it has no twigs or finger ends in it, so it must be rubbish.
This reminds be of my time in the fifties in Melksham
.
After passing out from the Raf school of electronics, I and a few buddies went into Melksham for a celibratory drink, There were 2 pubs The George was the first one, we ordered a round of scrumpy, (looked like lentil soup), downed it and asked for another round . "No lads , you're not local , you can have beer but no more scrumpy!!", we had a few pints a game of darts and then decided to move to the next pub,(name escapes me). We ordered a round of scrumpy , downed that and asked for more ,same reaction from mine=host.
wending our way back to camp we had to pass the guard room, one of my oppos was a little worse for wear
, we surrounded him I stuffed my fist in his mouth and we safely got passed the guard room, fine . Suddenly to little so and so dashed back towards the guard room, I, tried to head him off by running behind a cookhouse under refurbishment, I tripped over some pipework and boy, as the ground hit me so did the scrumpy, I was ill for 4 days. Upside was I only spent 2s6d all evening (the scrumpy was 4d a pint . Those were the days.
John Wilkinson.
There is a sequel to the story but for another time