So, outside it's your typical Bulgoslavian Indian Summer - miserably cold, horizontal rain, and howling wind.
Inside is a snug little bar, filled with candles, cheap chocolate santas, and only one rent boy. "Hey," yells the author of Hungary's leading book on churches, "you work in Wales, eh? Ever been to Aberystwyth? Most godforsaken place on earth..."
The door bangs open and two people run in, while several others leap up from the table, frantically wedging the door shut before more rain pours in.
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