Moseley. Moseley, Moseley, Moseley. What’s wrong with you?
We’ve given you more pubs than you can shake a stick at. Different types of pubs, with different types of drink. Of varying strengths. We’ve given you a plentiful supply of outsiders (as defined by the CRM and SRM ), who’ve invaded our territory. We’ve given you women…more women than you could ever hope to get through. Women with and without partners. We’ve given you loud music and muggy nights . Long summer days with nothing to do but drink and get sunstroke. We’ve given you everything. And will you fight? Will you fuck.
Everything I’ve just mentioned is a perfect reason to have a fight. Your mate has seen the same bird as you? At the same time? Punch the fucker. You know he wants to do the same to you. Barman serving everyone else before you? Smack him. I shouldn’t have to give you tips though Moseley. The urge to fight should come as naturally as laughter. But in case any of you are having any trouble…
The people at Seeker’s estate agents…I heard the Kwik-Save crew calling you a cranky mass of foreign nose pickings. And Druckers posse…I heard the Crafty Jungle boys say you wank over pictures of dogs. Oh and apparently, Wednesday night at the Bull’s Head is “Rubber and Rimming” night according to what I heard at The Jug of Ale. Allegedly.
(Simon recommends that if you are going to glass someone with a pint glass, you shouldn’t smash it first. Rather you should push it into your opponents face then twist. you should smash any bottles you intend to use though.)