Foul play
About 50% of the country seems to be reading Harry Potter and the deadly shallows at the moment. From the several people in the train all around me this morning. Of the people near me reading a book, 4 out of 5 of them were Pottering. Even the woman at the swimming pool looked up from her Harry Potter to admit one.
Writing an immense and less than magical project about cholesterol at work, thousands of words to be done at double quick time. The three word version being: cholesterol, it's bad. This forcing much slog at work.
Tonight, however, something entirely different I saw Mad Dog after work in Waterloo. We walked about here and there and played some pool in the Doggets pub. We've often done this in the past and it was weird to play a game of pool in a smoke-free environment.
I was thrashed as usual, although Bob should have been disqualified for outrageous gamesmanship in the last game. I made a fantastic break, dropping a ball into the pocket and teeing up several easily-potable balls. But before I could begin to smoothly clear the table he "accidentally" took a shot out of turn. With this foul shot, he'd moved the balls into completely unplayable positions, and I was soon found myself slaughtered yet again. Bah.
Thence to the Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese for a gulp or two in the dark bar where we talked about conspiracies and the end of the world as we know it, before leaving to strap on an Indian nosebag.
On the train going home a smallish man next to me fell asleep. I was dozing too but imagine my alarm when he suddenly, and suprisingly powerfully, snuggled into to me. Had to push him off, much to the amusement of the woman across the isle. Once awake the bounder didn't even have the decency to look sheepish.
Below the latest Skelly epic, where he discourses on the subject of Ribs.
About 50% of the country seems to be reading Harry Potter and the deadly shallows at the moment. From the several people in the train all around me this morning. Of the people near me reading a book, 4 out of 5 of them were Pottering. Even the woman at the swimming pool looked up from her Harry Potter to admit one.
Writing an immense and less than magical project about cholesterol at work, thousands of words to be done at double quick time. The three word version being: cholesterol, it's bad. This forcing much slog at work.
Tonight, however, something entirely different I saw Mad Dog after work in Waterloo. We walked about here and there and played some pool in the Doggets pub. We've often done this in the past and it was weird to play a game of pool in a smoke-free environment.
I was thrashed as usual, although Bob should have been disqualified for outrageous gamesmanship in the last game. I made a fantastic break, dropping a ball into the pocket and teeing up several easily-potable balls. But before I could begin to smoothly clear the table he "accidentally" took a shot out of turn. With this foul shot, he'd moved the balls into completely unplayable positions, and I was soon found myself slaughtered yet again. Bah.
Thence to the Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese for a gulp or two in the dark bar where we talked about conspiracies and the end of the world as we know it, before leaving to strap on an Indian nosebag.
On the train going home a smallish man next to me fell asleep. I was dozing too but imagine my alarm when he suddenly, and suprisingly powerfully, snuggled into to me. Had to push him off, much to the amusement of the woman across the isle. Once awake the bounder didn't even have the decency to look sheepish.
Below the latest Skelly epic, where he discourses on the subject of Ribs.
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