The sex-starved bodhran player (is there any other kind?) wanders back in. "Where's that fine-figured wench?" he cries. Liz hits him upside the head with a chocolate cricket bat. "Has anyone seen my favorite ewe?" he says. The pretty little sheep sticks her head in the pub door and bites him on...himself. "Did Chip manage to plug the hole in the bluddy blow-up?" he mutters, staggering painfully over to the bar. He pulls his drum out of its case and begins to play along with Kat's quiet little tune. She hits him upside the head with her broom. Feeling somewhat unwanted (not an unfamiliar feeling for a bodhran player), he wanders back outside and settles down for a nap on the compost heap.