Further ramblings of a self-made pauper

By crackey but you know when you're, or were tired when you go to bed and wake up around 8 hours later in exactly the same position you were in when you went to bed, and all your joints have seized up in the interim. That's the position I'm in this morning; every time I move something cracks (it is unnerving when you blink, let me tell you).

I left the office comparatively early to do some shopping and to meet up for a pint or two with romney except that the latter phoned to take a rain check, having been corralled for some hideous additional task by his boss, J Scrooge Marley-Ghost while doing something to the water cooler. Instead of a pint or two at the Civil Service Club, then, it was off to the Head of Steam for a pint and a natter with ellefurtle. A pint turned to three (I was very restrained) and a long natter about this and that. Sadly, I was running on empty come the end of the evening, and nearly missed my stop on the Northern Line. I was heartened and amused to receive a text from Miss Furtle informing me that she actually did miss her stop - so much for bounding energy, eh?

I am going to spend the next few minutes experimenting with these off clicks and cracks coming from my joints to see if they can be syncopated into any sort of entertaining rythmic beat. I fear not, though, and suspect instead that I shall just have to look out my tube of Deep Heat.

Then I should go and do something useful.

And then get an upgrade.