I couldn't do the late night Nightclub jaunt to Newcastle. I had something else on. The bos had to do the job. Therefore I was not the flavour of the month.
Even less so when one of the girls walked down to the front of the bus and announced:
"Will you turn the heating down, love? I'm sweating me tits off back here."
On arrival in clubland, she gave the boss two huge smackers and disappeared into a crowd of clubbers.
My dispensation is brief, however. I am out this coming Saturday, with a party to the same place. Their estimated return home time is 3 am. That will mean 4 or 5. So it is a case of an uncomfortable night on the back seat of the bus with a sleeping bag and a flask of coffee.
But I guess it could be worse. It is a roof over your head.
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