Too many nights of it, sw. Too many lonely businessman nights in one lifetime will break any man.
Now I send some minion to do that shít.
If it's the place I'm thinking of, it's a modern, trendy joint built on the site of the area where, in the old days, they used to load Monty's sort onto trains. Just to be sure, the quarter is called the Old Slaughterhouse. Local humour, I suppose. My in-laws live not far away
:-|
I used to hate it personally.
12 weeks I lived in the Thistle Hotel on Central Street, like a more upmarket Irish Alan Partridge.
“Fúck me, must be great to live in a hotel” my colleagues would say.
Take away kebab maybe then by 9pm sat at the bar again, just me and the barman. On a Tuesday. Beezer.