Ra strolled into the Citadel tavern. ‘Golden apple Cider, please.’ he said to the barkeep.
‘Golden apple what?’ he said.
‘Cider…’ said Ra. The barkeep stared at him. ‘Oh, a beer then….. Stella if you got it…… Ale?’
‘Ale.’ agreed the barkeep.
‘Funny thing,’ said Ra, to anyone within earshot, ‘I was in town, and I saw a car(t) with RIB 1998 on it’s plate. What, possibly could this mean? (August 18th, COUGH!!!!!)’
‘Here’s your ale, that’ll be three groats….’
Ra reached into his pocket and produced a sizeable gem….
‘Haven’t you got anything smaller?’ groaned the barkeep…….