I should like my weekend again, please, but this time around with consideration for good behaviour.
I spent rather longer at the
Coal Hole in the Strand than I intended, after work on Friday, before leaving
![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
fencingsculptor to hold his own amongst a bunch of geeks and wobbling my way, soused and rather peckish, to a bar called the
Loose Box1 to meet/rescue
ellefurtle from an office leaving do. We got home, watered but unfed shortly after midnight.
A sandwich, cup of tea and a shower later, I rolled into bed sometime around 1.30am, which would have been okay if I hadn’t had to set the alarm clock to go off at 5.55am so I could get up and have breakfast before the arrival of
wallabok at – as it turned out, 6.15 rather than the planned 6.30… (traffic is rather quieter then than later in the day). Then we set off to Bristol for the day, leaving Furtle cosily snoozing.
Ah, Bristol. A fine city but just a little too distant for someone who lives in East London (or the Cambridge area) to get to comfortably for an all day event. I’ve done it three years on the trot and it would go so much better if I took advantage of the hotel the event is held in, but that would be even more expensive and this year at least, ready money is at a premium. (Buying a house does that to the finances).
The annual trip to Bristol is one of those things that makes sense only to the people who do it (and even then, not a huge amount of sense). Essentially, a bunch of people – I have lost count of the number of leagues: I think it may be five, of 32 teams, play an online simulation of American Football. For reasons that make less sense the more I think about it, we all meet up once a year to – ahem -
draft players for the next season. Essentially we spend the day picking statistics to improve our collection of statistics in the hope of beating other players’ collections of statistics when they are run through a computer program.
I told you it doesn’t make much sense. Other stuff happens, too, but that’s the meat and drink of it.
Leaving early meant that we were able to get back to Ilford around 19.00 in the evening and for once I was in bed well before midnight.
Sunday saw clan Furtle back around for a flying visit. Old American friends had turned up – one claiming to be the only Democrat from Georgia – who professed an extreme liking for English beer, but who in the event, managed a single pint (much to Furtle Pa’s and my horror – it proved impossible to entertain the bloke), and a rather glamorous college friend of Furtle Ma
2, who is now resident in the UK and has been for many years. She proved a much more personable character.
After they had left, we ate the left over pizza from the night before and I nearly destroyed my knees against the wooden floor trying to put up the final and rather recalcitrant shelf in the living room, while Furtle did gardening tidying chores.
We then watched a DVD of Michael Caine in
Harry Brown before turning in. The film was excellent, though the night’s sleep was not. I recommend the movie heartily, but I should like a period of unbroken sleep of more than just a few minutes at a time tonight, please. Though between being woken up, I understand that I was snoring for England, so I can’t really blame Furtle for nudging me awake, I guess. I may have to prepare the emergency futon if it happens again tonight, since I shall be dead on my feet if I have another night like that tonight. And so, I strongly suspect, will Furtle!
I should like my weekend again, please, but this time around with consideration for good behaviour.
1Smutty joke of your own choice here, or is it just me? Okay, it’s just me.2I understand there is a store of embarrassing ‘when we were young’ stories to be mined there one day. Though I expect that Furtle Ma will engineer circumstances to limit the possibilities of me ever hearing any of them.![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}