Grand. My better half says she wouldn't have you again anyway, after the disappointment with the loofah.
Bind the Sheffield possie to you with chains of iron on Friday night so they're obliged to clank after you all the way back up to civilisation on the Saturday. And bring their women too. Especially Dyl's.
I might bring my second best woman if she's around these parts at the time. Ricard00, get your tongue back in your head.
But you are more than welcome to a night of stolen delight with either Ginger, Sweaty, Hiss or Evel. Or indeed a sofa. Your worldly goods will be forfeit, however.
I'll soon show her the error of her ways. Probably by being too shy to talk to her. That'll show her.
It's always worked for you in the past. The number of times she's confided in me that if only the florid one in the corner had so much as looked at her, she'd have squeezed the last drop of juice out of him with any muscle he elected...
Draught Bass is good beer. Bottled is not such good news, though they do a fine, pokey barley wine. I used to drink three bottles in a pint glass as a prelude to a Friday night out. Needless to say I can remember very little of them, other than I used to regularly wake up in the gutter covered in vomit.