Roaming Ned Loonbucket stumbled into the Keg 'n' Cork and rested the battered guitar case against the bar. He looked like the definitive travellin' folksingin' guy, but anyone unfortunate enough to hear him grunt his way into a song wouldn't stay around long enough to hear him forget the rest of the words and collapse into a coughing fit. He wandered around the room looking for half-finished and abandoned drinks.

He came upon a book of matches and thought 'Yer, could be useful'. He was ready to slip them into the pocket of the smelly old tweed jacket he wore when he noticed a single word scrawled inside in a child-like hand in pencil.

In the dimness of the bar he couldn't make out what the word was. He could hardly read the instructions on the matches 'tear off a single match and strike against bottom'. Well here goes, he thought, tearing off a match and striking it against his bottom.

By the light of his burning trousers he could just make out the word 'Cosmo'.