Sorry to put a dampener on stag do’s strip club visit

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Last week I went to a meeting in a strip club. It was exactly what I imagined a strip club would be, admittedly fuelled from the days of watching Starsky and Hutch going to get the word on the street from Huggy Bear.

The young ladies there were charming and proffered tea and caramel wafers. We had a lovely chat, before I then put on my soggy cagoule and headed out the door and accidentally bumped into a stag do heading in, who took one look at the dumpy damp dwarf and clearly thought that if this mumsy horror in bright yellow raincoat was a featured dancer, then perhaps they’d be better off in a Starbucks instead.