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I love the smell..

Let me present you a small vignette of rural life in England today.
The pub was busy, but quiet without Mr FM and the Good Colonel (off serving his country in some boggy country). Rob the Knob, our local drug dealer, was showing off to the youngsters in the backroom and "accidentally" let off a CS gas spray.
The landlord just opened the windows; the teenage girls cried a bit more than they usually do on a Friday night; the old Ulster hands I was drinking with started the automatic reflex of searching their pockets for some HP2 batteries; and the hunt supporters just thought it was a training exercise. As tears streamed down our faces the beer went down faster and no one really complained...

Comments

don't tell me, the old Ulster hand was the Fat Major??

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