Went to a friend's **th birthday at the weekend (age deleted to protect the sensitive), which he had wisely chosen to have upstairs (big open windows) in a pub, and less wisely across the road from a funfair. Although to be honest he couldn't have foreseen that the evening would be enlivened by the occasional sound of a speaker-distorted voice bawling
After a few glasses of wine it seemed like the best idea in the world to just, you know, cross the road for a few minutes, just to look, oh wow candyfloss... And let's face it, what hastily-acquired present says "Congratulations on your **th birthday" better than a lifesize stuffed toy of Bully, the mascot from Bullseye...? Don't answer that, it was a rhetorical question, and it's too late. His beautifully-decorated bachelor pad will now have a hint of dirty old pub lech about it, and I'm sure he's suitably grateful.
I used to work for Air France and of all the things the French found mildly eccentric about us, darts was the one that really foxed them. Where else in the world are a bunch of fat sweating nylon-clad middle-aged men clutching pints of lager considered sportsmen? (Boules doesn't count because they're outdoors, and at least they're doing some walking). One colleague could actually be reduced to tears of derisive laughter by the use of the phrase "Darts International, Jocky Wilson.."