"That would be lovely," Aziraphale said brightly, "although I don't know that I was ever one for bars, before." This sort of language was, he felt, ambiguous enough that if he were caught in it he could say he was talking about the time before the Disaster. John Gates appeared to have been something of a recluse as well, funnily enough.

"I don't suppose you have anything along the lines of a Châteauneuf-du-Pape," he continued, before quickly correcting, "or a dry red, I suppose there's not really such a thing as the Rhône here. I dreamt all that wine!" he muttered under his breath, tapping his lip.