You Spin me right right round
You Spin Me Right, Right Round It was Friday night, and Stg. Salty had made a decision. A terrible decision. Possibly the worst decision since Ye Olde Large Lad had attempted to microwave a tin of beans. “Tonight,” announced Stg. Salty, standing proudly beside his Leopard 2 tank, “we are going clubbing!” There was silence. Then Dinkz raised an eyebrow. “Clubbing?” “Yep.” “In Dublin?” “Yep.” “In that tank?” Salty looked at the Leopard 2. “Obviously.” McFinley sighed. “I've a feeling this is going to cost me money.” Quags grinned. “I've a feeling it's going to cost someone a taxi.” WhizzAir immediately produced a clipboard. “Right, lads. I've organised transport, accommodation, club entry, emergency snacks and a backup emergency taxi.” Everyone stared at him. “What?” he said. “Last time we went out, Salty tried to order a kebab using military radio terminology.” “That kebab was a tactical operation!” Salty protested. Sarah, Susan, Lucy and Laura arrived just as the Misf...