Have you ever been to Wolverhampton? Urban sprawl competes
with dreary desolation. Anyway, me and the war band thought it would be a
giggle if we went for a visit just to sample the invigorating, befouled air.
From Tipton you take the Dudley canal, turn left into
the Birmingham canal before finally alighting
in Wolverhampton town centre. A pall of despond overlays the whole
area and rarely dissipates except when a strong maelstrom doth blow from the
East.
We usually favour the ‘Sick Parrot’ Tavern. As ‘Happy hour’ extends
from 5 to 10pm on Monday nights. The clientele are
mostly dour, wastrels with thick waistlines. Copious amounts of mead are
generally consumed and the rubicund Landlord usually provides a local wanton
strumpet, who in the course of the evening removes her clothes to the sound of
a hunting horn. In truth, most of the wenches he procures are not
conventionally comely and would be well advised to keep their garments on and
well secured at the front. The whole proceedings usually progresses to a brawl
and culminates with the local Sheriff and his men descending upon the
scene with cudgels and vehement curses. We usually get back to the long
boat at about 3 in the morning and sleep off the night’s excesses with
gusto born of acute alcohol poisoning.
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