...The Glass Hoover himself.  Stubby of stature, pukey-green corduroy of jacket, net-obsessed to a fault.  He came lurching in after a long day at t'info-mill, moaning about scripts and HTML and all these people with weird names he'd never met.

One of us (and nobody will admit exactly who it was) sidled up to the Hoover, who was just getting stuck into the creamy collar of his first pint, and recapped for him the round of hitching yarns we'd just shared.  "You know what you should do now?" the Hoover said, his eyes brightening, his tongue deftly licking the creamy mustache off his top lip, "Ye should put these tales on the Web, so everyone can read them."
 

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