So the other night as I dropped my wife off at the Irish Festival I decided, "Hey why does she get to have a few beers and not me?" Not being a fan of Irish music, I opted to go to the studio instead with a few cans of DAB.
While at the studio I hooked up with some regulars who like to tilt a few into their yammering skull caves. Andy was there with Sam, Spence, Leon, Nevey, Patrick and Robert.
Robert happened to have a bottle of Jägermeister a foul smelling herbal liqour that I thought I detested but quickly fell in love with. After a few shots we decided to call our good pal Mick a "straykat" who is now living in Bolton, England.
We must have spoken to Mick for a couple of hours, (nikki is going to murder me) it should be a hefty phone bill, but you just gotta talk to that fuckwit every so often to let him remind you how silly you gotta be in life.
Some photos from Mick. He sends love and feces to all.
A nice shot of Mick under his bed.
A great shot of Yessir Arafat youngest grandson.And his unfinished bathroom. Is that a bottle of booze behind the shitter? good on ya.