Refreshed by a fell cold ales, YT wanders over to the tree, scratches the two cats behind their respective ears, and pulls a pile of clip-on koalas and kangaroos out of his pockets with which he proceeds to adorn the tree.

Jeez, seems like everywhere I go they give me one of thiese things. It's like "You poor bloody pom, have a clip-on koala". I'm not one to complain but I'd rather have a beer.

As Mario reenters the bar from the southern hemisphere door, a loud hammering is heard and the door flies open to reveal a sunburnt and bewhiskered Morris dancing side, who charge into the bar with unearthly whoops at the sight of beer, women and (in one case) sheep. In no time the young nubile exotic dancer has been tied to a post with handkerchiefs and a fertility dance commences around her - not as though she looks as if she needs one. Others have hijacked the inflatable sheep and are playfully batting it around the roof with Morris sticks, while the rest are lining the bar.