Many years ago I was employed as a barman in the centre of Bristol. The pub was vast and a focal point for the jeering chavs and honking oiks of the city. Other than the occasional theatre-goer beating a hasty retreat within seconds of entry, it was primarily frequented by loud, vulgar and crass individuals with all the charm of asbestos, many regularly guzzling alcopops and lager and going all out to explode their own kidneys. Food was almost always served in baskets with chips, and the Old Bill would often be stationed outside in eager anticipation of the booze-fuelled idiots fighting within ...
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