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Well, happy birthday, sir. You look remarkably well-preserved for 53. To what do you attribute this longevity? I’d buy you a round if it were possible.
Your subcrawl would require 15 drinks. That would put me flat on my back for days. Even 10 might do it. You’re wrong about the not-caring part. Pretty presumptive of you.
Racist but probably fairly accurate.
Continue with the therapy. It’s the only way out.
Thank you! I attribute my good health to decades of heavy drinking and pursuing every type of self-abuse available to me.
I’d like to have another bash at the Subcrawl. Ten is a fair attempt, but walking around with a gallon of ale and two whiskies inside me was getting to me by the end.
Many subcrawlers miss out stops, which I don’t think is right. The version they published in the Guardian about it a few years ago for example only covered nine, because in an almost laughably stereotypical Guardian style, their delicate correspondent didn’t fancy wandering around certain parts of south Glasgow.
There’s some really attractive and interesting women on that site, but rarely are my messages answered.
Feckin’ ell that was a fine expose on the finer (and not so finer) Skattish subway pubs, it’s the kind of thing i like to do meself, wander into places to have a look about even though i’m not much in the business of frequenting the pubs anymore mainly because here in America everyone is to busy staring at the telly or more often than not, their phone, the art of conversing with strangers is slowly being lost…
and i hate that fucking question, What do you do? out in the lily-white it’s one of the first things asked right after your name, “so what do you do?” my reply, incorrect grammar included, “i just is…” i don’t elaborate or give any more clues i just stand there smiling and look at the dumbfounded stare and bask in the uncomfortable air created by my answer, if really pressed i’ll cite Jean-Jacques Rousseau and mumble something about the Noble Savage or Brilliant Brat, usually in broken French with Monty Pythonesque ridiculous accent included…
and i swear there was a line somewhere about the undressing and lusty thoughts of strange women passing by, maybe i was just stoned or maybe it was a different post but i laughed because i keep a running commentary about all the sexually deviant things i would do to the various housewives, mothers and professional types i see gallivanting through my suburban landscape, it would garner a XXX rating if ever turned into a book(s) on tape… and most likely have me run out of town on the last steam engine…
I’m sure you’d sail through Glasgow and get into even more trouble than I could.
Like most of us I suppose, they like to classify people, and I found that saying that I was from “Lancaster, you know, near Blackpool, (a seaside resort popular with Weegies) in Lancashire” was normally enough to get me the thumbs up in the Coliseum, but the odd one wanting to know about my job in which case I tend to make something up.
and Happy Birthday you Sexy Beast!!!, i forgot in my first long-winded comment… Exile would point to my rampant narcissism for the mistake, lol.
Sexy beast? Where? Oh, right…:) thank you! I had a splendid time in one of my favourite cities in the world (well, you know…of the 2.5 I’ve visited). Thanks kono.
Exile’s blog turned nine in the same week.
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