Originally Posted by
Organ Morgan.
Just spoke on the blower with an expectant Sludge who, he said, is dressed from head to toe in brand new "top quality Matalan clobber." He reckons today, the last Friday before Christmas Day, is the best day of the year for no-strings "rumpo" as women intoxicated with strong grog "cast aside their inhibitions along with their sweaty knickers."
He's headed for the "booze emporiums" that line Westgate Street. "I go there every year, they are always full of office and shop workers throwing lager, cider and wine down their necks. Many of them rarely drink alcohol; it's wonderful," he gasped.
"Which joint are you going to?" I asked. "Uh?" was his confused reply. "Which one, Gatekeeper, City Arms, Queen's Vaults or one of those trendier places?" I pressed. "I'm not visiting any of them, why would I?" came his exasperated response before adding that the only money he's taking is for his bus fare. After refuting my suggestion he's been puffing fags that have minimal tobacco content, he went on to detail his sordid plan.
"I'll arrive about three to four-ish to walk up and down the street. It's around then, just as it begins to go dark, that they'll start to fall out of the boozers teetering unsteadily on their high heels. That's when I come to their rescue."
"What do you do when you come across those who are worse for wear and can barely stand up?" I enquired. "Well," he cackled, his voice rising with excitement, "I do the gentlemanly thing by ushering them to a place of safety." "And where would that be?" I asked. "The nearest darkened doorway," was his gleeful reply.
What a festive rotter that guy is.
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