Ho, I was queuing at the bust stop at ten to seven waiting for Sarumite to arrive with the remains of the Shrubbery omnibus when after half an hour and not even a glimmer of camel train had passed I snuck down to the local public bar for a quick couple of pints of Guinness with tots of port tipped in - an excellent A1 route to instant amnesia. So much to my chagrin on my return I find not only have I missed the 'bus but the laydees of the night are now tucking into mulled wine whilst using their emery boards to sharpen their talons. Did they send out an invitation to tonights do, did they state a time and a place? Not a bl**ding chance, they want the whole so**ing plantation to themselves.
So, pitifully weak and pathetic as I am (once bitten, twice shy) I shall have to linger in the undergrowth until such time as one of my braver male friends pitches up so we can venture forth together to guard each other against the predatory nature of the Ladies of the Laburnums.
Hip flasks at the ready, camouflage garb and Kevlar on, I await my reinforcements before joining in the hoolie that constitutes a quiet Saturday night in the Shrubbery - (which does sound a little like the "Priory" without the restrictions!).
Keep gluggin' gals.........we're coming....brace yourselves Sheilas.
Slainte
Strix
p.s. Crofter - Ozzie Orchids, pan fried with a little garlic may not be a double decker but are probably more than mere "frivolit�s"!