In the spring of 2008, my mate Steve and his teammates embarked on a record attempt which would take them to the very limits of human capability. They were going to attempt to break the crown green bowls endurance record.
This is home turf for me; I grew up on Abbey Hey Lane, went to Abbey Hey School, and to complete the set, I even contrived to make sure that my first girlfriend was called Abigail Haye.
Understandably, he said that he “felt physically sick” when he saw the crossbow bolt sticking out of the astroturf, although he’d have doubtless felt worse if fate had sent it a few inches the other way.
A saintly Marcel Marceau, the conductor holds a bus pass to the side of his face and mouths to the more senior contingent that they’ll need one of them to get on for free. The eldest lady pulls out a casino membership card, which doesn’t quite work.
There don’t appear to be any more interchanges in the UK which are named after infectious viral diseases, so we’re cruelly denied a Runcorn Rubella or Malmesbury Manflu. More’s the pity…
As giving Fido a shampoo and trim isn’t too different from Sharon’s monthly cut and blow, I suspect that most dog groomers are former hairdresser who prefer asking dogs about their holidays instead…
Chips shops are in my blood. Cut me open and alongside plasma, platelets and whatnot, you’ll find a load of deep fried comestibles…
They had a cracking time on the hen do until they left the final pub of the crawl, when one of her pals got shot in the head by a pellet gun from a passing car in Middleton…