The quaffing not being the easiest thing for people with any sense of self respect – involving most of the liquid flowing down either side of the mouth and into your shorts in one long quaff till empty. Followed by a brutish crunching of can (throwing of glass bottles at walls is not cool,,, ever,,, except maybe at Sandi as we could blame her fella), the expelling a lungful of quaff, commonly known by the workers as belching, a vigorous scratching of ‘nads and passing comment about a particular player that indicates some form of background knowledge – it’s this last little bit that is the undoing of Midnight everytime. He makes the comment… and then feels a need to embelish on it….

He scans the newspapers on the day of the big game and gets just enough right to come across as being clueless but by-grods the boy can quaff. And he’s my mate.

Yes, I think we’ve all spent a little time in that city! In fact, I’ve probably responsible for some Orcish behaviour of my own, during one of those male rituals where you eat deep-fried things while watching ‘the game’ on a big screen television.

Good times, even if I don’t really understand sports at all.

Murray @ Midnight

Hmmm… I think I have been to this city.