There has been voices (singular) clamouring for pictoral evidence of Starbuck's stag weekend session. Well, suckers, your wish if my command, but I'm afraid it ain't pretty.
It all started messily, quite liderally folks rather than in a Dave Pearce-styley, as I was still feeling a little queasy from the combination of the previous night's warm-Orangeboom-fuelled journey on one of those newfangled Virgin tilty trains. The queasiness cocktail was further shaken up the next day on the District Line following several gallons of yucky Lady Grey tea, and I managed to spill my guts in both directions a third of the way through my first drink in All Bar One on the stag day "proper". Nice.