Where's me tea?
Ah, not getting past the Post-gender transplanted Friar Tuck serving wench in Ye Olde Withered Spoon tavern! All the other tables... quick service.
And how come these outlaws in Sherbert Forest wore Lincoln Green tights? Was Nottinghamshire Puce not good enough? Did Go Wank hate the way Apple Sunset clashed with the sick of more leaves? What's wrong with the shade that Vicky's sister Cher went with envy, when Trinny shagged All the merrie men in the Wood?
Who can say? All I know is Lincoln ain't that green, and it's got a bloody steep street right up the middle. And an archway. And an incence shop.
At least there's archers...
mmmm... cocktails...
