Knackered Quotes

But, of course, you might be asking yourself, 'Am I a feminist? I might not be. I don't know! I still don't know what it is! I'm too knackered and confused to work it out. That curtain pole really still isn't up! I don't have time to work out if I am a women's libber! There seems to be a lot to it. WHAT DOES IT MEAN?' I understand. So here is the quick way of working out if you're a feminist. Put your hand in your pants. a) Do you have a vagina? and b) Do you want to be in charge of it? If you said 'yes' to both, then congratulations! You're a feminist.

It is futile and knackering to try and make all your tiny choices representative of your moral compass then beat yourself up when this plan inevitably fails. Feminists can get waxed. Priests can swear. Vegetarians can wear leather shoes. Do as much good as you can. The weighty representation of the world cannot rest on every decision you make.

Jaime, you must be half-dead" He laughed tiredly, holding me close with one large warm hand on the small of my back. "A lot more than half, Sassenach. I'm knackered, and my cock's the only thing too stupid to know it. I canna lie wi' ye without wanting you, but wanting's all I'm like to do.

Knackered inmates are easier to control than pumped-up ones. And dead inmates are even easier to control, if you follow me.

She did like him...sometimes. When he was not a complete knacker.

Completely knackered. All that politeness.

They're all tossers, aren't they, men like Martin. They think women are like fucking laptops or whatever, like, my old one's knackered and anyway, you can get ones that are slimmer and do more stuff now.

Here, on a human face, appeared all the ruin following upon hopeless labour. Laveuve's unkempt beard straggled over his features, suggesting an old horse that is no longer cropped; his toothless jaws were quite askew, his eyes were vitreous, and his nose seemed to plunge into his mouth. But above all else one noticed his resemblance to some beast of burden, deformed by hard toil, lamed, worn to death, and now only good for the knackers.

[excerpt] The usual I say. Essence. Spirit. Medicine. A taste. I say top shelf. Straight up. A shot. A sip. A nip. I say another round. I say brace yourself. Lift a few. Hoist a few. Work the elbow. Bottoms up. Belly up. Set ‘em up. What’ll it be. Name your poison. I say same again. I say all around. I say my good man. I say my drinking buddy. I say git that in ya. Then a quick one. Then a nightcap. Then throw one back. Then knock one down. Fast & furious I say. Could savage a drink I say. Chug. Chug-a-lug. Gulp. Sauce. Mother’s milk. Everclear. Moonshine. White lightning. Firewater. Hootch. Relief. Now you’re talking I say. Live a little I say. Drain it I say. Kill it I say. Feeling it I say. Wobbly. Breakfast of champions I say. I say candy is dandy but liquor is quicker. I say Houston, we have a drinking problem. I say the cause of, and solution to, all of life’s problems. I say god only knows what I’d be without you. I say thirsty. I say parched. I say wet my whistle. Dying of thirst. Lap it up. Hook me up. Watering hole. Knock a few back. Pound a few down. My office. Out with the boys I say. Unwind I say. Nurse one I say. Apply myself I say. Toasted. Glow. A cold one a tall one a frosty I say. One for the road I say. Two-fisted I say. Never trust a man who doesn’t drink I say. Drink any man under the table I say. Then a binge then a spree then a jag then a bout. Coming home on all fours. Could use a drink I say. A shot of confidence I say. Steady my nerves I say. Drown my sorrows. I say kill for a drink. I say keep ‘em comin’. I say a stiff one. Drink deep drink hard hit the bottle. Two sheets to the wind then. Knackered then. Under the influence then. Half in the bag then. Out of my skull I say. Liquored up. Rip-roaring. Slammed. Fucking jacked. The booze talking. The room spinning. Feeling no pain. Buzzed. Giddy. Silly. Impaired. Intoxicated. Stewed. Juiced. Plotzed. Inebriated. Laminated. Swimming. Elated. Exalted. Debauched. Rock on. Drunk on. Bring it on. Pissed. Then bleary. Then bloodshot. Glassy-eyed. Red-nosed. Dizzy then. Groggy. On a bender I say. On a spree. I say off the wagon. I say on a slip. I say the drink. I say the bottle. I say drinkie-poo. A drink a drunk a drunkard. Swill. Swig. Shitfaced. Fucked up. Stupefied. Incapacitated. Raging. Seeing double. Shitty. Take the edge off I say. That’s better I say. Loaded I say. Wasted. Off my ass. Befuddled. Reeling. Tanked. Punch-drunk. Mean drunk. Maintenance drunk. Sloppy drunk happy drunk weepy drunk blind drunk dead drunk. Serious drinker. Hard drinker. Lush. Drink like a fish. Boozer. Booze hound. Alkie. Sponge. Then muddled. Then woozy. Then clouded. What day is it? Do you know me? Have you seen me? When did I start? Did I ever stop? Slurring. Reeling. Staggering. Overserved they say. Drunk as a skunk they say. Falling down drunk. Crawling down drunk. Drunk & disorderly. I say high tolerance. I say high capacity. They say protective custody. Blitzed. Shattered. Zonked. Annihilated. Blotto. Smashed. Soaked. Screwed. Pickled. Bombed. Stiff. Frazzled. Blasted. Plastered. Hammered. Tore up. Ripped up. Destroyed. Whittled. Plowed. Overcome. Overtaken. Comatose. Dead to the world. The old K.O. The horrors I say. The heebie-jeebies I say. The beast I say. The dt’s. B’jesus & pink elephants. A mindbender. Hittin’ it kinda hard they say. Go easy they say. Last call they say. Quitting time they say. They say shut off. They say dry out. Pass out. Lights out. Blackout. The bottom. The walking wounded. Cross-eyed & painless. Gone to the world. Gone. Gonzo. Wrecked. Sleep it off. Wake up on the floor. End up in the gutter. Off the stuff. Dry. Dry heaves. Gag. White knuckle. Lightweight I say. Hair of the dog I say. Eye-opener I say. A drop I say. A slug. A taste. A swallow. Down the hatch I say. I wouldn’t say no I say. I say whatever he’s having. I say next one’s on me. I say bottoms up. Put it on my tab. I say one more. I say same again

Because lurking somewhere beneath the surface of your brain is a vision of loneliness, and it will be a terrible moment when it breaks through, and you realise that your future is not a green pastures, but the knackers yard. We are all separate people, and we are all alone. It is a ridiculous thing to say that no man is an island. We are all islands. You can die, and Gerry won't. Gerry can die, and you won't. Our lives just go on, separate as they have always been.

There exist there immense numbers of unknown beings, among whom swarm types of the strangest, from the porter of la Rapée to the knacker of Montfaucon. Fex urbis, exclaims Cicero; mob, adds Burke, indignantly; rabble, multitude, populace. These are words and quickly uttered. But so be it. What does it matter? What is it to me if they do go barefoot!

When Hisscus, Knacker, and Verbotski materialized like spirits at a séance, their pistols

It is futile and knackering to try and make all your tiny choices representative of your moral compass then beat yourself up when the plan inevitably fails.

If a conservative is a mugged liberal, a dad is a knackered Jesus.

Plank to base. I require urgent backup. Repeat. Urgent backup. Am knackered. Repeat. Knackered. And can you pick me up a bag of ready salted crisps on the way? Repeat. Ready salted crisps. Urgent. Over.

We’re sending ye tae Wapping, ye soft English nancies, and if ye wairk very, very hard and if ye doonae git on ma tits, then mebbe I’ll not cut off yer knackers and put them in ma Christmas pudding. D’ye have any problems with tha’?

We look at a couple of lads as they walk into the pub, Jim Barnes from Slough and someone I don't recognise. A tall bloke with a silver earring who looks knackered with a bruised right eye and cuts along his knuckles. Must've had a good Friday night.

One might go to the bakery, perhaps," he said. "But did you know the baker has tuberculosis? All the people here run around in a highly infectious state. The baker's daughter has tuberculosis too, it seems to have something to do with the runoff from the cellulose factory, with the steam that the locomotives have spewed out for decades, with the bad diet that people eat. Almost all of them have cankered lung lobes, pneumothorax and pneumoperitoneum are endemic. They have tuberculosis of the lungs, the head, the arms and legs. All of them have tubercular abscesses somewhere on their bodies. The valley is notorious for tuberculosis. You will find every form of it here: skin tuberculosis, brain tuberculosis, intestinal tuberculosis. Many cases of meningitis, which is deadly within hours. The workmen have tuberculosis from the dirt they dig around in, the farmers have it from their dogs and the infected milk. The majority of the people have galloping consumption. Moreover," he said, "the effect of the new drugs, of streptomycin for example, is nil. Did you know the knacker has tuberculosis? That the landlady has tuberculosis? That the landlady has tuberculosis? That her daughters have been to sanatoria on three occasions? Tuberculosis is by no means on the way out. People claim it is curable. but that's what the pharmaceutical industry says. In fact, tuberculosis is as incurable as it always was. Even people who have been inoculated against it come down with it. Often those who have it the worst are the ones who look so healthy that you wouldn't suspect they were ill at all. Their rosy faces are utterly at variance with their ravaged lungs. You keep running into people who've had to endure a cautery or, at the very least, a transverse lesion. Most of them have had their lives ruined by failed reconstructive surgery." We didn't go to the bakery. Straight home instead.

Elliot opens the gate to the top paddock and leads him in. “You are now grounded to the top paddock.” “Bahahaha,” Billy bleats. “Seeing that you can’t be trusted.” Oh my lord, this is priceless. Tough guy Elliot Miles grounding his goat. He undoes the rope around Billy’s neck. “I’m watching you, fucker. One wrong move and it’s off to . . .” He pauses as he thinks of the right wording. “The knackers.” “Bahahaha.” “Do you know what they do to naughty goats there?” he asks. I burst out laughing. “Go inside,” Elliot snaps. I turn and walk inside as I continue to laugh. “Bahahaha,” Billy bleats. “Stop making that noise, too,” Elliot barks.

What on earth did you get up to while we were all away?” “Nothing. Just a bit knackered” was the mumbled response, only half coherent. Tristan’s voice was rasping and low, and the look of thorough misery on his face was enough to give Callum a secondhand migraine. “Sauced, too, by the looks of it.” Normally Tristan was better about holding his alcohol; it was one of the primary reasons Callum liked him. There was much to be said about a man who remained habitually upright. “Absolutely fucking bladdered,” confirmed Tristan, pivoting slowly to face Callum and holding a hand to his head. “I’d do something about it, only the prospect of managing anything at all sounds positively exhausting.

It is especially in the faubourgs, we must insist, that the Parisian race appears. This is where the thoroughbred is; this is where the true features of the breed are to be found; this is where the people work and suffer, and this suffering and work are the two faces of the man. The place is teeming with heaps of unknown beings, the strangest specimens from the stevedore of La Rapée to the knacker of Montfaucon. Fex Urbis, cries Cicero; mob, adds Burke, indignant. Riffraff, mob, rabble- those words are easily said. But so be it. What does it matter? What do I care if they go about barefoot? Too bad if they can't read. Are you going to abandon them for that? Are you going to turn their distress into a curse? Can't the light penetrate the teeming masses? Let's get back to that cry: Let there be light! And let's stick to it! Light! Light! Who knows if these opaque walls won't become transparent? Aren't revolutions transfigurations? Off you go, philosophers- teach, enlighten, fire up, think out loud, speak out loud, go on joyful romps in broad daylight, fraternize in public places, bring glad tidings, spray alphabets lavishly all over the place, proclaim rights, since the Marseillaises, sow enthusiasm, rip green branches off the oaks. Whip up ideas into a whirlwind. The hordes can be made sublime. Let's learn how to use this vast blaze of principles and virtues that crackles and flames out and occasionally sputters. These bare feet, these bare arms, these rags, this ignorance, this abjectness, this darkness, can be put to work in the conquest of the ideal. Look through the people and you will see truth. This vile sand that you trample beneath your feet, throw it in the furnace, and if it melts there and boils, it will become sparkling crystal. And it is thanks to this that Galileo and Newton will discover the stars.

didn’t belong to her. She said her car was missing a mirror and the trains were knackered, so she’d

In George Orwell’s classic allegorical novel Animal Farm we are introduced to the fictional character Boxer the horse. He is described as faithful and strong. His answer to every setback and every problem is, “I will work harder.” He lives true to his philosophy under the direst circumstances until, exhausted and broken, he is sent to the knackers’ yard. He is a tragic figure: despite his best intentions, his ever-increasing efforts actually exacerbate the inequality and problems on the farm.

On the ninth day of our walk to the pole. I was knackered, I hadn’t slept, and I had a panic attack. And Dad said, you can cry when you’re safe. Not before. No matter how scared you are, no matter how hopeless it seems. You sort the problem, escape the danger, find the answer. You do all that first. You get your tent up, light that stove. If you let yourself cry before you do that, your tears will freeze. Do you see what I’m saying?’ He

As old horses go to the knacker's yard, or old ships to the breakers, so words in their last decay go to swell the enormous list of synonyms for good and bad.

Shh.” She said to River then went back to Max. “Uh, Max? What’s going on? You look wrecked.” “Oh yeah. It’s been crazy. Mariah went back to school this week and the twins have the colic.” “Ok. That sucks. But what’s with the JUGS?” Alyssa had a questioning look on her face. “Chrissy has been knackered and I decided to help. Well, these wee ones won’t take the bottle. So, Zeke let me try it out. They work pretty good.” Max’s accent was slipping out. “You just fed the twins then?” “Oh no.” “Then why are you wearing those tits man?” River interjected. Max glared at the screen. “Who is that?” “It’s River Strom.” “Fuck me.” Max mumbled. “Hey Maxy!” River gave a little wave.

Kool - Kalm & Knackered is more like it

Meet Curly and Mo,” I said. “I want you to divide into two groups and form an orderly queue to give these two a bit of stick. Basically, do what you like to them. Punch them, kick them, knee them in the knackers. Pretend they're your boss, your spouse, or whoever's been giving you grief lately.

knackered

place. His old-fashioned manservant, Harvey, always kept a hot meal waiting. After supper, he read in his study for an hour or so, then retired to bed, content to repeat the cycle the next morning. But somewhere in the vicinity of his sixtieth birthday, Tony's private life began to feel a little, well, too private. Tempting fate, he wished for a change. And something wonderful and terrible happened: his wish came true. "It's not fair!" a small boy shrieked as Tony entered the kitchen, knackered from another long day at the Yard. "I say." He caught the boy, Henry

The vocabulary of flattery and insult is continually enlarged at the expense of the vocabulary of definition. As old horses go to the knacker's yard, or old ships to the breakers, so words in their last decay go to swell the enormous list of synonyms for good and bad. And as long as most people are more anxious to express their likes and dislikes than to describe facts, this must remain a universal truth about language.

stairwell and started the climb to the seventh floor. He was knackered by the time they got to the third, but his agitation drove him on. Amisha's smooth and regular breathing, as she bounded up behind, stood in stark contrast to H's heavy panting. H reached the seventh. Ignoring the faces surprised to see him turning up at work, he steered a path through the open plan office and burst his way into the incident room, where an update on the Tara case was in progress. ‘Inspector Hawkins, how nice of you to drop in,’ said Hilary. ‘This is not your case - please leave immediately and make your way to my office. When I’m finished here you can update me on your case and explain where the hell you have been these last few days.’ H believed in the chain of command when he felt it was necessary. At this moment he didn’t. He stared hard at the officer in charge of the Tara case and went straight to the crux of the matter. ‘Marchant, you got anything yet?’ Miller-Marchant remained silent. H knew what that meant. Hilary

knackered is what he is,” he said. “He hasn’t got another

I'm positive he ups the British word count when I'm on the edge of being cross with him. He knows it's my weakness. He can get away with just about anything if he tosses in words like 'knackered' or 'gutted' into a sentence. It occues to me then that I'm going to have a British baby. Do you know what's great about British babies? Everything. I mean, I know they're basically the same as American babies, but they have super-cool names like Poppy or Pippa. Amelia or Isla. Oscar or George. Well, maybe not George. Then when they get around to speaking it's in a British accent and let me tell you, a child having a tantrum in Waitrose with a British accent is about a hundred times less annoying than a child having a tantrum in Walmart in an American accent. It's a fact. Wait a minute... Oh. My. God. "They're going to call me Mummy!

There were about 20 pikeys surrounding this bloke who looked like he should be in a cage. I swear he was 6ft 8in and about the same across. His boat had been shifted around so often he didn’t look human. I whispered to Kenny. ‘Hope you got a better deal than 500.’ He said, ‘We’ll walk away with two grand from this one. He ain’t as tough as he looks.’ I said, ‘How do you know?’ I just got that big grin again. ‘I don’t, I’m just trying to cheer you up.’ We all moved back away from the flashing lights of the rides, and they formed a large ring. No formalities, no bell. Just, ‘Go on, boys.’ I steamed straight in putting all my weight behind four or five solid belts. Every “one connected on his arms. I tried to come up under and do his ribs in but I couldn’t get round those massive arms. It was like he was holding sandbags up in front. He threw a couple but his eyes gave him away before he even started to swing. I tried again. Bang. Bang. Bang. This time I got through and put a nice split in his forehead; good bit of claret. Then he grabs me, pins my arms to my sides, and nuts me full in the face, trying to get his teeth into my nose. I could smell his breath – a mixture of shit and beer. I brought my knee up into his sack and he let go with a surprised look on his bloody face. Got you now, you bastard. I slammed into him, but he’d got those fucking great arms up and I’m punching sandbags again. Round and round we went. I had him sussed now. He’s not a fighter, he’s a steamroller. He wanted to tire me out then drop 20 stone on top of me. He’s got the right idea; I’m knackered. It’s dead quiet except for faint music from the fair. No one was cheering encouragement, just a ring of brown faces watching us both with cold eyes. Kenny’s looking worried. Fuck it. I shouldn’t have looked round; he’s caught me with a right-hander full in the side of the head. My head’s ringing, I’ve gone deaf on that side and now I’m really pissed off. This has gone on for long enough. I had to take a risk. I turned my back on him, raised my arms in Kenny’s direction and said, ‘When are you going to ring the fucking bell?’ At the same time, I spun round and, as I’d hoped, the big animal was so surprised at me turning my back he dropped his arms. Everything I’ve got went into a straight punch to the heart. He fell backwards and down like a falling tree.

The animals crowded round the van. 'Goodbye, Boxer!' they chorused, 'goodbye!' 'Fools! Fools!' shouted Benjamin, prancing round them and stamping the earth with his small hoofs. 'Fools! Do you not see what is written on the side of that van?' That gave the animals pause, and there was a hush. Muriel began to spell out the words. But Benjamin pushed her aside and in the midst of a deadly silence he read: '"Alfred Simmonds, Horse Slaughterer and Glue Boiler, Willingdon. Dealer in Hides and Bone-Meal. Kennels Supplied." Do you not understand what that means? They are taking Boxer to the knackers!

Boss, I was knackered.” He lowered his voice. “Alison laid into me when I got home, I missed a special dinner for the kids. I was distracted

équarrissage /ekaʀisaʒ/ nm 1. (de bois, pierre) squaring (off) 2. (d'animal) quartering • cheval tout juste bon pour l'~ | horse only fit for the knacker's yard (GB); horse ready for the glue factory (US)

down. ‘Good evening,’ he said innocently. ‘Just checking why you’re parked here at 10.30 p.m. on a Saturday night,’ the security guard said suspiciously, eyeing our baby wipes in the middle of the seats. ‘We’re just out for a drive,’ Dan replied. ‘Seeing the sights.’ ‘Round ’ere? Good luck finding them,’ he scoffed, taking a cigarette from the pocket of his shirt. ‘Not to worry, mate. Drive on. Just checking you’re not up to no good.’ He winked, slapping the side of the van as he walked back to his post. Dan started the knackered engine of the scruffy Volkswagen. ‘Let’s get all this food back to the fridge at the kitchen. We can sort through it in the morning,’ he said. His hand brushed mine as I reached over to turn the radio on, and he changed gear. ‘Sorry,’ we mumbled at the same time, but I couldn’t ignore the rush of excitement I felt when our skin touched. I averted my eyes from Dan to the window and watched his reflection in the driver’s seat as we trundled through the dark streets. ‘You survived your first dumpster diving trip then,’ Dan said, breaking the tension between us. ‘It appears so,’ I agreed. ‘I don’t suppose you’re free tomorrow afternoon, after work, are you?’ My stomach did a teeny flip.

Mum, I'm knackered.

pompe /pɔ̃p/ I. nf 1. (appareil) pump • ~ à bicyclette | bicycle pump 2. ○(chaussure) shoe 3. (apparat) pomp • en grande ~ | with great pomp 4. ○ (exercice) press-up (GB), push-up • faire des ~s | to do push-ups 5. ◑[soldiers' slang] • (classe) soldat de première ~ | lance corporal • soldat de seconde ~ | private II. nfpl vanities • les ~s de Satan | Satan's pomps III. Idiomes 1. avoir un coup de pompe | to be knackered (familier) (GB) ou pooped (familier) 2. à toute pompe○ | at top speed, as quickly as possible 3. marcher or être à côté de ses pompes○ | not to be with it, to be away with the fairies (familier)

It’s not about a few grand gestures, but the millions of tiny ones, every single day. It’s making a choice, even the days you’re knackered or feeling a bit selfish or lazy,

Science is full of this stuff: full of happenstance and stumbles and getting knackered and crazy in the field or the lab. It’s so weird to me how science always presents its knowledge as clean.

Sometimes love is a cool wave lapping against hot sand and sometimes it’s a strike of lightning raising the fine hairs tickling yer knackers.

A well-run intelligence service must have its system of dealing with those who were past their best or who had fallen by the wayside and who yet knew too much: a knacker’s yard run with more or less brutality according to the nature of the chief; or at least a temporary limbo.

You, Boxer, the very day that those great muscles of yours lose their power, Jones will sell you to the knacker, who will cut your throat and boil you down for the foxhounds. As for the dogs, when they grow old and toothless, Jones ties a brick round their necks and drowns them in the nearest pond.

Each week day I dropped the girls off to school at eight am, then worked solidly until I collected them from afterschool club at five-thirty, often returning to the Longing once they were in bed. I enjoyed Finn’s conversational tour of Lòn Haven, and occasionally his death metal tapes. Here, on Lòn Haven, I was untethered from the past. Everything I’d carried for the last fifteen years – the shock of my pregnancy with Saffy, the grief at losing Sean, and now, that terrifying phone call – was gobbled up by the ravenous tide. And witnessing the Longing transform, stroke by stroke, into something a little less knackered, its former glory beginning to creep back, was rewarding. I felt that, maybe, I could start again, too.

I’m knackered now,” he admits. “I think you’re actually going to have to help me to the room.” I laugh. “Really, granddad? You rock stars should come with some sort of disclaimer, warning us that reality doesn’t always live up to the pretty package.

Phew, I am so glad its Friday tomorrow,” Lucy exhaled, flopping back onto the white leather sectional sofa. “I am so knackered it is unbelievable.

hating myself for catching a glimpse of a very hairy wizard with one leg up on the sink, using a hairdryer to blow dry the forest around his knackers—what the hell is that all about? Use a towel you freak—I

Well, that was a first,” he murmured, his grin spreading. “But I quite enjoyed it. Took things to whole new heights, it did. Jay-zus. What are ye doin’ half-into yer breeches and lookin’ like the world’s just come to an end, Nerissa?” “What?” she howled, frozen. “I said, what the divil are ye doin’, lass?” “I was going to get help!” “For what?” “For you!” He roared with laughter. “I passed out. Felt good. Incredible, in fact. Never happened to me before… must be the loss of blood.” “I thought I’d killed you!” she nearly screamed, sobbing with relief. “And you’re lying there laughing about it!” “Best release I’ve ever had,” he said with a happy sigh. And then, noting her outrage and relief, he moved over on the cot and reached for her. “Get out of those damned breeches, Nerissa, and come join me.” “Come join you? You just scared the living daylights out of me.” “We’ll do it again soon,” he said. “And maybe you’ll get used to it. In the meantime, I’m knackered. And freezing-cold. Care to warm a body up, Sunshine?” He grinned over at her. When he looked at her like that, it was impossible to stay angry with him.

Why the fuck, he asked himself, as he limped towards Mile End Park the following morning, was he, the senior partner and founder of the firm, having to stake out a protest march on a hot Saturday morning, when he had three employees and a knackered leg?

The orchestra’s still playing a waltz, and Evan says to me: “Violet, do you want to dance?” I know he’s pitched it so Luca can hear; I see Luca’s shoulders stiffen. Because of course, I’m looking at him, not at Evan. “I’m a bit knackered from all that running around,” I lie. “Another time.” And I smile up at Evan, because he’s really nice, and because he likes me, and because I have to stop obsessing about Luca, about how much I would like it to be Luca asking me to dance… “Stu?” Andi says to him wistfully. “Just this once?” “Oh, Ev!” Stu says to his friend reproachfully. “You had to go ask a girl to dance! Now you’ve dropped me in it!” “Sorry, dude,” Evan says, not sounding remotely remorseful. “Stu,” Andi wails to her boyfriend. “It’s so romantic…” “Jeez, Andi,” Stu says, wrapping his arm around her. “You know guys only dance with chicks to get--uh, to get to know them. Once you’ve, uh, got to know them, you don’t need to dance anymore. Right, Ev?” Evan falls back, and Stu emits an “Oof” that sounds as if Evan’s smacked him on the head. “Dropped you in it right back, buddy!” Stu says cheerfully.

Goddamn yer blood, you . . . / Lewrie wished to shout aloud; can’t I relieve him for drunkeness, at least? He 71 bugger this up, certain! Drunk as Davy’s Sow, or from spite for gettin’ some o’ his Molly Boys knackered! For better or worse, though, unfortunately, he was stuck with him. Oh, but if you turn this into a shambles, Jemmy, I’ll see ye stomped on like a worm!