Not since the bad old days when I was underage, only equipped with a Learner license or off my tits as I staggered up to the door, have I been rejected from a club.
Even in London, for two years now, I’ve walked into every type of venue and not once have I been stopped, no matter how feral I looked. That is, until now.
This chavtastic shit hole reckons that skate shoes are not acceptable. Not even my manky ones that have got into every other place in London, these were my almost-new all-black Airwalks. The manager (aka door bitch) even had a go at my fscking drunknmunky t-shirt!
I just grinned, left Mal with her friends (it was her friend’s birthday) and went home, happy in the knowledge that I didn’t spend a cent in Uxbridge’s chavtastic shit hole.
The culprits: