Earlier on, my old mate Pistolpete walked into the pub and said, "I'll have five bottles of your finest champagne."
"Bloody hell Pete" I said, "What are you splashing out for?"
"I won the jackpot," he smiled. "I got three numbers on the national lottery last night."
"Pete, you have to get six" I said.
"Sure thing" he shouted... "Six bottles of your finest champagne."