A night of skank

Well, another belatened (I don't even know if that is a word. It's pronounced be-late-n'd if that helps with pronunciation) blogg. We went to Pontefract last Tuesday, with the sole purpose of getting drunk, or at least that was my purpose. Clare was driving, so her purpose was mostly not to get molested by drunks. I'm pretty sure that she succeeded. If you've never been on a night out in fair Pontefract (Ponte Carlo to the locals, pronounced like Monte Carlo, but with a P. If you're interested, Feverly Hills and Cas Vegas also exist...) it is quite an experience. Imagine the skankiest place that you can think of. Times that by about 50, throw in a couple of over 40s, and under 16s, and that's pretty much it. Having said that, the drink was cheap, and the music was acceptable. I made every effort not to touch anyone or any surfaces. Especially the walls. Oh, Christ, the smell. Mostly sweat, with the occasional whiff of piss. So, that is a typical Yorkshire night out. Skank.