Vada this, palone. It’s the bona screech through the drag tonight, full of charpering omi-polones and flash gaffers all codging a bevvy. The clobber’s all sparkle, gleet all gleam, and the air’s thick with jarry vibes and a smidge of sharpy zhoosh. One basket hovers near the bona bijou, eyes codding the dolly dishes through the lattie. He clocks an omi-polone giving the eek a nancy flash, but the cove's all nash, keeps it on the dossy.

Round the back, a nante navvy vadas a riah job going squiffy, leering for a fawney on a zhush. But oof, no score. A bevvy later, the luppers clock a real fantabulosa scamp with the riah done proper and a campy nishter. She’s all on her lallies, chewing the fat with a trade lot as they rort about the old dilly-dally and the times gone by. “Nah, bona to vada how the luck runs,” she tells 'em, with a bona squint and a prinky laff.

Somehow, a cod cove down the lane gets his lattie laced up with a zingari mank as a screech rings out. One omi-palone snorts, does a quick lily-flash, “Lay it down, we’ll vada it another gaff.” So it’s left to the darkling night and off they jarry, screeching back to the dolly blend, where the bevvy’s still on for a palaver or a bit of trade spotting.

Round the gaff, there’s cods galore, screeching away and lallygagging, keeping the trade strong in the vibes and the zhoosh all bona. And with that, the clobber clears, one palone out after another, with a final cackle ringing through the scene.