Nice alliteration.
Now where exactly were the sausages? Were they on your lap? Could you see your genitals through the bottom of the container? :-(
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The details escape me now; sucking away at a bottle of Bells tends to have that effect.
It was a family-sized box of sausages, though. There were hundreds of the búggers. I remember wishing I'd thought to get some mustard.
I often eat naked. Actually, during the recent hot spell I have spent the majority of my weekends naked, dressing only when required to leave the premises, which doesn't happen often.
I first realised that Ian Harvey (bless his memory) was a loathsome creature when he declined to give me the methamphetamines he had been prescribed, choosing to bin them instead.
What kind of friend denies his comrades unwanted prescription drugs?
With a box of cocktail sausages resting on a certain area, Sir C may well have pioneered the "Where's Wally?" trend
:sigh: We must have had this discussion a thousand times. I'll happily indulge in the finest of single malts if I'm looking for a sippin' whisky time, but when I need to get to where I need to me, hit me up with the Bells, the Grants, the Grouse, whatever. Shít, if I'm chugging that mess down, I'll happily swill Tesco Value scotch.