could you imagine a WORSE night out?

[supaseagull]

what about an evening with Leon Knight, trying to convince bouncers outside of pubs that he IS old enough to get in!

 

[Bluejuice]

Richard Herring is appearing tonight at the Ropetackle Centre in Shoreham in case anyone is interested.

His current show: menage a un, is very good. I'd recommend it

 

[Robot Chicken]

His current show: menage a un, is very good. I'd recommend it

Cool. I'll be going then. Incidentally, Jeremy Hardy is appearing at the Marquee on Beach Green next week too.

 

[Meade's Ball]

Having a discussion about something with Quincy. You think you know the answer, you've read about it in a number of newspapers, considered it yourself and even went to the cinema to see a special docu-drama about it. Such a huge subject, but one you've studied and feel like you've mastered over the past 6 months. You tell friends, even though you probably only have about 4 actual ones, that you are looking for the funding needed to do a doctorate and a series of thesises on the matter, that maybe, just maybe, you'll come up with an idea that heralds an answer for scientists and large political figures to converse over and suggest a few changes to certain country's overwhelmingly handicapped systems. The world could be a better place.
Now, one of your four friends is Quincy. He's busy a lot of time analysing the data his Chinese servant, Sam, produces over murders in the community Quincy holds the over-sized golden key to. Sam's a good guy, but works about 20 hours a day under the old racist's command, and knows his failure to finish reports as his boss wishes means an actual slice to his achilles heel. Quincy had watched Pet Semetary and took an idea of punishment and order from there.
Anyway, you meet with Quincy one evening in his favourite hang-out, Delmercurios, a swish venue filled with lonely men and mostly-naked dames of differing ages and opiate glances, the majority united by addictions and bruised sexual satisfaction. And you tell your friend, in one of the bar's quieter moments, of what you plan to do and some of the background to the teachings you've received, both spiritually and ethically, and how it might even aid his profession: the world's most fascinating sphere of police work. Yes, Quincy listens whilst supping on his pint-high alco-smoothy, with halved cherries floating on the surface like severed faces of the recently-broiled, but he has just one reply:
"You're a f***ing leper-faced wrong un." His drink's finished as his comments are, a burp each's fullstop, he stands from the table, whispers in the ear of one of the establishment's bouncers and leaves. They walk over, their faces grinning with the burning pleasure they're about to administer, and all you can do is sit, hide the tears their intent propels in your viaducts, and calculate some dialogue that escapes you from this surefire battering. Quincy's staring through window, wiping some of the dust from his roasted nut snacks out of the V in his alien sweater, a baffled, but smirksome 'lady' on each arm, waiting for the morning when he can talk in the way he pleases to Sam about how he'll never quite make it.

 

[Lady Bracknell]

An evening in The Lamb.

 

[Tom Hark Preston Park]

Having a discussion about something with Quincy. You think you know the answer, you've read about it in a number of newspapers, considered it yourself and even went to the cinema to see a special docu-drama about it. Such a huge subject, but one you've studied and feel like you've mastered over the past 6 months. You tell friends, even though you probably only have about 4 actual ones, that you are looking for the funding needed to do a doctorate and a series of thesises on the matter, that maybe, just maybe, you'll come up with an idea that heralds an answer for scientists and large political figures to converse over and suggest a few changes to certain country's overwhelmingly handicapped systems. The world could be a better place.
Now, one of your four friends is Quincy. He's busy a lot of time analysing the data his Chinese servant, Sam, produces over murders in the community Quincy holds the over-sized golden key to. Sam's a good guy, but works about 20 hours a day under the old racist's command, and knows his failure to finish reports as his boss wishes means an actual slice to his achilles heel. Quincy had watched Pet Semetary and took an idea of punishment and order from there.
Anyway, you meet with Quincy one evening in his favourite hang-out, Delmercurios, a swish venue filled with lonely men and mostly-naked dames of differing ages and opiate glances, the majority united by addictions and bruised sexual satisfaction. And you tell your friend, in one of the bar's quieter moments, of what you plan to do and some of the background to the teachings you've received, both spiritually and ethically, and how it might even aid his profession: the world's most fascinating sphere of police work. Yes, Quincy listens whilst supping on his pint-high alco-smoothy, with halved cherries floating on the surface like severed faces of the recently-broiled, but he has just one reply:
"You're a f***ing leper-faced wrong un." His drink's finished as his comments are, a burp each's fullstop, he stands from the table, whispers in the ear of one of the establishment's bouncers and leaves. They walk over, their faces grinning with the burning pleasure they're about to administer, and all you can do is sit, hide the tears their intent propels in your viaducts, and calculate some dialogue that escapes you from this surefire battering. Quincy's staring through window, wiping some of the dust from his roasted nut snacks out of the V in his alien sweater, a baffled, but smirksome 'lady' on each arm, waiting for the morning when he can talk in the way he pleases to Sam about how he'll never quite make it.

What he said

 

[Braders]

An evening with Pete Doherty and Marilyn Manson.

see throw Ozzy Osbourne in there (from his younger days) and that sounds like a WICKED night out

 

[Tom Hark Preston Park]

First home game of the season, McGhee as manager, team playing the thoroughly-discredited 4-5-1 formation.

Don't get much worse than that.

 

[supaseagull]

First home game of the season, McGhee as manager, team playing the thoroughly-discredited 4-5-1 formation.

Don't get much worse than that.

Oh no...you know the usual suspects are going to go on about how life was better under mcghee, that they miss him terribly and want to have his children...you're really gonna open up the flood gates!

 

[Cian]

An evening in Ballymena, being forced to wear an Ireland/Celtic/GAA shirt outside the Kneebreakers, but that only just shades it.

 

[Shizuoka Dolphin]

He once threw a puppy into a crowd during a concert, and told his fans or (Weirdos) to kill it or he won't sing.

Urban MYTH. Don't believe everything you hear.

 

[seagully]

An evening in Coventry taking a stroll up Far Gosford street

Hahaha how true! Surely you can't fault it now they've 'revamped' it though?! looks bloody fantastic!

 

[Parson Henry]

An evening in the Glaziers.

Was at Crystals last Thursday as it happens!!