
Thinly-disguised entrances to Hell where bad things happen. Tell us your dancefloor disasters.
( , Wed 8 Apr 2009, 12:35)
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... so much so that when my mates tried to wake me from my cheeky little nap on the end of the bar and failed, they chucked a whole ice bucket over me. I woke, briefly, complained that my £95 shirt was wet, and continued to snooze.
( , Mon 13 Apr 2009, 21:02, 2 replies)

there comes a point when a shirt ceases to be worth the money.
that point is around the £30 mark
( , Tue 14 Apr 2009, 15:21, closed)
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