3 or 4 of my favourite JG stories, there are more that i wanted to add, but cannot find, oh yeah, nice touch picking a username with less than 3 characters, as it means that its impossible to search your posts, click on 'find all posts by JG' and it says there are no results, but i digress, so...
Behold, some of the epic posts by the FC legend that is, JG!
JG wrote:The loud constant buzz and idiopathic whine started to fill the rich multi cranial space that was The Fruit Chat quiz machine forum.
JG marched over to the quiz machine forum with some idle babble that he thought might be worthy of posting. As he appoached the forum entrance he was surprised to see the metal shutters down.
Ah yes, now he remembered, new security measures in place, someone had done a spot ot tooling on Quizmaster's footie thread and taken the value from the start of the season. There was a good £500 of so of profit and they had sneaked in, messed around with a few last minute goals and scooped the lot, so the thread was now in the red.
JG reached into his pockets for the keys. Blast! He had left them over at those silly 'potty forums. He'd better attend to that quickly. The jokers over there would have a field day if they found them. Before that though, JG wanted his say, as there was no way in, he'd have to make do with the intercom by the side of the shutters.
This was no ordinary intercom, there were a variety of equalisation controls, to enable people posting from outside of the forum to impart a posting enriched in quiz flora whilst all other peripheral hissy AWP surf could be supressed. JG flicked the on switch, surely a logical first step.
That was what started the irritating buzzing.
Hmmmm. Poor quality speaker cable concluded JG and peered myopically at the vast array of controls. The frequency knobs made sense. No point altering those, although maybe a bit of extra 10,000khz might increase clarity of posting. He turned it from 0% to +ve 15% It seemed to make sense.
Wow and flutter. He studied that one and decided for no logical reason to turn that from 0 to -3.
Hmmmmm. Any on looker would surely be convinced he knew the EXACT protocol for operating this bizarre machine. Why so complex? Why not just a button for speaking? They didn't have this in blocks of flats. You don't walk up to the reception door and do any more than ring a buzzer for the flat number and speak when the person in the room presses the button their end. Never mind.
JG cleared his throat.
AHEHHEHEMEHMEHHMEHMEHEHEM.
He wondered if they could hear that.
"Can anyone hear that?"
Nothing. No response. He waited for a message to buzz back. Humpf! Surly lot, probably still in bed or maybe that ProperPro heard it and deemed it unnecesary to reply to it, or wait, maybe he heard it and was now formulating a sarcastic response in his head.
"Moderators can't operate the intercom and I'm out winning lots of money."
No, not even that. Nothing.
Aha! What was this dial? '+ve feedback', hmm sounds good, next to a button marked 'loudness boost'. Yeah those two should be good. JG twissled the feedback up to +275% the highest setting and pressed loudness. The buzzing increased to scary proportions and from the other side of the shutters he heard a high pitched wine.
BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEOOOOOOOOEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP!
Continuous and without any obvious direction, it soon became torturous.
The intercom crackled into life. "That's not idiopathic"
"Eh?
"I SAID......THAT'S NOT IDIOPATHIC"
"Who's there?"
"TURN YOUR +VE FEEDBACK DOWN NOW!"
"What was that you said about idiopathic?"
"YOU SAID, IN YOUR POSTING, WHICH WE CAN ALL HEAR BY THE WAY. THAT THERE WAS AN IDIOPATHIC WHINING. IT'S NOT IDIOPATHIC AS IT HAS BEEN CAUSED BY YOU TURNING THE +VE FEEDBACK UP TOO HIGH. TURN IT DOWN."
"I'm sorry I don't really know why I used that word, I'm not sure what it means"
"WELL OBVIOUSLY, COULD YOU TURN DOWN THE +VE FEEDBACK?"
JG squinted embarrassed at the array of knobs. Where was that +ve feedback or whatever it was. He couldn't remember. This should help. Mute. He twiddled that down a few steps.
"How's that?"
"WHAT!?!? SPEAK UP MAN YOU'RE FADING INTO OBSCURITY AND TURN THAT SODDING FEEDBACK DIAL DOWN, WE'RE ALL GOING MAD HERE."
"Can't you open the door?"
"NO! ONE OF THE STUPID MODERATORS LOST THE KEYS OVER AT SOME SILLY 'POTTY' FORUM. THAT'S THE WORD ON THE STREET. I'VE MISSED OUT ON MY ROUNDS AND I'M NOT HAPPY. MONEY GOES IN AND TODAY IT'S STAYING IN - JUST LIKE ME."
"Who else is in there?"
"Well there's MR. GRUMPY, MR. TRYING TO BUT FAILING TO SLEEP, MR. LYNCH THE MODS, MR. BAD HEADACHE, can you sort this out PLEASE? WHO IS THIS ANYWAY?"
"J.....J....It's J J J Jeff Vickers here"
Oh this was a bad do. JG had forgotten that it was his turn to unlock the quiz forum today. He'd been over to that bloomin' service station in the morning for an unchipped Riches and that had played up, that Double Deal or no Deal had IOUd by mistake as he couldn't feed the coins back in fast enough and he had forgotten his refill key as that was on the same bundle of keys as the mod keys. Then that Take it or Leave it had been a bit moody, also that Treble Jackpots had been removed for a MEGA Deal or no Deal with a £14.10 cashpot that he.....
"JG I KNOW IT IS YOU. YOU'VE KNOCKED THE +VE ESP DIAL YOU FOOL AND WE CAN ALL HEAR YOUR THOUGHTS. YOU'VE GOT 10 MINUTES TO GET THOSE DAMN KEYS, STOP THIS HIGHLY VEXATING, MIGRAINE INDUCING, WHINING RACKET AND GET THIS DOOR OPEN BEFORE I REPORT YOU TO MIKE WOODS."
Hmmm. I must be thinking loudly then. Where is this ESP dial? I like sniffing women's knickers. Oh what! No I don't, I can't believe I thought that. Stupid devil voice inside of me making me think stupid things....
"DO IT NOW JG, YOU BUFFOON!"
Incredulous but also acceptant that they must be able to hear his every thought, JG panicked and twissled all the dials every which way but the useful way. Soon the quiz machine forum was full of the most bizarre noises imaginable to man. Still at least they couldn't hear his thoughts, or so he guessed, not above that racket and at least he couldn't hear ProperPro getting in a strop. Maybe he best find those keys.
BUZZZZ!! KERPOWWW! BIFF! BOFF! BLEEEEOOPPPETY WHOOPETY PING PONG!!! ZIP KERPUFFF! WALLLOP! BOOOOM!!! CRASH! BANG! BLLLLLARUPPPETY BLARPETY BLIPPETY BLOPETY ping perchooo! BLOP!
WHEEEOOEOEOOEOEOEOOEOO!!!
Then a stroke of genius. The technical forum was nearby. JG burst in.
"I need a technician, quick, I've messed up the intercom to the quiz forum."
"Yeah mate. You need a new main board, the battery has leaked."
"No this isn't an EPOCH related fault enquiry....."
"What? Not a faulty EPOCH?" A red button was pressed and a sarcophagus opened to reveal the appropriate engineer. "Hello Terry. Long time no see. That intercom is messed up again. Just like it was in 1604, best see to it first, I'll have a brew on when you come back."
The stench was awful, 400+ years in a dusty old coffin was not great for one's personal hygiene. However if it would stop the quiz forum from going ballistic and a possible black balling from a future career on Fruit Chat, then this was a necessary olfactory incovenience that had to be endured.
"Is this the offending piece?" croaked the old fossil, a stench of putrid halitosis eminating from his tonsils.
JG wondered how many malfunctioning intercoms there could be making bizarre electronic cocophonies of noise.
He tried to figure a sarcastic response, but just paused michrosomaly, before uttering a simple yes.
After a few expert twists and turns the noise was eliminated, well nearly all the noise. There was a riotous shouting....
"JG to be FRUIT CHAT CLEANER!"
"KILL HIS MOD STATUS!"
"SOD THAT - KILL HIM!"
"BURN HIS ANCIENT VIP MANUSCRIPTS!"
"LET HIM HANG IN THE ETERNAL FIERY PITS OF HELL. UPSIDE DOWN. LET HIS BRAIN CELL TOAST SLOWLY TO A CRISP"
"KILL! KILL! KILL! KILL! KILL! and money comes out.....and blood"
"Can you turn that down as well?"
The smelly cadaver, pressed a ONE WAY TRANSMISSION button and all was silent.
"Oh and before you go to sleep for another 400 years, would you fetch my keys from 'that other' forum? I left them near an old oak tree with a yellow ribbon tied around it. I think there may have been a pot of gold nearby as well."
"I'll do me best Sir, but I hear that there are many pots of gold over there, mostly belonging to that young Leprechaun called Lord Lucky-Dom"
With JG left in peace, he picked up the microphone and began to speak.
"It was a cold Autumnal day. The leaves were swept effienciently off the street by a beeping machine blowing things around. I marched, no wait I strolled briskly up to a suburban Weatherspoons pub."
A distress flare went up from within the forum. Then another and another, more flares.....hold on, what was this? They were spelling something, was this a game of word up being played out with distress flares? Oh no, GET ON WITH IT.....yes very pretty, but JG cut to the chase.
"Well I won't bore you with what happened on the AWP side of matters, small £20 raise but to be expected as one playable gone and only one semi-playable left. Anyway I tried a black surround Itbox. It was an issue 69. Surpiringly no gaps, I thought these things had more gaps than a nine year old at the dentist? Anyhow there were a few games I hadn't seen before. Some Robin Hood thing which I forgot to look at and a game called CHOOSE TO LOSE. I've a feeling it has been discussed before, but to fill you in, there are 20 questions, it's £1 a go and you get to answer all 20 questions.
0 Correct = £10, 5 correct = £2, 10 correct = mystery prize, 15 correct = £5 and 20 correct = £20.
This intrigues me as it's a game with no obvious protection apart from the noble one of asking impossibly hard questions as a pose to the ignoble one of pulling the carpet from underneath your feet and saying oh errr mystery prize for everything and then you get a mystery prize and it turns out to be 30p. I suppose it could do that if emergency dictated.
Surely one for the Suris of this world?
I also played BIG REDS as there was 9p spare credit, so what better game to play then BIG REDS?
(A cluster of distress flares were released at this point, I won't tell you what they spelt out, but they came from the direction of that footie thread.)
WELL MAYBE PERHAPS WORD UP?
(No flares, they must be out of flares by now)
Anyway the first question was "In which of these sports do athletes reach the fastest speed through self propulsion?"
SKIING, SPEED SKATING OR CYCLING?
I failed to absorb the word self propulsion and immediately went for skiing.....those guys hurtle terrifically fast through the air,surely faster than any of the other sports. WRONG. Must be cycling then. I've seen the Tour de France and know they can touch 70mph down those mountains. Hairy stuff, but surely a speed skater is about 40mph?!?
WRONG.....ah now I see the word self propulsion, although those skiers have to push themselves off the start and those cyclists have to ascend the other side of that mountain. Hmmmmm.
Ok the indignity. Out on the first Q of BIG REDS. First time I've ever lost to those Qs. Ok, so replay, got a £1.04 offer with £2 and 7p left, deal and play bullseye which was 501 starting but just failed to get the 126 points question right....as so close, was doing well for 25s and one 50 all the way.
Had two goes on CHOOSE TO LOSE and it does feel like pot luck after a while. First few questions are easier and you get questions you know, but what is best strategy? First time I got 14 Q right, needed the last one right for £5....no such luck. Next game was worse, 12 right, last two questons right as well. Quite a heartstopper of a game, but suriely in the right hands an earner? Always entertaining when you feel you're near the money. Unlike say Hangman which is pointless and you can guarantee numerous 25-75 points phrases for not even £1. Maybe the only people that play it, lose £4 until it offers £1/£2 and it repeats ad nauseum.
Anyway that was all I wanted to say. I had drunk my drink by then and didn't want to lose any more of my slim £20 profit, so off I went.
Over and money not coming Out.
JG wrote:Yeah it's horrible isn't it? Especially with the pub trade as it is...
You walk in, just you, the barman and two other regulars who are probably close relatives of the barman.
WOW! Thinks the barman, a customer, must be the Ansell's mystery customer.
"May I help you?" he enquires in his most eloquent tones.
At this point you have been following these golden rules.
1) Avoid all eye contact
2) Do not stare directly at a fruit machine
3) Move your head in random directions like you're looking for something. That isn't a fruit machine.
4) Don't walk into the ladies' lavatory by mistake.
5) Try to look like you're on important business.
Drat, you're two seconds into the pub and all you've seen is a jukebox, you have to walk around the corner...there has to be a playable around the corner.
Now there are three sets of eyes on you. It's a horrible, horrible moment, but you must do the deed, you must scour every last corner of the pub.
"I'm looking for Bob, he said he would be here"
"Bob died two days ago"
"oh"
But you have to keep walking.....
"Can I get you a drink?"
Your lonely faltering footsteps, compliment the morgue like atmosphere to perfection. Shit! The proposition of paying £2.65 for a pint that you can't drink, staying in a pub you didn't want to be in with two of the surliest most miserable looking men you've ever seen, doesn't make things any easier. You have to speak and speak quickly, but what do you say?
"Blah, I err just need the toilet!!!"
Schoolboy error, schoolboy, did you not see the sign near the entrance that said this is not a public convenience, toilets for customer use only? It was also next to the sign that said credit only given to people over the age of 60 accompanied by both grandparents.
The mood changes very suddenly. As far as they're concerned you're filth, a scumbag, a dirty pig. You've only entered the building to urinate against the procelain.
"Hmmmm, using the toilet and not buying a drink?? This is not a public convenience young man."
Around the corner, where is this blasted thing? Then a flashy light catches your eye, within a mirror, oh no!!! It's in the corner, the darkest dingiest recess, what excuse can there be to walk into this dark corner?
With a limp hand you pull out your mobile, explaining that it was on vibrate.
The surly men look puzzled at the slim compact build of what they assume is some kind of sex toy.
"Err yeah Bob, I'm in the.....in the.....in thee" and then you realise you don't know the name of the pub...."I'm in the pub...you know, where we said we'd meet......"
All eyes on you and your fascinating conversation, but you're in the dark corner, what the hell???! It's a Full Metal Jackpots, might have known a pub this derelict would have some stupid 2007 crap like this inside. Hey maybe wait another year, they might get a dial.
It's then with total horror you see there's a door to the other side of the bar. This area needs exploring. Maintaining the facade of faux conversation enabled by cunningly positioned satellites you proceed into the next area. Your acting skills are poor and obviously Bob, who is dead, is doing all the talking. The Barman has followed you around into the main bar area, now desperate to sell you a drink.
"Are you lost? Do you need a map? Or a drink maybe?"
It's then you blurt it out, the pressure all too much as a man sitting at the bar with a bull terrier, both versed in looking hard have made you blurt your missive.
"AAArrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrk" you screech, the embarassment and shame at your ineptitude, coercing you into the corner where you spot a Power 5.
"I'm a professional fruit machinist" you screech, on the verge of a nervous breakdown, "I'm here to see what machines you have on site. I make money playing fruit machines. AAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRK!"
"Oh I see. Would you like a drink? Actually let me check the rule book a moment, not sure we want your type here...."
"Err no, I best be going thanks"
With that you regain your composure and get back to your mate in the car.
"Well?"
"Full Metal Jackpot and Power 5"
"Was it unchipped?"
"Which?"
"The Power 5 duh....."
"Errrr........no"
"Did you try it?"
"Well no, but it looked kinda chipped, I just got the feeling it was chipped, just by looking at it...what???....why are you looking at me like that....oh ffs..........it's your turn........what? ok......"
And so back you go, back into the public house of fun. You do the honourable thing. You sit down in the entrance, just out of eyeshot from your mate and just out of earsight from the bar. You count to 35 and then go back to the car park.
"No luck, definitely chipped"
"You tried it?"
"Yeah"
"And it was chipped"
"What you pressed humpf and wumpf?"
"Yeah......"
"And what happened...?"
"Just collected £4"
"hmmm, ok, next pub then?"
"Yeah your turn to check....."
"Let's see.....on the list it says The Furnace and Flanker"
"Should be nice and hot"
"yeah deep joy...."
"Just remember, don't say you're looking for Bob, he died two days ago apparently."
"Ok, I'll keep a check out for Tarquin, I'm meeting him for a pint, that's the line."
"Tarquin? you can't use that name, they'll lynch you...."
"Well have you got a better name?"
And so it fades as the mini metro trundles along into the sunset, our pair of players gradually compiling a list of their own.
Happy days.
JG wrote:I can only assume you have finally found the emptier for Monoperty Hot Ploperty. I shall duly PM in due course, July ok Julie?.
Someone said there are not enough stories. Someone said that when I do stories no one listens. I shall now attempt a story, Jackpotty forums style for which it is not worth you listening.
Hi. Arcade #1, all the machines were on resets apart from a £5 DonD. I played this and it kept giving cashing out. Eventually I got a £4.20 cash combo and left it £4 down.
Arcade #2, all the machines were on resets
Arcade #3, had closed down.
Pub # 1, I started off by queueueing at the bar for what seemed like an absoute eternity of one minute and thirty nine seconds. I looked along the lines of beer pumps and noticed that most people were drinking beer. I wanted something high in vitamin C and not full of artificial flavourings and preservatives, but in a moment of madness I ordered a Guinness. I surprised even myself and listening to a tip delivered by another member of this very forum Fruittalk.com.ac.uk/url.http I put the one pennyety change in the charity box. The barman didn't even acknowledge my grand gesture. So in a huff I looked at the machines available. A Deal or no Deal double take, A Lucky Leprechaun, A Leprechauns Gold and A Big Deal or The Big Deal as it is commonly known by enthusiasts.
There was also a Paragon Pro Plus in the corner with lovely blue lighting and extra caffeine buzz.
I drunk my drink and looked around.
All around, there were people talking about normal things like Fabio Capello and the price of petrol these days.
I wondered if I should randomly join in a conversation, but instead opted for some coin operated gaming amusement.
As it so happened I had a bag of fifty pound coins. The bag was not a designer bag with diamante designer studs on a leather base, but it was a plastic see-thru Girobank style old tatty thing from the 1980s that enabled me to carry £50 in complete jangleless comfort.
As I struggled to open the fucking thing within the confines of my trouser area, I realised I had two choices. Use my finger as a tool for piercing the sides of the bulbous over sealed contraption or slip a note into the lovely pink socket of bliss.
I had one more go at opening the blasted bag which resulted in much writhing and squirming. Someone said something about Harry Houdini, so in an instant I popped in a note.
Lifting the bag out of the trouser area was a complete no no, I may as well have intended to hang a huge placard around my neck that read "I am a notorious paedophile" as produce a bag containing fifty whole pound coins.
When I was £12 in, some bloke said 'excuse me' as he pushed past me, in a hurry to get to the gents. Eventually at £55 in, I smelt the lovely smell of a steak griddly grill thing wafting from a waitress. It was an inspired perfume and made my really hungry. At £67 in someone laughed loudly. Then I won some money.
Onto the next machine The Big Beale. An Eastenders inspired Deal or no Deal variant, it was £3 off full and red Reiding from the off. After £16 in and a loud clash of empty bottles going into a blue bin behind the bar, it gave me a batter or bust for £8. Hmmm, messy. I had to replay, especially as that Unlucky leprechaun had not dropped after £67 in.
Oh dear, it had been blag Reiding, and I was sucked in. £2/£3/£4 board after £2/£3/£4 board. I could not even get a full portion of chips for the Beale or no Beale and it kept skipping past the fishtery feature. At £37 in and frustrated, a big bald gentleman stared up at the flat screen television in the lounge area. At £38 in I got a GO ALL THE WAY. Yes have that! GO ALL THE WAY. I looked around the pub. If the guards got wind of this, I'd be thrown into jail. Thankully there was a special offer on food. Buy two exotic cheeses from the cheese counter and get a free umbrella. The customers were lapping it up. I was a bit confuzzlinged as I'd had a few shitcobs chipcobs for £2 and I wasn't sure if it had gone past £70 when I got the three red dog and phones for Mogadishu streak. As I had eighty of the queen's finest hand pressed silky sheets in my bankage, and the red sevens were ferociously rolling in again and again, I assumed that I was on for £140. What a fucking nuisance. I hadn't got the right trousers on and this would make for an incredibly hot, sweaty, coin clanking walk home.
However I couldn't just collect the lot out. Anyone under the age of 50, collecting more than £3 out of the bandit, is and quite rightly so, most definitely, on the fiddle.
I had to wait at least 10 minutes in between pressing collect. Then there was the awkward conundrum of how to collect the money. Let it all clatter out and risk barrings and muggings. Put my hand under the chute and risk barrings and muggings and being accused of using magnets and cheating the machine, as my hand was down there. Or I could switch the blasted, wretched thing off and not have to worry about collecting the stupid money.
I tried holding my pint with my right hand, using my elbow and collecting four coins with my left whilst lettttting one drop down, so it seemed natural. Someone said something about Harry Houdini again, so I just switched the thing off and walked into the sunset, happily ever after.
The End.
You know what, there was actually an umpkling of truth in that story.
And my personal favourite, 'pride of the pack'
JG wrote:The conference was in the business complex. There was the usual fauna. A premier Inn and an adjoining bar with the typical polished wood and brass. An annex from the bar led to the conference area.
The presentation was going to be beyond dreary. A dry old crone and her partner in crime, a forty something tubby male unsettlingly familiar with technology, would lecture them on procedure and compliance. A swathe of bespoke suits milled and amiably passed pleasantries, the odd reflexive guffaw, oiling the stilted exchanges.
The car park a mix of various shades between silver and black. The odd goldy beige for good variance as well. Audi, Mercedes, Lexus and BMW the staples.
There was some time before the presentation started, which was just as well, for someone who wasn't yet in any kind of suit was playing an unchipped Barcrest. I say playing, it was more a kind of continuous cussing and stressed button rapping.
"Piece of bollocks fucking shitty game crap wank piss fuck. £20 boards for nearly a nifty and it can't turn the fucker red. Load of shit rig up low percentage crap bollocks, better be boarding still after this..."
A 2 rolled in and Add again was given. The number was an 11. The hi button was rapped until the SFX stopped. The swearing continued unabated.
Back in the conference centre, various hot drinks were dispensed via an automated drinks unit. Hands were shook and pleasantries exchanged about families, business in general and working lives. Some of the suits had milled into the main conference area. A stocky chap was plugging things into USB sockets on a laptop and messing around making the final touches to a Powerpoint presentation. The crone sat steely lipped ready for battle. Also a green felt tip marker pen lay obeyantly on the desk, ready for action in case of technical failing.
The train station was within walking distance from the business complex. By a total coincidence the business complex was also within walking distance from the train station. Another party of gentleman was approaching. This time not in suits. An interesting mix this one. A chap from near Bolton with a curved banana and a horses head. A very tall representative of Lewisham. Someone who looked like James Cordon. A spiky haired lad from Cambridge with a blonde haired girl. Somone with lots of power. Someone Scottish. Someone with a similar name to half a Sat Nav. And someone who was one bar short of a sane bar.
Elsewhere a jackpot on an unchipped Barcrest had finally been won, time had dictated the progression along the route was over and it was sage to venture to the business complex.
The coins were stashed in the glove compartment. The other clothes in the boot. Spash of aftershave. Spray some goldspot. He stepped out the car and pressed the button. The central locking active and a WHOOP BLOOP indicating the vehicle was armed and secure.
It was then with abhorrent terror that he saw the latter crew of gentleman. Oh no, not here. The two worlds could not collide. Quite simply no. Never mix business and pleasure. Or in his case business and err other business. It wasn't that he didn't like them. They were a laugh, but here? Fuck no. It couldn't happen. Could it be juggled? They wouldn't recognise him in a suit and with glasses instead of the usual contact lenses. He was even in his other car. Plan was to let them pass. If he was correct the fruits in the bar were a Bank Job and a Monopoly Boom or Bust. Let them get started and move in. As the rowdy gentleman entered the complex, a voice startled him.
"George?"
It was Baharahim Mupta or 'Bahra' for short, the owner of KDH networking Ltd. A devilishly suave Indian gentleman, hugely influential in the fields of real time data linking and also a key member of the council of professional standards, and a regulator for information commissioners within the G2 network facilitator's union.
"Bahra, good to see you, how is business?"
"Absolutely frantic, the Howard Marcus Quango has dictated that all phase 2 directives be commisioned by the end of October this year. My team is phasing the data into full connectivity and updating our hardware to be compliant to the society's guidelines for electronic phase three linking. Adhering to the new Mack-Williamson procedures has revolutionised our ways of thinking, but it has been stressful, very stressful. We are now ready for the G2 mainframe to go live within the next fortnight. It's an exciting opportunity and I expect a significant upturn in Tec3 throughputs that typically would have been run through an ordinary PC1 processing team."
JG wished he could give enough of a shit about that side of things to actually understand a single word. Truth was, the missed skill on the unchipped Barcrest, the subsequent play up, the angry landlord, still playing on his mind. It was an interesting situation. Bahra could read the disinterest in JG's eyes, but he was a smooth operator. Rather than be confrontational, he had subtle ways of delivering killer digs. Like a lamb to the slaughter]