After we left the festival we went to Bury to drink some more. Two pubs later, I left slightly the worse for wear, for the 163 bus and home. Tyson was last seen striding to the Metrolink for a tram into town and a pub opening. He is made of much sterner stuff. I fell asleep on the bus, waking with a start in the middle of nowhere. I didn't recognise a thing, so in my befuddled state jumped off at the next stop, only to discover I was on a dodgy council estate and on the right bus route after all, but nearly three miles from home. The buses are one an hour, so I walked. Despite it being bandit country I didn't see a soul.
You have to be on blob when drinking with the Beer Hound. Clearly I wasn't man enough for the task.
11 comments:
Ah, its WAKING. That's not what it said the first time I read it.
That's what it said from the time I wrote it.
I don't walk on the bus if that's what you're implying.
Don't you have a taxi firm's number in your phone? You should have fastblacked it.
Fastblacked it? Is that some kind of Londonism?
I'm no blob and I bet I could hang with him. I've got some pretty impressive man meat, coming in at 17.2 stone. Plus, I'm use to drinking strong, hoppy ales. I'm built like a cross between Charles Bronson and Oliver Reed.
It's just a self effacing Brit thing Sausage. Not to be taken literally.
And keep your man meat in your trousers! (-;
Good to see you and glad I could help you with your walking fitness regime.
Yes - I got my miles in after all.
Tandleman, I picked up the term from Irvine Welsh's novels, so no, it isn't a "Londonism". In fact, it's from Scotland!
No, it's from a man born in Scotland. Just because a cat is born in an oven, doesn't make it a cake.
It's hardly a Scottish expression or even one anyone is likely to have heard of.
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