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Saw Sludge this morning outside Bridgend's Rhiw shopping centre. He cut a forlorn figure sat on a bench staring blankly into space. His dog, the flea-ridden Throbbing Gristle, looked equally glum. He had predicted a comfortable 4-0 victory for his beloved "the Pool" before yesterday's encounter with Man Utd. "What went wrong?" I asked. "We were robbed by boring Mourinho tactics and a blind ref," he fumed.
He only wears a black armband after defeats but had it on earlier and appeared thoroughly depressed. Usually when attractive women come into view he would shout, "get your tits out" or "show us your minge" from a safe distance but there was none of that today.
I tried to brighten his mood by reminding him that Mamma Mia is on at the Millennium Centre for another four weeks. He remained poker-faced. "And there's plenty of shagging in a Channel 5 film this Friday," I added. That info did bring a flicker of recognition. "Yeah," I continued, "some hefty jugs on some of 'em if I recall correctly."
He turned to face me. With a familiar dirty smirk on his chops he asked for more details. I left him with the mistaken impression that the flick features a bevy of beauties who are so big-titted that they can hardly stand up straight. He left with a noticeable spring in his step.