And so, Mr Shandy and I made it back to the Northern Quarter of Manchester (no thanks to the utter OAFS of Northern Rail). Cat’s still alive. ANYWAY, we had a delightful weekend in Leeds; noshed a few vegans on Saturday afternoon and turned up in the Turks Head gin shop (one up from the Whitelock Taps) wherein Mr Shandy delivered his dramatic ejaculation. ‘I WONDER’ he mused, ‘If he’ll walk onto the stage at Vegas looking like someone who wakes up in the doorway of TK-Maxx most mornings?’ I could have slapped her. Nevertheless, robust exchange of views followed and we agreed, the last time he made an EFFORT may have been Manchester 2004 when he strode onto the stage dressed like a defrocked vicar with six inches of long-stem purple sprouting broccoli dangling from his cock ring. That is all for now.