If You Aint Got No Money Take Your Broke Ass Home

In an attempt to start the Liverpool wine and food appreciation society PQ and I had the inaugural meeting in The Sir Thomas Hotel, purveyors of the finest bar food this side of the Mersey. This meeting had a slightly different feel to it to the meetings of the Preston group, perhaps it had something to do with me talking about being the keeper of the hands of mystery. I should not talk about my mysterious hands to women who I have not known for a long time. It freaks them out. Understandable really.

PQ thinks my ego needs to be brought into check and I asked for some constructive criticism. Instead I was given stinging criticism which included the following "top 5" (and rebuttals)
1) Always being late. ( I was in the bar at the right time, PQ thought we were meeting outside)
2) Poor table manners (it was crusty bread, nuff said)
3) I wear too many cheap looking shirts (I was wearing Savile Row) (Richard James)
4) My hands of mystery look like jazz hands (is that a criticism?)
5) Being cheap (I had ordered two drinks but I was thirsty so I drunk them both)

She did manage to deliver these in under a minute which makes me think she had given this a bit of thought.

The streets outside your window overflooded
People staring, they know you've been broken
Repeatedly reminded by the looks on their faces
Ignore them tonight and you'll be alright
We'll cast some light and you'll be alright