Hat: I reckon they're from a fox. I reckon it got summink to eat out the bin and then took a dump.
Stick: Yeah. Markin' it's Terry Tory, weren't it? Where it had got its food from.
Me (I'm a teacher; I cannot allow ignorance to go unthwarted): Excuse me, those are not fox spraints, those are kalamata olives.
Stick: Bloody 'ell! They're them fings you take off the toppa pizzas.
Hat: (to me, disapproving, now doubt, of my filfthy dago eating habits) Unt you clever, love? We must look a right pair of charlies. Olives. Bloody muck.
I haven't forgotten. I have FIVES to write about for a couple of you.