I heard a good one today. There's an allotment near ours whose occupants have collected an absurd amount of allotment-produced beer and wine. It's become a rather sordid drinking club for middle aged men.
For only a £2 entrance fee, you can go there and sit on an old box in a shed and drink yourself past the point of stupidity, in the charming company of your contemporaries.
I queried whether there must be some point when you're told to leave. Yes, indeed. One elderly Irishman, resident in Hebburn for many years, was thrown out after singing the same song three times in a row.