back warmly, enjoying the contact. As she led go, he felt concious of the world's biggest grin resting upon his face. He didn't care, not in the slightest.

"And a Merry Christmas to you too, Niamh." He felt a even more concious of his voice leaping up practically an octave as he said that, and he quickly coughed, trying to bring it back to the notmal level. "Well, what do first." That was better, back to the normal gruff-but-friendly tone he prided his voice to have. "I'm not sure, really."

He gently guided her around, so they were on the road facing down the streets. St. Paul's Cathedral was ahead, and Nathan extended an arm, sweeping it left and right. "Let our feet lead the way. The whole of London is here, Niamh, and we have at the very least today to explore."

The air was quite cold and biting, and he gently placed a hand on her back and gave her a gentle push to start them off, and he began talking. He had a whole day in the presence of this...goddess, and he wanted to get to know her as much as possible. Maybe she would reciprocate, he certainly hoped so. "We didn't get to talk all that much last night, Niamh, after the bar. What, you know..."

He felt a bit awkward, he'd never been that good. He was fine in normal conversation, but the very second he realised he had these feelings for a girl, his mouth went dry, his palms sweaty, and nothing would come. "So, what do you do, when you're, moving around and all that?" He mentally scolded himself, that sounded so pathetic, but it was too late to pull it back. He'd just have to make the best of it.

[Niamh Dunlevy]

Niamh laughed softly at Nathan's attempt to keep his voice masculine and gruff. He was obviously quite pleased to see her, and she felt the same about him. However, he probably had soldier-friends who would give him a rough time if his voice squeaked, so he probably had to temper it often. It was a shame that soldiers could be so cruel to each other.

"Don'th worry, Nat'an," the young woman said with a giggle, "you're fine wit' me. I don'th mind if your voice squeaks a lil', ith's acthually quithe cuthe when ith does."

In a gesture best described as an attempt at poetry, Nathan's arm scythed through the air, symbolizing the vastness of London. Niamh had a broad grin on her face when the soldier mentioned their feet would lead the way - she liked how this man thought. Such words were similar to ones she often used to describe her lifestyle, and the belief that the whole world was her home. As Nathan gave her a gentle push forward, the Pavee snorted, and she said, "Well, all righth. Whathever you say, Nat'an; you're t'e experth tho all t'ings London-y, hehe...."

"We didn't get to talk all that much last night, Niamh, after the bar," began Nathan, sounding slightly awkward for some reason. "What, you know...."

"Know whath?" Niamh asked, turning her head to look Nathan in the eye, eyebrows raised. "You mean t'at gith from before? Ah, I'm used tho ith. Sthill goth tho t'ank ye fer smashin' t'at gith's glass intho his face; bloody basthard, he was. Alcohol makes someone crazy, I t'ink; I hathe geththin' drunk. I don'th have all t'at high o' an alcohol tholerance, eit'er."

Silence. Awkward silence. It was like Nathan's tongue had suddenly been cut out, and the look on his face reminded Niamh of a shy child in front of a group of strangers. That, or a child who had to use the bathroom within the next ten seconds. When Nathan finally did speak, he sounded rather nervous. Maybe her comments about alcohol had made him feel uncomfortable...?

"So, what do you do, when you're, moving around and all that?"

"Noth much," Niamh said with a shrug. "I sleep in a thenth. I ride m'horse. I cook t'ings in an iron-and-thin fryin' pan. Don'th use hothels much, t'ey're thoo bloody expensive, and I thravel around and work, so t'at can drain m'pocketh. Lathely, I've been doin' a loth of work tho help outh t'e soldiers; a mont' or so ago, I had Drummer pull a carth of potatoes to a thruck headin' for a milithary base. T'eir kithchen had run outh."

[Nathan Whyte]

Nathan winced slightly. Niamh though he had been talking he was talking about the fight, he has been talking about them, and the walk. He hid it, quite well he thought, and gave a small smile and an agreement. "Alcohol, yeah, crazy bastards."

He walked on, foot crunching in the snow as Niamh talked, he was a sponge, absorbing every word, every little break in her speech. Each word was taken in and anaylsed before the next one. "Helping the war effort, Niamh? Any of your family fighting the Hun?" He hoped so. He hoped every German bastard out there, the ones on the ground, the ones that had brought the war to the civilians, bombing the shit out of London.

"And how is Drummer? How old is the boy?" Horses was one thing Nathan had a peaceful hobby in, although, he hadn't had time for a ride in ages, not since the war had begun. The last few years had been crazy, with fighter support for the long-range bombers, and close-aie support for infantry. It hadd quietened down lately, but Nathan had that gut feeling, the one that said it wouldn't be long before he faced German Flak soon.

Good. He wanted them to pay. His best friend, his brother, they had both died, the germans had killed them, ruthlessly, effortlessly, and likely with pleasure. He wanted them to suffer. He wanted those responsible to feel pain, to feel loss. Nathan felt empty, hollow, but a little part was still there, a part of humanity that made him feel connected to the world still. That part was Niamh. There was just...something about the fiery Irish lass.

[Niamh Dunlevy]

For some reason, Niamh smiled suspiciously, as if she knew a shocking secret that the Pavee was just dying to let out. So, Nathan was wondering if her family was in the war, eh? He didn't know her family could be an army itself eh...? Well, she would drop the metaphorical bomb then.

"Yes - fifthy o' 'em, acthually," Niamh said with an enormous grin on her face. "All cousins - I have no brot'ers or sisthers. Fifthy cousins in t'e war, outta thwoo-hundred o' 'em."

Nathan then asked about Drummer, and if he was doing all right. The horse's rider nodded, her smile a bit more tame now that she had let out what she felt would shock most people. If it didn't shock Nathan, though...ah well. Sure, she'd look stupid, but he didn't seem to be bothered, right?

But she was getting off track. Nathan had asked about Drummer, not a shocking secret. "Yeah, he's fine," the young woman answered. "His hoof's geththin' bethther and bethther, all healin' up. He was quithe perky t'is mornin', when he had his bran mash. I give ith tho him every Christhmas for a presenth, and t'e sthable owner does t'e same wit' his horses, thoo. Ith's kinda hard to give 'im anyt'ing else, since he's a horse o' course, an' he doesn'th play wit' thoys or anyt'ing."

The Pavee turned her head, and she was to ask a question, but then noticed Nathan's face. He looked...hardened. It seemed like he had slipped into a train of thought that had his eyes blazing. Worried, Niamh waved her hand in front of his face, trying to snap him out of it.

"Oi! Yoo-hoo, Nat'aaaaaan...Nat'an, I'm speakin' tho you, laddie...cheer up. Ith's Christhmas! Why don'th we go an' do somet'ing tho thake yer mind off lasth nighth, eh? Not'ing good will come o' mopin' 'round..."

[Nathan Whyte]

Fifty! The sheer numbers flew through his mind as he thought of it. Fifty soldiers from one family, but still barely a quarter of the Dunlevy's. Two thirds of Nathan's family had gone to war, but it was still nothing like what was with Niamh's. He just responded with an awed whistle, the note dropping down till it wasn't audiable.

"That's certainly a few people, yeah, Niamh." He swallowed and blinked as she talked of Drummer, and he let his expression climb back up in to a smile. He muttered a quick "that's good" as she talked about his hoof, and nodded at the bran remark. Her accent was so beautiful, and it made everything sound, well, amazing. She could be talking about thousnads of dead bodies, but he'd still be mesmerised by the tones that came from her mouth, the way they danced in the air forming beauty.

As she waved her hand in front of his face, and shook his head, as if trying to dislodge the thoughts, but as she talked, they rebounded, as if tethered by elastic and landed slap bang in his train of thought. Even in the thick coat she was wearing she still looked amazing, and thoughts similar to that played in his head. He let his hand closest to her drop, and as her arm, swinging in step came up, he caught it in his and gripped it, tightly enough so it wouldn't slip out, but loose enough so she could withdraw it.

He hoped she wouldn't.

He prayed she wouldn't.

[Niamh Dunlevy]

At first, Niamh noticed nothing, having lapsed into silence when Nathan didn't pick up the conversation. He probably just wanted to admire the snowy scenery; London did look beautiful under a blanket of shimmering white, and the sounds of laughing children made it all the more special. It was a scene out of a snowglobe, a gift from God in such dark times. Niamh's heart went out to her cousins at war, and to anyone else who couldn't be home for Christmas.

But then, as her arm swung upwards, a firm hand grasped it. Niamh made a small sound of surprise, and her odd-eyes widened slightly. Her mouth a small "o", she looked down, raising her eyebrows at the sight of Nathan's hand wrapped around hers. Why was he being so clingy? Maybe he still had his brother's death on his mind...?

"Calm down, Nat'an," Niamh said softly, a gentle look on her face. "I'm noth goin' anywhere, don'th you worry. We agreed to spend t'e day toget'er, remember?"

When it came to reading romantic signals, Niamh was no expert. Ever since she had reached an age where feelings towards men were quite common, she felt little for them, if nothing at all. None of the boys in her village had paid her much attention, and some even teased her because of her ethnicity. However, there were exceptions, and she was friends with a few of those exceptions, but nothing more. There was also the fact that she had grown up around many of her male cousins, and was more used to annoying, rugby-loving, dogpiling-obsessed Pavees then anything else. She had no idea that love was the reason Nathan was acting so strangely around her.

Rounding a corner, Niamh was surprised to feel a rush of warm air on her face, and her head turned towards the source. A window was open, letting out the smells of the inside of the building beside her, revealing itself to be a bakery. Her mouth watered, and she dug around in her pocket for a few extra pounds.

"Wanth tho geth somet'ing to eath?" she asked Nathan.

[Nathan Whyte]

As Niamh commented she wouldn’t go, Nathan smiled, a sliver of pure ecstasy on his face as they crunched through the thin layer of smell. That was good, that was brilliant it was just what he wanted to hear, even if she didn’t mean what he hoped. The aroma of fresh bread wafted through the air as the pair started around the corner.

“Food?” He thought allowed for a second, but his stomach answered, releasing a loud gurgle which he covered with a sheepish smile. “Why not, eh?” He led Niamh towards the door, letting go of her hand grudgingly to hold the portal open and let her enter, before following beneath a ringing bell. His eyes spotted a small green plant dangling, Mistletoe. Not quite yet, he mused.

A jolly baker walked around from the back, his apron already stained from a morning of hard work. Nathan nodded and muttered a “Merry Christmas,” of which there was an equally happy reply. He looked around; the room was almost empty, apart from another couple at a corner table, talking quietly to each other over steam cups of brown. He let Niamh lead to a table, as he reached in to his back pocket, pulling a battered leather wallet out, flicking it open and checking he had a few notes in the centre pocket.

As he scraped a chair out on the lino he let out a sigh at the warmth. He could see Niamh sporting a bright nose and ears, and he expected he’d have the same. “Something warm, I take it, Niamh? Coffee?”

[Niamh Dunlevy]

The shop was small and warm, simple and quaint, filled with the aromas of multiple baked goods. Only two people sat in the corner, speaking quietly to each other over steaming coffee cups. Niamh murmured, "T'ank ye," to Nathan, sending a smile his way, and immediately made her way over to a table. She pulled out a chair, sitting opposite of Nathan, and waited for him to sit down.

"Something warm, I take it, Niamh? Coffee?" said Nathan, smiling over at the Pavee. Niamh shrugged, smiling back at him.

"Ith doesn'th mathther, 'cepth coffee makes me a bith nuths. Don'th have t'at much o' a tholerance fer ith, y'see. However, I'm keen fer some hoth chocolathe, an' why don'th I geth us some food, thoo? All t'e sthuff here's on sale fer t'e holidays, God bless t'at baker's soul."

Just as Nathan pulled out his wallet, Niamh pulled out hers, and fished through it. The money she had planned on spending at the pub last night was still there, so that meant she could spoil herself a little on breakfast. She smiled at this, then pulled out a few pounds, and pushed her chair back slowly.

"I'll justh be a second, Nat'an. Y'can come up wit' me tho t'e fronth, if you'd like," the Pavee said with a grin. She turned around, whistling softly as she walked past the giant window and towards the counter -

Thwap!

"GAAH!"

- And yelped in surprise as four different soldiers leapt up at the glass, pressing their faces against it with comically wild eyes. Niamh panted for a moment, blinking rapidly as the baker and the couple nearby looked at her strangely. However, upon recognizing the four soldiers, she growled under her breath, huffing.

"Oh...great. Justh. Bloody. Greath," she muttered darkly. Hastily stepping over to the door, she pulled it open and stepped outside, hands on her hips as she glared at the four hooligans.

"Cillian, Radclyffe, Hiram and Brian Dunlevy! Can't you just once respect the fact that I don't always like being ambushed by your shenanigans?!"

"Ah, chare up, Niamh!" cried Cillian, walking over and placing a hand down on Niamh's head. The young woman only growled at the act, her glare becoming more heated as Cillian ruffled her hair. "Tis de day av Christmas! Ain't yer 'appy ter clap yisser lovin', 'appy cousins who alwus are dare for yer?"

"You mean by following me 'round an' humiliathin' me whenever you like?" Niamh replied flatly. "If so, no."

"Well, you're our cousin! 'Tis our job ter be de pain in yisser arse," replied Radclyffe, second-oldest in his family. "Besides, who else wud stop yer from 'angin' raun wi' sum unruly steck av an Air Force Kiwi eejit?"

"DON'TH THALK ABOUTH NAT'AN T'AT WAY!!" Niamh screeched, shoving Cillian aside and causing him to yelp, the young woman stomping over to Radclyffe. "He's a genthleman, leave 'im be!"


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OOC - Meet the family, Nathan.

[Nathan Whyte]

Niamh stood up from her seat, heading over towards the counter before Nathan could protest he would pay. He had quite a bit of pay pooled up, oddly, when you're stuck in a field in France waiting to fly, there wasn't much opportunity for spending, and this money needed an outlet, which, in most cases, happened to be wonderful women. Well, some wonderful women, and some just buttered up for a shag, as some of the other pilots in the 3ID though. Nathan was more for the first option, though.

And then, so it seemed all hell broke loose as a foursome of soldiers hammered the window. Niamh seemed to recognise them, so he loosened up a bit and relaxed as Niamh walked through the doors. He cracked a smirk as she spoke in a matronly manner to them, and through the slowly closing door, every word was clear to him. He eased himself from his seat, leaning on the leather back causing it to creak. He stepped through the door and stood behind Niamh as the "Air Force Kiwi eejit" comment went. This went down like a ton of shit.

"So, this eejit is the one that flies in to save your Irish asses when the Hun gets too much, right? Well, I guess I just won't bother then, next time." As he finished, Niamh screeched, and Nathan felt his ears sore a bit from the onslaugh. He'd rather face German Flak than an angry Irish lass, any day. He took the high ground though, and held out his right hand. "It's Nathan, and as it's such a nice day, I'll ignore those comments, eh?"

[Niamh Dunlevy]

"Goo' plan, Nat'an," Niamh said flatly. "T'ey're more o' a pain when provoked. T'ey're like sthallions in t'e spring."

Cillian - being the oldest of the four brothers standing there - represented the family by taking Nathan's hand. He gave it a firm shake, gripping it too tightly for his own good, a wild grin on his face. "Nice ter meet yer, Kiwi! Nathan, ya...Nathan Whyte, hm? De name's Sergeant Cillian Dunlevy. Ah've 'eard av yisser exploits in de 3ID. You're a pansy, but an efficient pansy, I'll say dat!"

Niamh threw her cousin a look, raising her eyebrows. "An' can y'say t'at wit'outh insulthin' 'im, Cillian?"

"Naw," Cillian said, his face now tempered into a mischievious smirk. Niamh only rolled her eyes and sighed, slightly irritated by the sudden turn of events. Radclyffe suddenly chuckled.

"Pfft, chare up, lassie!" he said, walking over and patting Niamh roughly on the head. He made sure to make a mess of her auburn hair, watching amusedly as Niamh grunted and smacked his hand away. "We're only oyt cos we're gonna go messages. Thar's a nice wee trinket shop raun 'ere oi'm gonna luk at for Ma. Unlike waaat you're usually accustomed ter, makin' 'ell is not on our list av priorities the-day."

"But we can make it a priority! Watch!" chirped Brian. Before anyone (that meant Niamh) could stop him, he had scooted around behind Nathan, and grabbed the poor man's undergarments. With an almighty tug, he gave Nathan a rather bad undy - better known as a "wedgie" to the pilot's American comrades - and only physics prevented Brian from pulling the man's pants over his head.

"BRIAN!!" Niamh screeched. The Dunlevy boys merely burst into laughter, pointing fingers and shouting gibberish at Nathan. Brian fled as Niamh went after him, the woman's strong legs quickly carrying her towards him, but no match for Brian's military-made muscle. Like a dog chasing a chicken, the pair ran in circles and all over the street, Niamh screaming profanities and bits of Shelta at her cousin. This only made the other Dunlevys laugh harder, and caused some bystanders to giggle, as well as stare in amazement or quickly move along.


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OOC: To any North Americans reading this, pants = underwear in British terminology.

[Nathan Whyte]

OOC: What makes you think I'd wear undies that big?

"Sergeant, one more word about Kiwi's and pansies, I'll get on to your CO and make the rest of your career hell." He was only half joking, as well. Nathan looked at Niamh, and swung his eyes, as if saying "Can we get the hell away from these guys?"

Before he could try and move, his underwear was wrenched upwards, and pain surrounded his buttocks and crotch. "Gah!" was all he could shout as Niamh chased her cousin around, and Nathan uncomfortably reached behind him and readjusted yourself. He eyed up the cousins, before mutting "Bastard," to them, causing laughter from them. These ones seemed human at least.

He felt a bit awkward, in the presence of them, and yanked the first conversation starter from his head. "So, who are you guys, then?" It was all that he could think of, but it would have to do. He reached behind him again, with a slighlty apologetic and embarassed look on his face and got his underwear into a more comfortable position. An awkward silence came upon them as he hoped for Niamh to return quickly. The quirky Irish girl could always strike a conversation up, it was a gift of hers. Nathan let out a small cloud of crystalling breath before looking back towards the guys in front of him.

[Niamh Dunlevy]

OOC: I'm sorry, I missed a few words. Fixed. Oh, and "sin'" means "sing", not another thing; the accent warped the word.

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The Dunlevy boys looked at each other, then back at Nathan. Wicked, wild grins were on their faces, and as Cillian spoke, he sounded overtly dramatic.

"Who are we?" he said. "Who are we, me dear Flight Sergeant Kiwi-boy?"

Cillian strode over to Nathan, and wrapped one muscular arm around the slightly shorter man's shoulders. He pulled the man close, as if Nathan was a brother, and looked fondly down at him. The other boys came up and did the same, with Radclyffe on one side, and Hiram and Cillian on the other.

"We, dear ol' chap, are de cousins av dear Niamh Mairi Dunlevy, sons av de deadly Daragh Gabriel Dunlevy!" cried Cillian, motioning towards the sky as if Daragh were some sort of supreme being. "Warriors, soldiers, fighters against de German foe!"

"By day, we are this!" cried Radclyffe, stepping away from Nathan and spinning on his heel, stopping bent over with a hand outstretched.

"By noight, we are but simple tren," said Hiram, spinning away from Nathan in the same manner, and stopping by his brother the same way as well.

"An' best av al', Kiwi-boy..." said all three at once. They then took off their helmets with their hands once outstretched, and gently moved upwards while shaking their helmets gently.

"We...can...siiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinnnnnn'!" the boys sang, their voices perfectly on key and harmonized. Brian came up behind Nathan just then, a mischievious look on his face as Niamh came barreling up behind her cousin.

"We also drive people nuts, too, Mr. Oi'm-Actually-A-Stoney-Broke-Excuse-For-An-Australian!" Brian chirped in Nathan's ear, and once again, yanked his underwear skyward. Niamh went to smack Brian over the back of the head, but he dodged out of the way and the blow landed on Nathan instead. The girl shrieked, and she put her hands over her mouth.

"NAT'AN!" Niamh cried, rushing over to stand beside him, her fingers working through his short hair to see if she had wounded him badly. "Nat'an, Nat'an, oh Nat'an, I'm sooooooooo sorry! Are you thoo hurth? Did I leave a bruise! Dammith, boys, leave us alone!"

The other Dunlevys only laughed. Niamh growled in disgust, and gently touched Nathan on the arm.

"I'm so sorry, Nat'an...t'ey're bloody idioths, I don'th know how t'ey cathch up wit' me...."