I have been in Manchester all day with Miss Whiplash.
OK?
You swine!
Poor Wenchy left sitting on a bench on the platform, sobbing her way through a box of tissues and stabbing furry toys with a hatpin.
Later, Mr Wench with ears chewed off, huddled in the corner eating a cold kebab.
All because Nick had to spend a day of exquisite pain in the Mancunian fleshpots.
I am ashamed for my fellow man.
