Steve, Craig and I got up off the couch to go to the Christmas market. Bit like Queen Vic market, but run mostly by Germans. Got stuck in to the mulled wine, felt bad for Frenchie stall owner who we were blocking any customers coming to.
'Meet you under Santa's r-ctum, near the four clarinetists. Ok, bye.'
Won't be shy in saying that it was a mistake to go to the kind of bar we ended up at:
'You're Australian, are you? Where are you from?'
'Ever been to the inside-out bar?'
'Nah, never heard of it.'
'..Are you an escort?'
'No, I'm not. Look, ah, take care of yourself, ok? Gonna go talk to my friends.'