Congrats, you arl gits 
Youth Never Wore Cologne.
Fuckin right an all. "Womens scent". Only fit for poofs and Nancy Boys. It was a struggle to get them to wear deodorant never mind bleedin cologne. Mind you, I always found fresh male sweat a powerful afrothingy, especially when combined with mud.
Puts me in mind of the days when Mr May used to play rugby. At the end of the match I'd be standing on the touchline in me tight white boots, little jacket and a mini skirt up to me arse with a pint of cold ale. And Mr May would just nod, grab the pint and guzzle it down, and I would watch, enraptured, at the sight of him, dripping with fresh manly sweat, caked in mud, with little rivers of ale escaping from the sides of his mouth, and it was all I could do to restrain myself from tearing his kit off and aving im, ravishing him on the spot.
But instead, ladylike, I waited with bated breath for the next stuff. He'd pass the empty glass back, wipe the back of his hand across his mouth in a manly manner, then say something like "Are you sure there are enough cups laid out for the lads"? I'd assure him there were. He'd say "Yer a smashin popsie ya are" and fetch me a helluva smack on the arse. And then he'd be off to the clubhouse, and I'd be have the perfume of manly sweat and mud and the sound of his studs on the concrete.
Aye well. Happy days.
I think that recollection, although very pleasant and romantic, was quite tiring, and a glass or two of Wincarnis is necessary - for medicinal purposes only of course. And a quiet lie down.
