WARNING: MESSIANIC COMMENT
The first barmaid I dated went on to become a nurse: Birthday and Christmas, all rolled up together in one bed-bouncing bosomy bundle!
Gift wrapped and gorgeous, in emergency room blue, the only problem with her was that she kept glancing down at her little watch and shouting, ''ten millilitres semen, stat.''
My second - and last - barmaid remained behind the bar for the duration of our romance (but only when she was on duty, you understand) and dealt only in shorts, large ones and pints. By the time that we parted company, I swear my barrel was all but empty.
It was then that I called last orders on my dalliances with drink dispensing damsels and settled for a young lady who worked at Burger King. Never was their ''Have It Your Way'' mission statement more rigorously tested.
Yes, Brett, there will always be another – for where would we six-pint-glasses, bear-swilling lechers be without them?
Writing for an audience of one.