This is a picy of Dudley town centre. If you think this was taken after we had sacked the place then you would be wrong. Careful viewers will notice that we are just entering the city gates. Dudley always looks like this. I blame poor town planning and a lack of civic responsibility among its denizens. In fact on this occasion me and lads couldn’t actually bring ourselves to do any actual pillaging. Both my mighty swords, the shiny one and the pink one remained fully sheathed and impotent. I cleaned up some of the skulls which had overflowed into a kiddies park area. Yorick’s bonce was nowhere to be found. Alas, I didn’t know him. Harold 'The Herald’ was on carrion duty and sat on a park bench feeding the vultures. Athelstan ‘The Unsteady’, was molested by a wandering troop of scout masters. Cnut, as usual was a sweating and still unable to spell his name correctly. Erik ‘The Eunuch’ kept bragging about his prowess in the bedroom. This is not as farfetched as it sounds as Erik, these days, is well known to sport a strap on. At the end of the day we retired to the local tavern, ‘The Felching Friar.’ I met the Friar on one occasion. This turbulent Priest suffered severely from halitosis, can’t think why. My advice: Never accept a straw from this man. We all got absolutely shit faced on mead and crème de menthe. Note to self: In future crème de menthe should be a daintily sipped from a small glass and not quaffed mightily from a quart flagon.