Thetownend.com

Lacoste Polo in green, perforated style, size 4 (probably L).

Out of the wrapper but never worn. £10.

[url width=400 height=300]http://www.thepricechopper.com/images/Dark%20Green.jpg[/url]

[url width=165 height=175]http://www.polooo.com/polooo/images/H.jpg[/url]

Do you have any oxford Shirts for sale?

to wipe your bottom on?

Good shout

The Lyle and Scott sold, so i removed it from above.

pm'd

luke is sold. good taste dex, i'm sure you'll like.

Lacoste's only a tenner!

Just the green one left now. Bargain! Free P&P!

I'd have the green one, but think i'm a bit too fat for it.

re lacoste...does the label say where it was made?

India. They were bought in America, from a department store, by my Mum.

When I went to Goa there was a bright shiny Lacoste store amongst the dust and dirt. It looked very out of place. They were selling their polos for about £15/20 a go there, still got my blue one.

Is that the one in Panaji?

I went in there, about 10 staff in a tiny little shop. Fill yer boots time.

I sold a couple of shirts on ebay from there. Doubled money. Another thing out there, drugs (pain killers etc). You could buy thousands for pennies.

If that was Panaji, you are doing a bit of a disservice to their roads though. Best I saw in all of India. I was more worried about all the swastikas.

could have been that place, it was the tourist capital bit.

its funny seeing the queues of northern scallies over there, outside the late night chemists buying their drugs for the night. you could buy bottles of amphetamines and k for a couple of quid, and the chemist wouldn't bat an eyelid. i went on crocodile tours and rode up and down the coastline on my moped instead. a couple of my mates jumped at the opportunity to re-enact fear & loathing in goa for the entire two weeks.

im not a lacoste kinda guy

fuck me i must've gone at the wrong sort of time, it wasn't that cheap

or i'm shit at maths

aagghhhhh! Bennett's online.

The Sexy Spacatron.

I love Bennett. We went to the pub a few times one month when he recommenced the path of alcohol goodness. As soon as he got back on his feet he ditched me like the cheap drinking buddy whore that I am. It hurt inside, but I was too prideful to show it, looking back that was the start of my troubles. The next few months left me craving for the attention I once had; although at the time I didn't put the events together. I found myself drinking alone in empty pubs, desperately trying to befriend anybody who came through the doors. I'd only last a week or two in each pub before the landlords would get fed up of me putting off the other customers, but I'd be on to the next establishment soon enough, where the cycle would continue. 

It was around this time when I walked into a tiny little pub that I'd never noticed before. Hidden away by the avenue tree's dotted unevenly along the sides of the road, and the Jesus loves you posters from the church next door. The landlords name was Jim. Jim was of a timeless age, maybe a young 70 or an old 50, but definitely not 60. Irish, or at least by descent, he had the look of a man who'd seen much in his life; most of it through others eyes. There was a simple complexity about Jim, he knew what he wanted to say and he knew just enough words to say it, yet there was a sort of poetry to his speech; a rhythmic rhyme, a sort of bass line to the wise content of his words.

There was never a clue to the day or date in Jim's pub, the clientèle were regular in their frequent irregularity, but every one of them was a character....

Get a job.

liberal comma usage.

I want to hear more about Jim's pub

Maybe after some more wine, Sam's comments have knocked my confidence for random forum posting.

What the fuck does he know!

He knows Ben doesn't have a job.

Apart from that

He's just a negative nancy.

No, just a realist.

He knows the capital of Peru.

Having a job never stopped me writing random forum shit though did it? And I was working fucked up hours the last job I had. I don't get what your little dig had to do with anything. I think you're upset because I called you an uncultured dullard the other day. Well matey boy, you didn't recognise a synopsis of Othello did you?

You're not doing your potential top trumps cards ratings any favours are you, I wouldn't be surprised if Yeovil gave you negative scores. Boooo at Sam.

Considering he's sat in front of the biggest fuck off encyclopedia in the world, I'm not surprised. Is it Lima?

no, it's P.

No, it's Lima

No, it's P.

I saw my mate Jose the Peruvian Chef for the first time in ages today. He's well gay. Has silly gay hair and everything. He's ace fun though. I miss working with him. Good times.

Ask him what the capital of Peru is. If he says P, stab him.

The first other customer I saw in Jim's pub was a little old man. One day I came in and he was sat in the corner, half hidden by smoke, with a battered newspaper and a pint of stout that I didn't recognise from any of the taps. I automatically went to go over and say hello, but Jim caught my eye and shook his head. I tried to ask Jim about the man but he wouldn't say much. I gathered that his name was One-Eye Bill, and that from the silent rebuke I got, that I should leave him alone

After a while One-Eye Bill seemed to be a constant fixture in the corner, I got the impression from Jim that he'd been there long before I had, but any of my more inquisitive questions were left silently unanswered. As I was sat sipping through my pints, I'd often peer across to get a better look at One-Eye. Even through the smoke it wasn't hard to see that both his eyes were fairly conspicuous in their presence. I never asked Jim why One-Eye had Two-Eyes, by that point I knew that all I'd get was a knowing smile, possibly with a slightly worn out shaking of the head for good measure.

One day I went into Jim's and One-Eye wasn't there. I noticed his absence but didn't think much of it, yet Jim seemed a bit on edge. A few pints in to my session, One-Eye wandered in looking confused and distressed. I went to help him out but he looked straight through me. Jim quickly reached into a cupboard stacked full of yellowing newspapers, grabbed the first one and passed it over to One-Eye.

As Jim passed over the newspaper, One-Eye seemed to calm down. It was then that I managed to catch the date on it. July 16th 1991. Jim must have caught me reading but he didn't say anything, he walked out round the bar and say One-Eye down in his corner.

From that point on I'd always try and inconspicuously walk past One-Eye, which wasn't easy with him sat in the corner. Every time I managed it, the paper always had the same date on it: July 16th 1991. Jim would never say anything, but I later found out from one of the other customers that Bill had found his wife dead on the morning of July 17th. I guess Jim must have had a quiet arrangement with Bill's carers, but I never found out for sure.

By that point I'd become friendly with some of the other frequent drinkers at Jim's pub, and an odd bunch they were. Yet One-Eye Bill was always left alone, whilst still watched out for. I'm glad that One-Eye was the first regular I became aware of, because it set me up for the strange mutual respect the other locals had for each other....

Urgh

what is lacoste of the polo?