a fag and a can of bow

THE wonderful Withers of WoS has moved into a new luxury, self-contained apartment in the salubrious area of Cardiff known as Taff Embankment. The miserable one was delighted to finally get a place to himself after sharing for so long with an assortment of oddballs and ne'er-do-wells although I must admit this blog will miss his constant tales of woe which have kept us fully entertained over the years.
Having said that, he turned up at work today with a story that made his previous experiences pale into insignificance. For, looking out of his window last night during a break in Question Time, he happened to spot a couple of young ladies, attired from head to toe in leopard skin clothing and puffing away on ciggies while holding cans of Strongbow in their other hands.
As they strolled up and down they made various gestures at passing motorists, bringing Withers to the conclusion that they were, in fact, Ladies of the Night and he had moved into a notorious red light district.
As he watched, his next door neighbour stepped out onto the pavement and began to remonstrate with them, suggesting that they might care to dress a bit more appropriately because they were bringing the tone of the neighbourhood down.
I would have thought the fact that the wonderful one had moved in was enough to lower property prices a few grand as it is.

Some poor souls have mistaken the little Bowling Ball for a musician and actually booked his 'band' to play at their wedding. The truth is that he doesn't have a band, just a disparate group of wannabe guitar players who sit around in dingy corners of Cardiff's most ill-frequented hostelries strumming away to tunes which have little or no resemblance to the songs they are desperately trying to replicate.
Sorry to say even my own preferred watering holes are not immune from the odd, unwarranted strum-sesh from this disparate band of brothers. Walking into the new, old O'Neill's the other day I realised that my enjoyment of the juke box was being impaired by some tuneless wailing and strumming. Further investigation found the Bowling Ball and a couple of other random old soaks bashing away at something that they assured me was "Make Me Smile", by Cockney Rebel, but could more appropriately be named "Make Me Cringe".
Best of luck to the 'Happy' couple, I say.