That shut them up, well for a couple of seconds whilst they stepped back.“Go on then.” Ben shouted up.So we did, 2 torrents of yellow piss rained ...own in front of the guys.“Bet you can’t piss that far.” I said.“I could if I climbed up there.” Ben replied.“Guys,” I said, “I’ve got an idea, after we’ve had a couple of beers tonight let’s have a pissing contest to see who can piss the furthest.”“Bet I can beat you Areola.” B said.“No you can’t, I’m older than you.”“Only by 10 months, that’s. .. perfection. The meat was juicy, not quite cooked clear through, the pickle spears were crunchy, the lettuce was torn not cut, the caraway bun was thick, the condiments tasty. The vinegar was tart, salty and hinted at sweet. Followed by the root-beer, the meal was worth the 23 miles.Max was polite ... poor soul. He had no idea ... but we never do.A second root-beer in hand, they repaired to the back deck and watched the Lightning class sailboats drop spinnakers, round the Mill buoy and beat. More

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