Bus Routes In Cheshire
500: Widnes to Liverpool
Nobody swears like a Scouser, and for the next half an hour, the girls treat us to an f-word masterclass, with crackling white noise lobbed out whenever they broach a letter ‘k’.
Nobody swears like a Scouser, and for the next half an hour, the girls treat us to an f-word masterclass, with crackling white noise lobbed out whenever they broach a letter ‘k’.
Each member’s socks have crumpled into a heap by their ankles, the elastic presumably giving up somewhere around the fifth pint. Their dancing is just as ragtag, but they’re having a great time while dodging the huffy looks from those who do actually know what they’re doing. Those people are wearing flowery hats, though.
Nobby Stiles’ son taught me science for a term, the highlight of which was when he answered a sincere question on the contrary etymology of blow-jobs without any hint of embarrassment.
Yes, I’d just been mistaken for an Everton fan, and therefore, a scouser. It was one of the worst moments of my life.