Same thing happened to Walshy yesterday.
Walshy won't sell, it's his nest egg.
Probably helps that it was all Walshy's cash.
Walshy was on the warpath.
Walshy came to collect his things the next day.
I would better go give Walshy the glad tidings.
The second I left the showroom, Walshy called his wife.
Hang on a second, Walshy, frankly I can't believe what I'm hearing.
And it wasn't only Walshy and Little Prick taking advantage of my recent dip in performance.
It was so bad that even a sofa that smelt of Walshy's arse-crack felt like an upgrade.