Another landmark passed

Well, the final quiz night came and went. ellefurtle and I, ably aided by motorpickle and Chris sans LJ we came third, which is traditional, I guess. Twenty-five from thirty was not quite good enough, which is a shame since the pot has reached £720 (and it’s rolled over to next week, if you’re in the area). That would have been very useful, even split four ways!

I may have over indulged a little on cider. This morning I feel a little squiffy - not actually hung-over in the pounding headache, dry tongue sense, but definitely below par (and it’s not as if my par is particularly high in the first place!). Still, I have a latté and the office is quiet, so I shall get by. An early night tonight, I think, so I can rest up ahead of the mad packing tomorrow.

Another final, today, too. I shall never again travel to work down the Northern Line – at least not from Totteridge and Whetstone. I had hoped this morning, to see the Creepy Swedish Guy one last time. I might have said ‘hello’ and scared the bejasus out of him. The weasel wasn’t there, nor was the odd but smiling Gnome Lady. Even the Reality Engineers were conspicuously absent (though I spent much of the journey with my eyes closed, because the interminable school trips with thousands of prepubescent kids were evidentially there for one last session of loud annoyance.

I daresay that the route in from Ilford will have its own characters, though and I fully expect Reality Engineers to be around in great numbers at least between Liverpool Street Station and Victoria, if nowhere else. As the Circle/District Lines swing round past The Tower of London, they will be needed to disguise the power of Brân’s Head issuing from the motte, where legend buried it.

I shall keep you informed, but for now…

Another landmark passed

Well, the final quiz night came and went. ellefurtle and I, ably aided by motorpickle and Chris sans LJ we came third, which is traditional, I guess. Twenty-five from thirty was not quite good enough, which is a shame since the pot has reached £720 (and it’s rolled over to next week, if you’re in the area). That would have been very useful, even split four ways!

I may have over indulged a little on cider. This morning I feel a little squiffy - not actually hung-over in the pounding headache, dry tongue sense, but definitely below par (and it’s not as if my par is particularly high in the first place!). Still, I have a latté and the office is quiet, so I shall get by. An early night tonight, I think, so I can rest up ahead of the mad packing tomorrow.

Another final, today, too. I shall never again travel to work down the Northern Line – at least not from Totteridge and Whetstone. I had hoped this morning, to see the Creepy Swedish Guy one last time. I might have said ‘hello’ and scared the bejasus out of him. The weasel wasn’t there, nor was the odd but smiling Gnome Lady. Even the Reality Engineers were conspicuously absent (though I spent much of the journey with my eyes closed, because the interminable school trips with thousands of prepubescent kids were evidentially there for one last session of loud annoyance.

I daresay that the route in from Ilford will have its own characters, though and I fully expect Reality Engineers to be around in great numbers at least between Liverpool Street Station and Victoria, if nowhere else. As the Circle/District Lines swing round past The Tower of London, they will be needed to disguise the power of Brân’s Head issuing from the motte, where legend buried it.

I shall keep you informed, but for now…