Raw shark?

Kronenbourg. Should have been the name of a prisoner of war camp where the inmates feigned madness by brewing, and drinking, a mix of diesel oil, air freshener and turps.
Trouble is, it tastes too good, for what it is, and it shouldn’t. Like Pineapple petrol, Peach napalm or battery acid and black, you shouldn’t be drinking it. No, no, no, no, NO!

So I did.

On the way to the second pub, I did a “Professionals” style jump, roll and up into shooting position and shot Dave. In the arm. Jarred my bad hand badly, and didn’t get much sleep at all. Could have been the heat. Or, the sign of a definitely pissed person, the Southern Fried Chicken from the chippy by the bus stop. MMmmm! Chicken fat sump pit mouth, deeelishh!

Am posting this as an attempt to a) get brain man working, b) prove I am legally awake and c) concentrate on something other than washing machine stomach.

I will be online again later, if only to order an ambulance.