It's a tricky business when you see women folk and you're not sure if they're up the duff or have just been well fed recently. I've found that women are aware of this dilemma and if they are actually in the club they will give you a clue by cradling their stomach with the hands.
It is because of this tricky social dilemma I encountered early this morning and others that I am embracing my retirement. I of course will venture out of doors for the Pigeons game in order to add £20 to the prize pool and bust out early doors and when I really need a sammich or some crisps, but elsewise from now on I will live the secretive lifestyle of a mystery Howard Hughes type recluse.
People will set up websites for documenting reported sightings of me. Like Elvis only more focused around places that sell breaded goods. People will post about seeing a blurry silk robed figure ordering meatballs and miss-hearing things despite the aid of an antique ear trumpet.
It is my destiny.
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