Sofa and steampunk
Subdued morning, due to enthusiastic imbibing the night before. Lorraine and I boofed onto the gold sofa watching the TV. Lorraine who had been working incredibly hard all week, sleeping again for some time. Eventually we unpeeled ourselves in the middle of the afternoon and walked into town, to meet Betty, Mark and Richard and Glenda in a pub called The Mesmerist. I realised I'd heard of this as Tarik from the Marlborough Theatre hosts some kind of a Steampunk event there, and there was a distinctly steampunk pictures on the wall, one of an elephant-like steampunk gasmask.
A cheery afternoon interlude. I really like Mark's Ma and Pa. Richard wearing one of his trademark Hawaiian-style shirts. Today's one was patterned by breakfast designs, like forked sausages, eggs and bottles of sauce, and was loud enough to interfere with a television if he stood too close to it. Mark drinking a pint of cider that was naturally cloudy and smelled and tasted like something pruduced from a kidney ward of a hospital.
Walked home again, scoring Chinese food en route and we cemented ourselves to the sofa watching the appalling X Factor on TV, which is a species of guilty pleasure. An early, water-sipping night.
Subdued morning, due to enthusiastic imbibing the night before. Lorraine and I boofed onto the gold sofa watching the TV. Lorraine who had been working incredibly hard all week, sleeping again for some time. Eventually we unpeeled ourselves in the middle of the afternoon and walked into town, to meet Betty, Mark and Richard and Glenda in a pub called The Mesmerist. I realised I'd heard of this as Tarik from the Marlborough Theatre hosts some kind of a Steampunk event there, and there was a distinctly steampunk pictures on the wall, one of an elephant-like steampunk gasmask.
A cheery afternoon interlude. I really like Mark's Ma and Pa. Richard wearing one of his trademark Hawaiian-style shirts. Today's one was patterned by breakfast designs, like forked sausages, eggs and bottles of sauce, and was loud enough to interfere with a television if he stood too close to it. Mark drinking a pint of cider that was naturally cloudy and smelled and tasted like something pruduced from a kidney ward of a hospital.
Walked home again, scoring Chinese food en route and we cemented ourselves to the sofa watching the appalling X Factor on TV, which is a species of guilty pleasure. An early, water-sipping night.
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