Greetings, Northern Cloggies
By 'eck, it rains like b*****y here in Manchester, where I am stuck on business, but an old crone selling slabs of lard from a bucket by the tramshed assured me that the weather will improve, so I'm thinking of renting one of those Grobs from Barton in order to fly over the dark satanic mills. If any of you black pudding noshers fancies a whippet sandwich and a beer in the bar (Michael Caine Get Carter voice: "and I want it in a thin glass"), give me a shout.