So Murph has been trying to elbow the Captain out of his local golf club because he's been wanting a bigger cut of the illicit market in white jeans that Murph has going among the racist Berkshire golf set. The Captain (let's call him Big Vern) has asked for 30 long to keen shtum, but Murph don't wanna pony up the gelt, and was all set to whack Big Vern down by the water hazard on the 14th. His Stoke Green muscle got antsy and disappeared with the shooter, leaving Murph to get down the masons and hook his dodgy lawyer out of a black mass to sign a contract with Big Vern in return for his perpetual silence. Unfortunately, Murph's a talker, and has been spraying his fat gob off down the YNWA, playing at being Billy Big b****x. Murph is now sleeping with a rescue club by his bed for when Big Vern finds out his reputations gone dahn the khazi for having been cut out, and promises to have Murph eating his Sunday dinner through a straw. Little does he know Murph's been doing that for the last ten years. YOU SLAAAAG.