Spotted by spies while we were out on patrol, me driving and the boss in the turret, a sign to make your blood run cold.
Out of necessity we had to get to the rendezvous to check out how serious it really was, going through the door expecting to see bodies everywhere and much biblical wailing and gnashing of teeth. Inside all was peaceful, happy customers quietly supping their beer.
It wasn't Armageddon, the brewery hadn't been struck down by the water 'shortage' it was just a shrewd marketing ploy by the publican.
Just in case, and in the political spirit born of advice from Westminster on how to handle the petrol 'crisis', we ordered four crates of Double Swan, four buckets of mild and twenty jerry cans of best bitter. Oh and two pints for now please landlord, and four dozen bottles of pale ale.
That should see us through the weekend.
It's a Bank Holiday? We'd better go back and top up our reserves in the garage, just in case.
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