Poncho was in a red mood slanging with rage and needed to cook himself out of it , while shoving handfuls of salted peanuts down his gullet and slurping ice cold Fanta

Mishaque was a stouty blend of Irish "shrek" mixed with crazy Jafakain, his front was car dealing.

With him big Phil from Notting Hill an old "face" from the sixties a pin up gangster with a "mars bar" weal scraping his left cheek and of course two "wag" slags in tow trussed up like French Poodles with "Bratz babe" stares and Gucci Handbags

Everyone knew what the night would bring lots of D and A plenty of T and A

T was in a blue mood , his open reflections on the isloation of his life floating like Jazz notes under a "pink moon

We're all prostitutes sir we're all selling ourselves for something