The Gnome in the corner, who everyone assumed was a garden ornament because it had not moved since last December, opened one bleary eye.

"Whut? Christmas again? Yule be telling me I have been asleep for a year next."

The assembled company groan at the pun as detritus, dried spiders and even the odd live sparrow are brushed from the bright waistcoat and beer stained beard. Or should that be beered? With no apparent movement whatsoever the Gnome is now seated on a tall bar stool.

"How the..." begins the old lady but is interrupted by the sounds of creaking leather and keys jangling as the Gnome opens his wallet.

"Pint of Turbot's Really Odd" demands the Gnome. "Or failing that, anything that does not contain anti-freeze. Well, at a pinch. Maybe..."

The barman blows the dust from a battered pewter vessel that could be a pint pot but looks suspiciously bigger on the inside.

"Your usual tankard, sir? Although, I have never quite figured out how 6 pints in this can empty a 36 gallon barrel..."

The Gnome smiles, well, gnomically .