talkmagic.co.uk

Lady of Mystery wrote:You lot are all wet blankets, going out having a few drinks and a dance is great fun.

Marvo Marky wrote:Well there seems to be a pattern building up here.
I am beginning to hate clubs. Allow me to illustrate why.

Newcastle, where I live, has a reputation for being a 'party city'. This is not the case.
This is what they tell people so that the other cities can avoid the gangs of hen- and stag parties that maraud through the town on a weekend.

The most memorable part of a night out in Newcastle undoubtedly the spectacle of the citizens themselves.
There are several of those ‘last chance saloon’ places that ageing corned beef monsters go to exchange whatever body fluids they have left.
It is not recommended for a smart young gentleman to enter one of these places in Newcastle without adequate means for his safe escape.

You see in Newcastle, age is inversely proportional to shame, and in these places normal social niceties such as ‘talking to one another’ tend to go out the window. I suppose the clientele have little time to waste.

I remember one visit to such a place, and as I recall the bouncer had tried to stop me going in.
I had barely set foot inside before I was set upon. As my life flashed before me, my mind settled on an old but pleasant memory of the nice old woman that was our local lollipop lady. Perhaps I was seven or eight. Grey haired, I would see her every day as I walked up the road to my infant school. She was gentle and kind and often used to buy me 10 pence mix ups if I’d been good.

But now she was ancient and fat and real and in front of me and shrink-wrapped. And well up for it. I didn’t know what to do. She knew though, and had already swung one of those horrid, fluid filled bags she called legs around mine and was shimmying. Very closely. So close it turned out, that the end of my ****, like an intrepid finger, could feel all of the fatty, hill-like undulations in her leg as she went up and down. She leant over to my ear and said “Eeh, eh? I’m old enough to be your grandmother”. Then, after a pause long enough for comedy effect, added “But I’m not your grandmother, am I?”

I now know what a meat pasty feels like after it has been tossed into a piranha tank. A very cold one, a one that makes your ***** want to shrink up to hide in your body.

Perhaps the bouncer was genuinely thinking of me.

My point? Nice, local, friendly pub every time.

Mark.

EDIT: Actually, Let's put it to the vote and see for sure who is right. I've put a poll above this thread.

SidoonMan wrote:Dragged into "Greys Club" Marvo??

Lady of Mystery wrote:he'd been in the pub watching the rugby since lunch time he managed to fall asleep in the corner

monker59 wrote:Okay, that might mean he's getting old.

Lady of Mystery wrote:You lot are all wet blankets, going out having a few drinks and a dance is great fun.