One day, a dray wagon turned off Whitworth Street and came under the railway bridge. The driver was obviously blissfully unaware how sharp the corner really was. Several crates flew off the wagon and into the road and on the pavement. This was mainly bottled Guinness, many of which were unbroken. The doors to the paper store room suddenly opened and staff swarmed out, a bit like a collection of ants about to devour a carcass. In the twinkling of an eye the broken glass had been swept up, the split beer brushed into the gutters and, as if by magic, all the bottles had disappeared into the machine room. The wagon drive didn’t seem particularly bothered and was probably relieved that the mess had been cleared up without him having to lift a finger. And a good time was had by all…