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Our brethren from Norfolk are as mean as custard are they not? Trying all kinds of food and drink related ways to remain relevant.
Imagine if you will, their esteemed owner, tucked into a nosy little cook in a Stowmarket pub, fortifying herself early for a blurry journey to Portman Road. Meanwhile, a whole family making its way down the A140, mile after mile of it, crunching carrots and gulping down moonshine.
Later, with the game well underway Mzzz Smith briefly wakes as someone accidentally knocks into her gin crate, and produces a little tinkle. Never mind, it happens.
Just then, Ashley Barnes-Door blazes Norwich's one and only chance of the game over the corner flag - "More piss!" cries Delia "I wonder if he's a Dutch trunk, I know I am."
"Why haven't you handed over the reins to that nice witless Yank, yet, darling?" croaks Michael Wynn-Jones, stuffing in another chalk pop.
"Duck fat!" replies Delia, suddenly remembering how to do the roast spuds for Christmas dinner, "I'm in charge of this club until the gin runs out."
There veritably is only one Sticky Mockwell, don't you know.
Exactly 👍 Pure Bred Stokes gif me all day long. I personally never buy anything remotely connected to the Darklands. You can never be too careful…
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