“One of those damned critique crickets.” “It followed you from the Downs?” “Must’ve hitched a ride. It now lives here. I can’t find it to kill it.” “Face like a bollock,” said the cricket. “Fuck off,” said Mordaunt. “Suck a fart out of my arse,” instructed the cricket. “When I find you,” said Mordaunt, addressing the room at large, “I am going to make you suffer.”
