***
In the lower levels of the cheese mine of Hairy Growler, Boris and Barry were hanging upside down discussing the poor quality of rat’s blood.
‘Let’s face it, all the good rats have buggered off,’ Boris said, stretching out his little black wings. ‘This lot that are left have blood as thin as gnats wee.’
‘Yeah, and there’s hardly any of it,’ Barry said. ‘You know I drained one dry in less than a minute yesterday.’
‘What I wouldn’t give for some lovely, thick, human blood,’ Boris sighed.
‘Oh, yes, that’d be wonderful. You know I can still remember the taste, the texture and the smell.’
‘Well, I suppose we can dream, my friend,’ said Boris. ‘But unless a complete pair of idiots pay a visit to this godforsaken place, we’ve got no chance.’