"What are you up to on Saturday night?" Chimes the long hair general I rack my brains to find a way to get out of whatever gash social event she has lined up, and ready to grab my bergan and tab off lest the outlaws be on their way! "There'll be free food and a bar" my interest is now piqued! "Where is it" if it's anywhere near the outlaws then I am out! "Trowbridge" comes her reply, WTF good is in Trowbridge. But before I can voice this question she utters the immortal line "It's a pole dance cabaret" DING DING DING! "Why my dear, I am of course coming with you!" And thus the plan were laid. Upon arrival last night (with the Mrs and her mate tarted up in corsets and something doing a piss poor job of masquerading as a skirt) we were greeted by two stunners outside, wearing next to nothing, puffing a tab. Maybe it wasn't going to be as bad as I thought... Wandering in it was just wall to wall gash! Without thinking, as some leggy blonde strutted past, I let slip that usual Saturday night line "tap that", before realising who I was with. Only to be greeted by the reply, from the Mrs, of "me too" The next 4 hours were filled with women giggling about on poles while wearing very little clothing, some of them were a tad munting but the eye candy outweighed the hippos. Not to mention the domestic 0A was bringing me food and drinks all this time... Why is there any need to go on with life now?