Braggarts corner

It seems that the Doc and Mick are bonding. They visited the Manchester Christmas market today staying much longer than they planned partaking of a liquid lunch: principally, a ‘glaas of Cham’ at ‘firteen paands a pop’ in Selfridges, whilst waiting for Kerry, Docs daughter, to finish her shopping. They did manage to purchase some farmhouse produce but the temptation of a six course meal for 20 quid was impossible to refuse. “I ‘ad dem ‘gargantuan beans in ‘erbs an’ chilli, priceless!, mussels in sawse aoli, pipin’ ‘ot salad wiv feta crumbled awl ova, ‘oney covered smoked gammon, willies pears wiv blueberry drizzle, an’ a nob of the best stilton in the world washed daan wiv a 1963 Quinta du Noval, it was awl buoot!” The planned morning excursion had turned into a day of feasting and drinking, they both had returned grinning posturing brashly boasting about what a good time they’d had in Manchester.

 “Mind you it’s noffink to what I’m goina ‘ave in Antigua”. After a brief sparring contest with Captain Salty as to which was the very best ‘otel on the island, was it the  five star ‘Georgian’ or the ‘Albion’, was it safe in the ‘rasta’ shacks where they smoked ‘puff’, sang Bob Marley numbers, drank rum, danced till dawn an’ shagged each uvva rotton. “Anyway, I got this paass that gets me into any VIP lounge in any airport in the world, I gotta check in at six foa a flight at ten so I can drink as much ‘fizz’ as I wants, get on the plane ‘club claas’, cos I always gets upgraded, ten hours time I’m ‘avin’ mi first ‘mojita’ in the ‘otel wiv mi mates. The followin’ day I normally as a foa hour breakfast on the beach, followed by some drinks an’ that’s when I ‘as mi first bird. By seven at night I’ve probably ‘ad abawt free oa foa. That’s my week awl planned out!” claimed modest Mick, a lot.

It seems that Mick has a brother, called Keef (the original 'Mick an' Keef') who runs a camping shop in Newquay? A friend who has lived there for years volunteered this strange ‘parallel’ after a recent visit to his shop. He needed a bottle of gas for his camper van as he was travelling to Woburn Abbey that weekend. “Wot you goin’ there foa?” inquired Keef. “It’s Jan’s birthday and I am taking her, as a surprise, to a ‘Tina Turner’ concert in the grounds of the hall” Neil replied. “Tina Turner, Tina fackin’ Turna” responded Keef, who had obviously a significant tale up his sleeve. “I ‘appened to be in Paris laast weekend wiv mi mate. Knowin’ Paris like the back of ‘is ‘and an’ awlso bein’ well connected ‘ee suggested that we went to this Bistro that was located in the back streets of Montmartre. Underneef a Patisserie was this dimly lit smoall restaurant wiv abawt twelve oa firteen tables. As we settled in, oo should be on the next table but Tina Turner, Tina fackin’ Turna. No soona said than done she gets up from ‘er table simultaneously clickin’ ‘er fingas to a geeza in the cawna who started tinkli’ the ivories. Crossin’ the room towards us she’s beltin’ out ‘simply the best’. As quick as a flash she’s on mi knee strokin’ mi hair. It weren’t long befoa she’d wipped out mi cock blowin’ mi like a bugle; Tina fackin’ Turna unfackinbelievable!” Bugger me, Tinafuckin’Turna, Neil nodded, smiled acknowledging the romance, then he walked out with his gas bottle