"Hey, it's not me that needs convincing...", Ron replies, waving a ladle in what should probably look like an apologetic gesture, but only serves to make him look like he's conducting a symphony of soup. "Besides, with a face like that, who'll see the difference anyway?", he continues and proceeds to laugh slightly too merrily at his own joke, as if deep down he's scared you'll take offense and reposition his nose.
At that point, Barbara storms in out of the pantry, clearly distressed. "A rat!", she shrieks, upon which Ron grabs her by the upper arm with his free hand and brings the other with the ladle still in it to his face, laying a finger over his closed mouth and hissing emphatically as several big dollops of his carrot chowder soar through the kitchen in a gentle arc. "Shut yer trap, ye wee dunce!", he snaps at her, and then, softening a little, "Thanks for telling us, but Big Terry - the tattooist a couple of doors down Allenby Road - has no business knowing that. Scoot, we'll take care of it." He looks at both Hugo and Josie, indicating that 'we' in fact means 'either of you two'.