“Where to, guv?”
“South Chelsea. But I need to stop at a pub along the way. I’m dry as a dead dingo’s donger. Qantas are complete bastards when it comes to free drinks.”
“Souf Chelsea? Wait’ll the boys down the Fox and Grapes ‘ear that one. Cor. Souf Chelsea.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’ve been an’ bought an ‘ouse, aintchoo?”
“Look, you just attend to your driving, and I’ll attend to my…what do you know about me?” Looks around for hidden camera, tests door handle.
“Betchoo answered a real estate agent’s advertise-ment on the internet, dinchoo?”
“Look, mate, I haven’t a clue how you know all this, but if…”
“Righto, guv, I’ll tell yer ‘ow it works. First, you tell me, ‘ow many bedrooms your new ‘ouse ‘as, ‘ow many barfrooms, is there orf-street parking, wot’s it built of an’ ‘ow old is it?”
“Four, two, yes, brick and timber, about 125 years.”
“An’ I bet they stung yer abaht two mill, right?"
“I was told it was a bargain at the price.”
“Fer Chelsea, yeah. But you ain’t bought an ‘ouse in Chelsea. You ‘as been an’ bought an ‘ouse in Clap’am or Battersea. Wot’s the address?”
“Er….Stonhouse St.”
“See? Clap’am, as I live an’ breave. You’ve been ‘ad, guv.”



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