What can I say, kicked off the festive season with a cross group bender that I have just about recovered from. It started out innocently enough down the George, but with the full Wibsey Clown Posse out on the razz, it was always gonna get messy. The early lowlight involved Glyn, who carried out a strange, and to be honest, quite repulsive Wibsey joke on a poor unsuspecting drunk. It is called a shit 'tache, and involves one of the WCP (Wibsey Clown Posse) rubbing his index finger in his arse crack, and then wiping it under one of his mates noses. And you thought they were strange in Wilsden. It was pretty funny watching the look on the guys face though. We were joined by the Boy Dazzler, Mossy, Shotgun, big JohnnyM and even Tony Helmet showed his face before heading off to the Park pub to hook up with Queso, Gster and the Shoutster. By know things were getting rowdy, Shouty opened his buffoon account for the year, drunkenly trying to get money out of a broken cash machine, that was literally in pieces
. The look of bemusement on his face was memorable The buffoonery wasn't just confined to the Right Honourable though, we were asked to sup up and leave after a pretty dumb indiscretion by my good self. Into Bradford town centre it was, and let me tell you what a shithole it is. Lloyds wasn't to bad, but anybody feeling an urge to go looking for some late drinking in Bradford should reconsider, post haste. It is grim. After throwing down shorts and shapes in Lloyds, we were refused entry to one gaffe, and the one that did let us in, would have done us more of a favour by following the other ones lead. So after about an hour, JohnnyM got bad vibes, and ushered us all out into the freezing cold, where, through booze fuelled shenanigans, we manged to get separated. I ended up leaving the remaining members of the WCP getting down with their bad selves in the Mill, and rolled home at around three a.m., not resurfacing until four p.m., to be met by the shit storm that is a pissed off Elster. Just what you need when you believe you have tumor the size of a watermelon wedged between your ears. So today's been spent trying to get back into the good books for Christmas. This is just my sad little version of events, apparently everyone made it home, and I will fill in the blanks as my memory recovers, if it ever does. Merry Christmas.
. The look of bemusement on his face was memorable The buffoonery wasn't just confined to the Right Honourable though, we were asked to sup up and leave after a pretty dumb indiscretion by my good self. Into Bradford town centre it was, and let me tell you what a shithole it is. Lloyds wasn't to bad, but anybody feeling an urge to go looking for some late drinking in Bradford should reconsider, post haste. It is grim. After throwing down shorts and shapes in Lloyds, we were refused entry to one gaffe, and the one that did let us in, would have done us more of a favour by following the other ones lead. So after about an hour, JohnnyM got bad vibes, and ushered us all out into the freezing cold, where, through booze fuelled shenanigans, we manged to get separated. I ended up leaving the remaining members of the WCP getting down with their bad selves in the Mill, and rolled home at around three a.m., not resurfacing until four p.m., to be met by the shit storm that is a pissed off Elster. Just what you need when you believe you have tumor the size of a watermelon wedged between your ears. So today's been spent trying to get back into the good books for Christmas. This is just my sad little version of events, apparently everyone made it home, and I will fill in the blanks as my memory recovers, if it ever does. Merry Christmas. 
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