The last beer…

That last beer…
It’s late. I’m having a good time watching The Actionettes at the excellent, ‘How Does It Feel To Be Loved” club night in Brixton.

I’m about as drunk as I can get without getting really wobbly. Years of hard-earned hangover experience tells that wolfing down another pint will only make me feel extra-super shitty in the morning.

If I stop drinking now I probably won’t feel so bad next day – and I’ve got lots of things to do. I need a clear head.

So, what do I do?

“Another pint of Stella please, landlord”

So, today I find myself in the Photographer’s Gallery with a very sore head.

I feel rubbish, but my mood is considerably lifted reading about Robert Kilroy Silk – the smug, patronising, ego bloated UKIP arse – getting a bucketful of farm slurry slopped over his head by a protester.

Rarely has farm waste found a more appropriate resting place.

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