My reputation in the clean-living, well-managed kitchen of high repute, is besmirched. It appears that although I've been ducking and diving in this bar, often in disguise, my cover has been blown. The snug was meant to be the quieter, more lady-like annex - BUT - the rabble in there is a force to be reckoned with. I smell "weed". In spite of liberal sprays of Californian Poppy and that stuff you squirt around pongy places, I fear that the rozzers will get a whiff as they pass the open window, put their heads around the door and then what! I've come over all woozy.