So, yesterday I got told by Little Johnny Russells (Portsmouth pub)'s barlady that on Saturday night, I done a Steve McQueen. I ran riot around the kitchens and offices while the manager, bouncers and staff tried chasing me out. I ignored the world and continued to flop around the restricted areas like a tragic salmon.
I envisage a big scared baby running around a spastic maze with car horns soundtracking the weird, Dadaist circus race.
In reality, it was just me falling on some pretty girls and smelling proper ripe.
..............I also threatened my housemate and his girlfriend and woke up cradling a cricket bat.
My cranium slid off and my mind fell down the stairs. Oy vey.