Tonight at scrabble club I'm getting my arse slapped by one of the world's best players, Andrew Fisher and what happens?
Paul Keating walks into the pub.
There's bugger all going on in the pub. Not many people there. Only us scrabblers, Paul Keating and a few of his suited mates.
They were drinking jugs of beer.
I was a shaking mess and couldn't concentrate on my game. The score? Andrew 527. Me 267.
Paul Keating.
Yes, Paul Keating.
What a strange night.
Photo from The Age.
1 comment:
No, too much of a gutless mug to take my own photo.
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