Know what I mean, 'Arreeee

'Football' 'Arry has asked me to his birthday party, and like others recently, is having a more intimate tête-à-tentacle at "Bowlplex" (although I called it Blowplex) the skittles Emporium in Gunwharf, rather than some organized party with games and cakes.
I got him a card from Woolworth's (must have been in the cupboard a while) and wrote within:
"Dera Butt bottom Hawy by stinky pants" and put an airmail sticker on it to make sure.
We were the second people there so had a game of air hockey and then we waited about 45 minutes for the staff members to battle with the computer that controls the 2 lanes we were occupying. Meanwhile I watched the chap operating the wax droid which is a big machine that polishes the lanes.
We got free Sludge Puppies for having to wait for so long, and ran around having a farting competition, reminds me of the time I was arrested for possession of bagpipes in a built-up area.

There were bags of free lanes at the other end and we could have been finished and gone before the alleged League players turned up but in the end we had to begin without our proper names, because the keyboard wasn't playing.
I was Elliott, others played under the pseudonyms MA, Harri O, Ki Ra, T, ISS, K, blank, T R, and others. T R was absolute pants and kept throwing the ball into the left hand gutter every single time until the staff bloke put up the second barrier.
We had the right-hand lane with the slope and the ball dribbled down the left hand barrier, knocking off the outermost pin. This gave a splendid gap for the ball to roll harmlessly down on the second go.
Meanwhile, in the lane next to us, a chap called Dave sat and played with himself sadly. I don't think he won.
I was the only one on our side to get a strike and I ended up winning our side on 85, but almost all of the left-laners got more than that.
At food-time afterwards, Harri O and T competed for who could make the vilest concoction of vinegar, mustard, salt, ketchup and pepper and eat it on a chip or chocolate finger, when the cake was brought out.
At going home time we helpfully took Ben home even though he already had a lift booked, and messed up the system. But we did get to play "My name is Professor Buttocks" all the way home where you compete to invent the silliest middle name and spend so long inventing it you forget the whole point.