Finally the answers

I promised when we did the Halloween challenge, that I would match the stories with the songs so here, finally, I have got around to doing it:

nyarbaggytep: The Tide is High - Blondie
romney: none
pax_draconis: Godzilla - Blue Oyster Cult
manamar: Man of Colours - Icehouse
snorkel_maiden: Ain’t No Sunshine - Bill Withers
geekette8: Suburbia – Petshop Boys
bopeepsheep:The Air That I Breathe - The Hollies
littleonionz: Amelia – The Mission
fencingsculptor: Sharon - Deacon Blue
bibliogirl: White Rabbit - Jefferson Airplane
maleghast: The Dweller Upon the Threshold of Time - The Freezing Fog
caddyman: Chim Chimney – Dick Van Dyke
ellefurtle: Killer Queen - Queen

I think I've got them all right (though Baggy had another version of the same song in mind).

Does anyone fancy having ago at another for Christmas, as every year?

Finally the answers

I promised when we did the Halloween challenge, that I would match the stories with the songs so here, finally, I have got around to doing it:

nyarbaggytep: The Tide is High - Blondie
romney: none
pax_draconis: Godzilla - Blue Oyster Cult
manamar: Man of Colours - Icehouse
snorkel_maiden: Ain’t No Sunshine - Bill Withers
geekette8: Suburbia – Petshop Boys
bopeepsheep:The Air That I Breathe - The Hollies
littleonionz: Amelia – The Mission
fencingsculptor: Sharon - Deacon Blue
bibliogirl: White Rabbit - Jefferson Airplane
maleghast: The Dweller Upon the Threshold of Time - The Freezing Fog
caddyman: Chim Chimney – Dick Van Dyke
ellefurtle: Killer Queen - Queen

I think I've got them all right (though Baggy had another version of the same song in mind).

Does anyone fancy having ago at another for Christmas, as every year?

...and with a single bound...

So, time I guess, for a round up of sorts before our office firewall discovers that I have this much access and stops that too. I may have a work around involving RSS feeds and another website, but that’s something I shall have to investigate at home this evening.

Thursday night, ellefurtle and I went off to the O2 Arena to watch Eddie Izzard’s gig. It was good, but not as good as I’d hoped it would be. For every bit that was a genuine rip-snorter, there were at least one and a half that were smile-worthy at best and flat didn’t work at worst. The DVD of the show is based upon earlier gigs leading up to this, his more refined material. I saw it at the weekend. I don’t recommend it, though it is considerably cheaper than seeing him live. In all, I enjoyed the evening, but would it did feel at times like he was still working the material up, rather than presenting a polished gig.

Beforehand, we went top an American bar for cocktails and food. This was really rather good; we both had calzone: I tried the Sicilian Meatballs, Furtle went for the Mushroom and Mozzarella. Very toothsome and very filling. I think we may have to go there again, next time we visit the O2.

The weekend saw our crew of longstanding drive up to Norfolk for the annual GASP weekend (see LJs passim). Enjoyable as usual, in fact the best we have had for a couple of years, though I remain baffled by the revelation that every mile deeper into Norfolk is a year back in time. We spent the weekend then, in about 1962. O2 managed to punch a random signal in a couple of time to taunt me, but as a useful network, Vodafone have the effective monopoly.

Home yesterday to an Indian takeaway with the lovely Furtle, having dug out the Christmas Tree and decorated it. The living room looks properly festive now.

It seems that the initial exploration into the world of mortgage finding started well enough with Furtle sinking the battleship with her very first shot as it were. Subject to some routine checks we appear to have been approved for a mortgage. The all-seeing eye is now upon us, and already unknown solicitors and the Land Registry are getting ready to bandy comedy quotes at us. The former for preparing ye dedes in copper-plate script on velum, etched with goose quills, no doubt, whilst the latter is simply a tax-grab by any other name. And yet there is some strange enchantment about the entire process of mortgages and house-buying. In no other field I can think of, do people actively applaud and encourage you to strap a mill stone to your shoulders and chain your feet to a cast iron ball, while other people come along and write out huge invoices for petty services.

I could do with a sleep.

...and with a single bound...

So, time I guess, for a round up of sorts before our office firewall discovers that I have this much access and stops that too. I may have a work around involving RSS feeds and another website, but that’s something I shall have to investigate at home this evening.

Thursday night, ellefurtle and I went off to the O2 Arena to watch Eddie Izzard’s gig. It was good, but not as good as I’d hoped it would be. For every bit that was a genuine rip-snorter, there were at least one and a half that were smile-worthy at best and flat didn’t work at worst. The DVD of the show is based upon earlier gigs leading up to this, his more refined material. I saw it at the weekend. I don’t recommend it, though it is considerably cheaper than seeing him live. In all, I enjoyed the evening, but would it did feel at times like he was still working the material up, rather than presenting a polished gig.

Beforehand, we went top an American bar for cocktails and food. This was really rather good; we both had calzone: I tried the Sicilian Meatballs, Furtle went for the Mushroom and Mozzarella. Very toothsome and very filling. I think we may have to go there again, next time we visit the O2.

The weekend saw our crew of longstanding drive up to Norfolk for the annual GASP weekend (see LJs passim). Enjoyable as usual, in fact the best we have had for a couple of years, though I remain baffled by the revelation that every mile deeper into Norfolk is a year back in time. We spent the weekend then, in about 1962. O2 managed to punch a random signal in a couple of time to taunt me, but as a useful network, Vodafone have the effective monopoly.

Home yesterday to an Indian takeaway with the lovely Furtle, having dug out the Christmas Tree and decorated it. The living room looks properly festive now.

It seems that the initial exploration into the world of mortgage finding started well enough with Furtle sinking the battleship with her very first shot as it were. Subject to some routine checks we appear to have been approved for a mortgage. The all-seeing eye is now upon us, and already unknown solicitors and the Land Registry are getting ready to bandy comedy quotes at us. The former for preparing ye dedes in copper-plate script on velum, etched with goose quills, no doubt, whilst the latter is simply a tax-grab by any other name. And yet there is some strange enchantment about the entire process of mortgages and house-buying. In no other field I can think of, do people actively applaud and encourage you to strap a mill stone to your shoulders and chain your feet to a cast iron ball, while other people come along and write out huge invoices for petty services.

I could do with a sleep.