The moment Giles entered the bar there was a second of silence. All eyes on him, not because of his fame as this wasn't the type of crowd to recognize but due to his chronically skinny figure and the nasty t-shirt that was littered with stains and holes. Realizing that he had failed to remember to change before leaving the room he took a look at his lived in pants and the pair of shoes - that didn't match - he was wearing. Hurrying towards his band mates he was glad when he saw through his 'tint-vision' that they had also failed to look their best. Couple of silent fist bumps later and Giles was seated ready to order.
"Good Mornin' barkeep. I would like some fish and chips. And pour me 'nip and a hauf', please." he ordered prompting a confused expression on the bartender's face
"I'm sorry. I would like a burger with fries. And pour me a pint of Guinness dry stout and two fingers of your top shelf scotch, please." He rephrased his order. "And where are my manners, a round of drinks for the badly dressed metal heads sitting to my left."
Turning to his left and facing his fellow band members, he said. "So which one of you carried me to bed yesterday? or was it day before?"