When, as a young swordsman oft to be found up to the third knuckle in all manner of unsuitable shenanigans, I tossed mesel' on fate's capricious tide and delivered myself into the quagmire of the old extra-maritals, a dear friend from Clitheroe with the manner of a curmudgeonly old miner but the soul of a poet offered me some advice as I, wracked with guilt and indecision, sobbed into my ale and cried to an uncaring universe what am I going to do?.
His advice was this: Give her a poke in a quiet place.
To you I pass on these sage words. Get it while the getting's good. And emerge with a spring in your step, a smile on your face, but not the expectation of anything long-lasting and worthwhile. She's fun, but she's a tramp, bro. |