The door which previously led to Hull9 swings open, and it is apparent that the hyperspace link has realigned itself. Visible now is the Cutty Sark complete with a crowd of maritime heritage lovers who are lamenting over it's state. Two suited gentleman walk in, each carrying a briefcase and large clipboard. "This doesn't look like the inside of "The Cricketers", says one. "No it must be some other pub", says the other, "Still the Cricketers has got a PEL now - what about this place".

The two of them walk over to the bar where they enquire the name of the establishment. "Mudcat Tavern ?" queries one them, searching through a little black book, "No they don't have a PEL". MMario tries to diffuse the situation by offering them a plate of hot auroch, they both smell it suspiciously and one of them produces a plastic bag into which puts a sample, "Wait till the Health and Hygene boys analyse that he says". The other man from the council has noticed the bearmat demon which is growling menacingly from under a table, "They've even got vermin running around - tch-tch-tcch". "Yes agrees the other, "But look at all this live performance without a PEL - Greenwich council will make a packet out of this".

Dead Horse pushes to the front "What entertainment ?" he asks. "God, they've even got female impersonators" says the first inspector, "And Sheep", says the other, "Perhaps we should pull in the RSPCA - that sheep looks copmpletely shagged".