And it’s official.
According to someone who knows about these things, when one has a night on the Toon, one should go out or come home with a partner who has two legs. Whether the former or the latter or both seems to depend on the copious consumption of strange beverages of mysterious colours.
Me? My companion had three legs. And I went to bed alone, having drunk a mere two pints of lager.
Which seemed to cause much mirth at the strange things us southerners get up to.
I may be sad but I don’t care
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