A right royal playground.
Half-life has been called an animal many times, but never a political one.
Join the Raider and the Dirty One for more pub-based emotional incontinence.
‘I like big men with massive thighs, that’s what I like.’
Is there anybody out there?
Remember, remember, the fifth of November. (Or other days, if the fifth isn’t convenient.)
I should have known something was up when Deserter sidekick, Half-life, agreed to visit Kidbrooke without swearing.
You’ve got a rare chance to escape in the dark, or even take a nap. Plus you get a rest from chat while someone else does all the work.
At last, a place where we don’t have to worry about creeping gentrification.
Why roundabouts? Well, there's a busy intersection, with cars rushing past in up to five different directions. Meanwhile, you’re in a pub. You have just confirmed your own genius.
I've always fancied myself as a man of position, taking bribes for community projects, forcing rivals into the boot of my Volvo and sleeping my way to the top...