'Andy's dad is captain of Dimwell, Gobbo.'
'Pleased to meet you, sir,' said Nutt, extending a hand.
'Ooo, pleased to meet you, sir,' Andy mimicked, and Trev grimaced as a calloused hand the size of a plate grasped Nutt's cheese-straw fingers.
'He's got hands like a girl,' Andy observed, taking a grip.
'Mister Trev has been telling me wonderful things about the Dimmers, sir,' said Nutt. Andy grunted. Trev saw his knuckles whiten with effort while Nutt chattered. 'The camaraderie of the sport must be a wonderful thing.'
'Yeah, right,' Andy grunted, finally managing to pull his hand away, his face full of angry puzzlement.
'And this is my mate, Maxie,' said Trev quickly, 'and this is Carter the Farter - '
'It's Fartmeister now,' said Carter.
'Yeah, right. And this is Jumbo. You want to watch out for him. He's a thief. Jumbo can pick a lock faster than you can pick your nose.'
The said Jumbo held up a small bronze badge. 'Guild, of course,' he said. 'They nail your ears to the door else.'
'You mean you break the law for a living?' said Nutt, horrified.
'Ain't you ever heard of the Thieves' Guild?' said Andy.
'Gobbo's new,' said Trev protectively. 'Hasn't got out much. He's a goblin, from the high country.'
'Coming down here, taking our jobs, yeah?' said Carter.
'Like, how often do you do a hand's turn?' said Trev.
'Well, I might want to one day.'
'Milking the cows when they come home?' said Andy. This got another laugh, on cue. And that was the introductions sorted out, to Nutt's surprise. He'd been expecting chicken theft to be mentioned. Instead, Carter pulled a couple of tin cans out of a pocket and tossed them to Nutt and Trev.
'Did a few hours' unloading down the docks, didn't I?' he said defensively, as though a bit of casual labour was some kind of offence. 'This come off a boat from Fourecks.'
Jumbo fished in his pocket again and pulled out someone else's watch.
'Game on in five minutes,' he declared. 'Let's shove... er, if that's all right with you, Andy?'
Andy nodded. Jumbo looked relieved. It was always important that things were all right with Andy. And Andy was still watching Nutt as a cat watches an unexpectedly cheeky mouse, while massaging his hand.
Mr Ottomy cleared his throat, causing his red Adam's apple to bob up and down like an indecisive sunset. Shouting in public, yes, he liked that, he was good at that. Speaking in public, now, that was a different kettle of humiliation.
'Well, er, gents, what we will have here is your actual football, what is basically about the Shove, which is what you gentlemen will be doing soon - '
'I thought we watched two groups of players vie with one another to get the ball in the opponents' goal?'
'Could be, sir, could very much be,' the bledlow conceded, 'but in the streets, see, your actual supporters on both sides try and endeavour to shorten the length of the field, as it were, depending on the flow of play, so to speak.'
'Like living walls, d'y'mean?' said Ridcully.
'That style of thing, sir, yes, sir,' said Ottomy loyally.
'What about the goals?'
'Oh, they're allowed to move the goals, too.'
'Sorry?' said Ponder. 'The spectators can move the goals?'