T’was the night before Christmas, nearly, seven rebels arrived at the Grindstone for an unprecedented, unsanctioned hash.
MBM had set the trail, presumably from another pub as we couldn’t find it, phone calls were made, we were on.
Eventually we found our way via the tradesmen’s entry to MBM’s place, festive treats awaited, again prepared by one of the ladies of the house, MBM duly took credit.
Leaving via the Gentry’s exit we headed to the Grindstone, beers were consumed, best wishes exchanged, one for the road requested, Monty denied it.
On On,
Sticky Shaft
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