How it Works3 mins ago
That Will Be Nice For Them, But I Do Hope They Don't Come Back With Any Bad Habits?
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In order to fully enjoy the 'Millwall cultural experience', they must do the following -
Travel by train with the away fans, run the gauntlet of home fans at the station, and all the way to the ground.
Suffer a wave of abuse and threats of violence for ninety minutes.
Run like hell back to the station, with an 'escort' or Millwall's customer service representatives.
Head for a nightclub, a strong dose of alcohol poisoning in the venue of choice, wile being slapped around the face by various anonymous young ladies rejecting their drunken overtures.
Adjourn to a local curry house, where the hotest curry on the menu can be consumed with six or seven pints of ice-cold lager.
Enjoy a lively discussion with the waiting staff about the adverse effects of said hot curry and said frosty lagar on a system already abused beyond breaking point.
Continue the discussion at extremely high volume, culminating in - but not restricted to - abuse of the waiting staff's ethnic origins, seriously adverse criticism of the quality of the bill of fare, and abject refusal to settle the account offered, resulting in a potential exchange of violence with various backroom operatives who may appear carrying sundry kitchen utensils.
Having vacated the premises with promises to return 'mob handed' on a subsequent occasion, the party should then attempt - and fail to secure transport, once again leading to robust observations about the ethnic origins of the local taxi drivers, leading to a long walk home with subsequent short stops to void stomach contents into the sundry gardens of en route residences.
This last section should be accompanied singing that is matched in its absence of musicality only by its volume, and occasional breaks to advise others in the party of their status as best mates / top men / people they are willing to die for - and so on.
Finally, having vomited one last time somewhere between the front door and the bedroom, they should retire to bed, waking in the morning with a hangover that must originate in the Eighth Circle Of Hell, and with no memory whatsoever of the past twenty-four hours.
Now THAT is an observation of 'working class culture'.
Travel by train with the away fans, run the gauntlet of home fans at the station, and all the way to the ground.
Suffer a wave of abuse and threats of violence for ninety minutes.
Run like hell back to the station, with an 'escort' or Millwall's customer service representatives.
Head for a nightclub, a strong dose of alcohol poisoning in the venue of choice, wile being slapped around the face by various anonymous young ladies rejecting their drunken overtures.
Adjourn to a local curry house, where the hotest curry on the menu can be consumed with six or seven pints of ice-cold lager.
Enjoy a lively discussion with the waiting staff about the adverse effects of said hot curry and said frosty lagar on a system already abused beyond breaking point.
Continue the discussion at extremely high volume, culminating in - but not restricted to - abuse of the waiting staff's ethnic origins, seriously adverse criticism of the quality of the bill of fare, and abject refusal to settle the account offered, resulting in a potential exchange of violence with various backroom operatives who may appear carrying sundry kitchen utensils.
Having vacated the premises with promises to return 'mob handed' on a subsequent occasion, the party should then attempt - and fail to secure transport, once again leading to robust observations about the ethnic origins of the local taxi drivers, leading to a long walk home with subsequent short stops to void stomach contents into the sundry gardens of en route residences.
This last section should be accompanied singing that is matched in its absence of musicality only by its volume, and occasional breaks to advise others in the party of their status as best mates / top men / people they are willing to die for - and so on.
Finally, having vomited one last time somewhere between the front door and the bedroom, they should retire to bed, waking in the morning with a hangover that must originate in the Eighth Circle Of Hell, and with no memory whatsoever of the past twenty-four hours.
Now THAT is an observation of 'working class culture'.
Certainly Baldric - here you are -
In order to fully enjoy the 'Millwall cultural experience', they must do the following -
Travel by train with the away fans, run the gauntlet of home fans at the station, and all the way to the ground.
Suffer a wave of abuse and threats of violence for ninety minutes.
Run like hell back to the station, with an 'escort' or Millwall's customer service representatives.
Head for a nightclub, a strong dose of alcohol poisoning in the venue of choice, wile being slapped around the face by various anonymous young ladies rejecting their drunken overtures.
Adjourn to a local curry house, where the hotest curry on the menu can be consumed with six or seven pints of ice-cold lager.
Enjoy a lively discussion with the waiting staff about the adverse effects of said hot curry and said frosty lagar on a system already abused beyond breaking point.
Continue the discussion at extremely high volume, culminating in - but not restricted to - abuse of the waiting staff's ethnic origins, seriously adverse criticism of the quality of the bill of fare, and abject refusal to settle the account offered, resulting in a potential exchange of violence with various backroom operatives who may appear carrying sundry kitchen utensils.
Having vacated the premises with promises to return 'mob handed' on a subsequent occasion, the party should then attempt - and fail to secure transport, once again leading to robust observations about the ethnic origins of the local taxi drivers, leading to a long walk home with subsequent short stops to void stomach contents into the sundry gardens of en route residences.
This last section should be accompanied singing that is matched in its absence of musicality only by its volume, and occasional breaks to advise others in the party of their status as best mates / top men / people they are willing to die for - and so on.
Finally, having vomited one last time somewhere between the front door and the bedroom, they should retire to bed, waking in the morning with a hangover that must originate in the Eighth Circle Of Hell, and with no memory whatsoever of the past twenty-four hours.
Now THAT is an observation of 'working class culture'.
In order to fully enjoy the 'Millwall cultural experience', they must do the following -
Travel by train with the away fans, run the gauntlet of home fans at the station, and all the way to the ground.
Suffer a wave of abuse and threats of violence for ninety minutes.
Run like hell back to the station, with an 'escort' or Millwall's customer service representatives.
Head for a nightclub, a strong dose of alcohol poisoning in the venue of choice, wile being slapped around the face by various anonymous young ladies rejecting their drunken overtures.
Adjourn to a local curry house, where the hotest curry on the menu can be consumed with six or seven pints of ice-cold lager.
Enjoy a lively discussion with the waiting staff about the adverse effects of said hot curry and said frosty lagar on a system already abused beyond breaking point.
Continue the discussion at extremely high volume, culminating in - but not restricted to - abuse of the waiting staff's ethnic origins, seriously adverse criticism of the quality of the bill of fare, and abject refusal to settle the account offered, resulting in a potential exchange of violence with various backroom operatives who may appear carrying sundry kitchen utensils.
Having vacated the premises with promises to return 'mob handed' on a subsequent occasion, the party should then attempt - and fail to secure transport, once again leading to robust observations about the ethnic origins of the local taxi drivers, leading to a long walk home with subsequent short stops to void stomach contents into the sundry gardens of en route residences.
This last section should be accompanied singing that is matched in its absence of musicality only by its volume, and occasional breaks to advise others in the party of their status as best mates / top men / people they are willing to die for - and so on.
Finally, having vomited one last time somewhere between the front door and the bedroom, they should retire to bed, waking in the morning with a hangover that must originate in the Eighth Circle Of Hell, and with no memory whatsoever of the past twenty-four hours.
Now THAT is an observation of 'working class culture'.
-- answer removed --
divebuddy - "Didn't quite get that Andy, any chance you could go over it again."
Now you're just being a naughty boy aren't you?
You know I can't repeat myself because I get accused of banging on as it is, and I could be accused of hi-jacking AOG's thread for my own amusement, so be a good chap, and just re-read it.
OK?
Thanks!
Now you're just being a naughty boy aren't you?
You know I can't repeat myself because I get accused of banging on as it is, and I could be accused of hi-jacking AOG's thread for my own amusement, so be a good chap, and just re-read it.
OK?
Thanks!
-- answer removed --
I confess I am not a devotee of Milwall, or any club, or indeed football.
The present Mrs Hughes, who has been a rabid Stoke City fan since the age of eight, and a current season ticket holder, and therefore knows about these things - confirms that Milwall are - quote - "Mad!"
My observation was merely light-hearted, and not to be interpereted as any sort of serious sociological study.
The present Mrs Hughes, who has been a rabid Stoke City fan since the age of eight, and a current season ticket holder, and therefore knows about these things - confirms that Milwall are - quote - "Mad!"
My observation was merely light-hearted, and not to be interpereted as any sort of serious sociological study.
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