My God Liz - and you wunder why I don't type "Flock".

Back to the main story -

The Brains SA settles well, the barrels are tapped, the Bitter Ale draws bright and clear.

"Careful Lad's, we have only 576 pints of this !"

Glasses are passed, and passed again, parched throats are soothed, some of the less practiced big lads are looking for the little boys room.

No problem, an empty Budwieser Bottle is passed in thier direction. The twisted legs unfold to a big sigh of Ahhhhhh!

The South door opens, a gentleman with Corks on his 'at strids in.

"Gee Sheila!",he shouts to the nearest Mudfemale, "I am parched rounding up them sheep."

The mudfemale ignores him.

The Aberflyhalf RFC Drinking team exchange glances, brimming Budweiser bottles are passed to him.

"'Er you is Butty, try this Lager"

The antipodean swallows three bottles fast - Then he starts singing "'Hymns and Aria's', 'Land of My Fathers', and 'Arry's got an 'Orse' "

(Copyright M Boyce)

His heeler gives a worried, doggy, look. And mentaly revues the consequences to the Canine species in a "Pub with no beer". Doggy Discretion serves, and the dog disapears to the veranda outside the Southern Door. No even the smell of MMarios cooking can detain it. Sides which there are two many Moggies present.

Gareth