How you can win your fifteen minutes of fame and still not be happy.
Whoopsie-daisie!
Gee, what is this around my ankles? I was in Cardiff last year, and I didn’t see any of this. Instead, I was nearly the only one at the bar. I must have been in the wrong neighborhood.
Based on the appurtenances, these look exclusively like girls on Hen-Nights. The female equivalent of Stag-nights, you understand. As a single man at a bar, Doug, you would be something these women would avoid, unless they thought they could humiliate you. But note the sparkly party-hat, the party-favour boa, the uniform tee-shirts. These are women on a mission to “enjoy” themselves. Modern-day Bacchantes. They would tear you limb from limb, Doug, as the Bacchantes did Orpheus.
They are not your general run-of-the-mill Saturday-nighters.