That Sunday night feeling...
Type your cut contents here.What a weekend, and rather nicely, all good. The christening on Saturday was briefer than I expected and more fun than imagined. Got to meet and see old friends from those not so halcyon days at university. The ceremony was noticeably shorter than expected even with the addition of 6 more children to the expected mix. Apparently the Roman Catholic church has bought into the BOGOF principle for ceremonies, and I have to say it makes a certain sense, the down side being of course that the relevant priest hadn't mentioned the multiple gatherings to the individual parents. Could have been tricky had the other groups been as large as ours, something about fire regulations and Euclidean geometry getting int the way.
But all in all it was rather nice, I removed myself to a small kitchen area to serve drinks and do the washing up, besides it was a damn site cooler in there and, well, the drinks were closer. Whatever the truth HW myself and Mr. Failing Angel scooted around 3 to leave the others to finish up on the cleaning up. Headed home and did the tedium of the weekend - laundry, tidying the flat and the inevitable paperwork of life. Having however seen the rather “crippled” state of Jobuni and knowing she had more problems at her place other than a couple of transatlantic friends, sewers and their rather catastrophic blockages I offered the option at dining at Chez Welshness that night.
Got back and did the sundries before dashing out to the local supermarket and purchasing a sizable lump of dead cow. And on that point I argued with HW, she wanted something lighter to gnaw on. The problem being that a certain mister Noidd is infamous for his inability to be punctual, Jobuni has broken toes and a neonate to worry about. Mrs Tenebrosity had in all certainty had a snoring leviathan of the deeps to raise from slumber, Smallbluesphere in all reason does what is best, and yet I had food to generate with a required rapidity of arrival. If in doubt go for a roast, 30 minutes either side is no problem and some foil and a reduced oven can hide a lump of meat from inedibility for a couple of hours. So we had dead cow and drank and talked till all were tired and ready for home.
So Saturday comes to a close and I hopped onto LJ to check some stuff, so to a Black Rabbit out there I spotted your response to which I have, a few queries and comments as follows...
1. I shall respond with something random I like about you.
Your patience ....even when sorely tried.
You never met my family, anyone else is simple to deal with.
2. I shall tell you what song, movie or book reminds me of you.
Macavity the mystery cat.
Right, and at this point I refer you to the following lyrics and the commentaries thereupon...
Macavity's a Mystery Cat: he's called the Hidden Paw -
For he's the master criminal who can defy the Law.
He's the bafflement of Scotland Yard, the Flying Squad's despair:
For when they reach the scene of crime - Macavity's not there!
++ For the record I have never been convicted of any criminal offense and to suggest to the contrary is libel. Besides my Dad worked at Scotland Yard and Special Branch so it would be, painfully embarrassing. Not so much the hidden paw as the brutal, open cudgel shurely (ed)? And of course I'm not there, I'm innocent, please speak to my brief.
Macavity, Macavity, there's no one like Macavity,
He's broken every human law, he breaks the law of gravity.
His powers of levitation would make a fakir stare,
And when you reach the scene of crime - Macavity's not there!
You may seek him in the basement, you may look up in the air -
But I tell you once and once again, Macavity's not there!
++ The laws of mere humans are irrelevant having been acknowledged as part of the ubermensch and therefore beyond such simple issues. Gravity however is another matter, a force which cannot be defined in quantum mechanics accurately is something I prefer at best to ignore and quite frankly refuse to defy. I only levitate whilst asleep, and that is none of your business.
Mcavity's a ginger cat, he's very tall and thin;
You would know him if you saw him, for his eyes are sunken in.
His brow is deeply lined with thought, his head is highly domed;
His coat is dusty from neglect, his whiskers are uncombed.
He sways his head from side to side, with movements like a snake;
And when you think he's half asleep, he's always wide awake.
++ I am not GINGER, my genetic makeup defines me as a brunette and therefore not as a failed blonde. Thin? Not for many years, eyes sunken, possibly. And I use conditioner on my beard thank you very much it is a luxuriant and generous growth. As for lulling the enemy into a false sense of security, I was merely gently_snoozing (TM).
Macavity, Macavity, there's no one like Macavity,
For he's a fiend in feline shape, a monster of depravity.
You may meet him in a by-street, you may see him in the square -
But when a crime's discovered, then Macavity's not there!
++ If I look feline go complain to your optician, 'cos he ripped you. I am usually bipedal and do not have a penchant for licking my arse. The depravity thing, perhaps, some of my... interests could be described as excessive but you HAVE to check every barrel to be sure. I may be in the square but I promise I will never be on the Level.
He's outwardly respectable. (They say he cheats at cards.)
And his footprints are not found in any file of Scotland Yard's.
And when the larder's looted, or the jewel-case is rifled,
Or when the milk is missing, or another Peke's been stifled,
Or the greenhouse glass is broken, and the trellis past repair -
Ay, there's the wonder of the thing! Macavity's not there!
++ I have never cheated at cards, there are two things I take seriously and cards are one of them. Neither footprints nor fingerprints are held by the Police. Larders are fair game at my bulk, jewel cases dull. As for greenhouses I have enough not to want to throw stones.
And when the Foreign Office find a Treaty's gone astray,
Or the Admiralty lose some plans and drawings by the way,
There may be a scrap of paper in the hall or on the stair -
But it's useless to investigate - Mcavity's not there!
And when the loss has been disclosed, the Secret Service say:
`It must have been Macavity!' - but he's a mile away.
You'll be sure to find him resting, or a-licking of his thumbs,
Or engaged in doing complicated long-division sums.
++ I so wish my power over foreign policy was so great, also naval doctrine. Yeah, right, and spooks care about me? I can however lick my thumbs and do long division along with multiplication, fractions, differentiation (very badly though) and for some ungodly reason quadratic equations. Something about receiving a comprehensive education.
Macavity, Macavity, there's no one like Macavity,
There never was a Cat of such deceitfulness and suavity.
He always has an alibi, and one or two to spare:
At whatever time the deed took place - MACAVITY WASN'T THERE!
And they say that all the Cats whose wicked deeds are widely known
(I might mention Mungojerrie, I might mention Griddlebone)
Are nothing more than agents for the Cat who all the time
Just controls their operations: the Napoleon of Crime!
++ The word suavity really worries me at this point. There is nothing wrong with alibis, they are merely the sign of a well prepared individual I am after all as honest as the day is long. I prefer not to think myself as someone who would start a land war in Russia during the winter months, perhaps that is just common sense?
3. I shall name something we should do together.
Drink, ruminate and set the world to rights (or lefts {grin})
Same bat time, same bat place... Need you on Tuesday, for the College, tis an Amber thing - speak with your dear sister.
4. I shall say something that only makes sense to you and me (or at least me).
Size 50 undead crocodile
Bastard!
5. I shall tell you my first or clearest memory of you.
UKM ...Doctor Harris
Probably accurate, do you remember the dumb arse Brujahs though?
6. I shall leave you a quote that is somehow appropriate to you.
'rex totius Britanniae' eh ? Athelstan
Gotcha (grins) was a great plot, shame the game died.
7. I shall ask you something that I have always wondered about you.
Maybe Hunters ???
Don't maybe me baby, yes or no?
Interlude over now. Sunday hit and I ran an excellent game of Amber - by excellent I mean I enjoyed the hell out of it. So weekend good. HW happy, cat furry and work on Monday.
Oh and for Noidd... Bill Hicks, comedian chase him up when you get back t'other side of the pond. The book is from R.Talsorian games - the complete firearms manual. Oh and enjoy Brass Eye. Free speech hasn't died it just became smarter over here.