There's a pub near us that advertises a 'Monday Club'. Now, given that this pub isn't the most salubrious of drinking establishments, I would really rather not know what this club entailed. I wouldn't mind betting, however, that it doesn't involve a nice game of shove ha'penny. Shove broken bottle, perhaps.
Putting that aside, it's perhaps just as well we don't really want to go, as I'm not sure just when it takes place.
Well, I was.
But that was before Julie decided to put logic and sentence structure into a drug-crazed TARDIS and send the schedule bouncing around the space/time continuum like a rubber ball on steroids.
My head hurts...