The Pakalolo Tavern is empty. An Irish jig on the juke-box. Sounds of cutlery and dishes and diverse appetising odours coming from the kitchen.
Offside comes in through the kitchen swing door, laden with dishes and odours. He sets them on the bar.
Offside (shouting): Ingrid! How's the couscous?
Ingrid (from kitchen): The doctor said it would be better soon!
Offside arranges the dishes on the bar, steps back, looking satisfied. He dives back into the kitchen, and comes out again almost immediately, carrying more dishes, some of them steaming. He sets them down hurriedly, opens the tap to run cold water over his hands.
The main door opens to let in Greengrass, a spring in his step and a guitar slung over his shoulder. He saunters to the bar and eyes the food on display.
Offside: Sort of. (to kitchen, shouting) Ingrid! Hurry with that couscous. Greengrass is here already, the others won't be long now.
Greengrass: What's the occasion?
Offside: None, really. I just want to put some food into the lads and lasses. It's been a long season-a-bloggin', and now we're coming to the run-in, so they need sustenance.
Greengrass examines the dishes suspiciously. He stoops to take a closer sniff at the stuff.
Greengrass: No tapir this time?
Offside: No, all gone. Mimi finished it. Hey don't touch that, wait 'til everyone's here. Er, I would leave that one alone if I were you, that's cojones de toro, strictly for our Argentine guests. Unless you're feeling really adventurous, of course. (pause) What's with the guitar? You're going to give us a tune?
Greengrass: Haven’t you seen the posters?
Offside: I told you - they’ll be along soon.
Greengrass: No, don’t be daft - not that lot! The posters for my performance: they’re all over the village.
Greengrass: Nine o’ clock! At the Wheel Tapper’s Arms - Selected Ditties of Atahualpa Yupanqui. I’ve translated the works of the Master into Lancashire Dialect. Ingrid will be along to harmonise if she’s better.
Greengrass: She was poorly yesterday - had a frog in her throat, poor lass.