Madame and I have been trying to get our bikini bodies back before summer arrives but this weekend we decided to have a cheat day. She brought home a family bucket of KFC chicken wings and I brought home an old girlfriend who I met at my school reunion.
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Coprophagia too. And then people have dogs lick their faces. 
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Good one.
Vindicated. At last someone agrees with me about over-gardening.
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So would we if our tongues could reach our cheeks. 
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About forty years ago, my local was the Colpitts, a grubby pub in Durham City that one or two SFers might know.
The pub’s charm was in great part due to it having many regulars who might be described as ‘characters’. One of these was Kevin, who one summer’s night turned up in an unseasonable dirty mac with a big smile on his face. Instead of his usual pint, he ordered a glass of wine and joined us at our table. After a while we noticed his glass was still full, indeed probably more full than before. So, we asked what was going on, and with a sly smile, he unbuttoned his mac to reveal the 5 litre plastic sac from a wine box. Hidden under his coat, it looked like a giant colostomy bag..
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You went for the poetry !
Actually went for lots of things including the quiz nights. Looking back, I was the only person on our four man team who was never sectioned!
The pub would continue after hours and the evening would end when Irene, the landlady announced that she needed to ‘retire to her virgin couch’, followed by her command, ‘arses now, faces tomorrow’.
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