Let me address the recent short term memory loss that Uncle Bitters has conveniently suffered in his past months bender.
Firstly ,having met our unrepentant and irrepressible squire at a certain mens establishment in town for elevenses in the lobby, things were going well until I was hit up for the "Homeless naughty teenage girls fund" which at the time seemed a worthy cause.More of that later.
In the lifts i began to regret my decision to meet the recalcitrant one ,as ever,when i noticed similar country types in the lift displaying the uncouth coarseness we expect of unsophisticated hayseeds in the big smoke.Not to be outdone in the bad manners and non-existent grooming stakes,The Squire decided to release enough methane to power a small town as the lift took us to the banquet room.
After creating a scene and having our seats moved next to the bar,the squire,unhappy as ever with the vino,insisted on an upgrade of red,which our friendly barman agreed to,and pulled out the best Lindemans.
We plonked our way through inedible food and nonsensical speeches and were asked to leave the banquet room as the Romsey squire was approaching the bargirls with offers of short term farm work,the kind mostly done on stud farms.
As I managed to persuade the truculent host to adjourn to a more private area ,i recall Moonie pulling himself out of a demonstration that had gathered on Collins st to help me carry the Country Member back to his train stop.
It was a day that did little for my social standing,and even less for charity.