Divine hands my arse. If only you could have got your "divine hands" on the Mother's Pride, marge and Dairylea earlier on we wouldn't be in this bloody mess. At least the hall is still just about standing but the place is full of fish and chip wrappers and Swollox left the bog in a terrible state. And Dave didn't tell you, did he, that he dropped his ball bag in the car park and couldn't find all of 'em, so anyone relying on numbers, 2, 18, 34, 67 and 85 didn't have a cat in hell's chance (they must have been curious but at least they didn't suss it. Thick Yorkshire gits). We made a net profit on the bingo of £3 12s 6d but it's all gone on the 84 bin bags we had to buy, along with the bottle of Asda own-brand pine disinfectant for the lav. We've been served a noise nuisance notice by Sheffield Council (bloody tyke jobsworths) and ten old biddies were arrested for affray after they discovered that they all had identical bingo cards. I mean, what TWAT thought it was a great idea to save money by photocopying 'em! I'm going home now, that is if I can get through the crowd of vicious-looking demonstrators outside. Militant atheism my arse. I'm off to join the bloody Mounties.