Saturday 21 November 2015

#129 Le pub

"So what do you think you'd want to do?" Lisha had been questioning me now for about half an hour. The head of our team at work had asked me the same question a couple of times lately too and I hadn't been able to answer it. Usually when you need a response from a magic 8 ball, you need to shake it, so that the little thing inside moves upwards to the surface. Maybe I needed a little shake. Or a big shake.

The reason I didn't write a blog post last weekend was that I would have written about how I broke into the house after locking myself out. I was worried that a burgler might read it and do the same. This was a stupid thing to think. I broke a window. Anyone can break a window. Aside from the shame of having done it, I was actually pretty pleased with the window that I got in through. Downstairs toilet. Barely bigger than a letterbox and twice the height. I laid a tshirt over the sill and wedged the partially broken frame against the outside wall by its latch to avoid broken glass. It fell down anyway onto my thighs as I finished into a handstand on the bathroom floor but the weight on the frame wasn't enough to push its remaining shards through my jeans.

The lady next door couldn't have been more helpful. I half made up my mind to break in while she was still surveying the situation with me but waited until she'd gone to actually do it.

Some good people turned out to Rich's birthday drinks on Friday night. I'm talking Phil Cole and John Twenty Two. I think he should get that number put on a football shirt. I won't forget to mention Ditch, his new bird or Sam Sugarman. Pleasant and entertaining company. I'm glad that Rich celebrated it with his friends. You only turn thirty once and as much as you might lament it, you've gotta admit, making it through another year is usually preferable to the alternative.


Running on empty said...

No arguing with that.

Profound Familiarity said...

Yessiree Bob. Usually.