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( , Sun 1 Apr 2001, 1:00)
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I once took a mate who was becoming an actOR to a pub near me in Dalston, when Dalston was still a shit-hole - The Docker's Fists or something.
It was full of MEN being MEN, drinking LAGER, and looking at the TITS on Page 3 of The Sun, because they were MEN. There were a couple of blokes playing darts, and I went up to the bar, and said "Alright love - pint of Foster's, and ... what are you having?" turning to my mate.
He looked along the bar, considered for a bit, and then tapped me on the shoulder and said "Oh my god - do you know what I'd like? Could I have a glass of white wine with an ice cube in it, please?"
I have rarely drunk a pint so quickly.
( , Tue 24 Sep 2013, 10:02, Reply)

My boss goes out there with his trendy friends, and tells me it's got some reeeally cool bars and great little restaurants there.
When I started living there I was told off by my flatmate for getting cash out of an ATM during non-daylight hours.
( , Tue 24 Sep 2013, 10:11, Reply)

The morning after he moved in he couldn't get out of the front door as it was taped off as a crime scene following a multiple shooting in the African nightclub next door. It's not like that any more but it;s full of pricks rather than dodgy nignogs these days.
( , Tue 24 Sep 2013, 10:15, Reply)

It was in Dalston that I saw an incredibly well-built gentleman punch a young lady full in the face, but he then had the absolute shit beaten out of him by a further six apparently unconnected but socially-conscious gentlemen, so it was OK.
( , Tue 24 Sep 2013, 10:24, Reply)

Certainly after he'd punched her.
( , Tue 24 Sep 2013, 10:30, Reply)

It was the final nail in my clubland coffin.
( , Tue 24 Sep 2013, 10:27, Reply)
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