Further ramblings of a self-made pauper

I have had a great deal of rest this weekend. Friday just got worse and worse, and by the evening it was all hands to the pumps. Saturday did not therefore really happen, much of it being spent catching up on the sleep I did not get on Friday night. I have back tracked over the events preceding and am blaming Thursday night's curry, although I would normally expect that to hammer the system earlier.

No matter, all is well now, though I did miss the NWO plot meeting chez pax_draconis. I expect that will take some catching up on, and if the boards stay down as they seem to be right now, that could be a real pain.

By contrast with yesterday, today has been a buzz of activity. A mere 6 months after moving into the Athenaeum Club, I have finally shifted all my stuff into The Tower and stowed it in various hiding places. I can now, with only mild hypocrisy and a cheery wave at irony, lord it over DT, who still has a couple of boxes downstairs despite having lived here for two years. Interestingly, we have found a bag of odd, tie-dye tee shirts, including a gaudy yellow job with a smiley face on it, hidden in a carrier bag downstairs. Neither of us lay claim to this slice of late '60s, early '70s psychedelia. I have dark suspicions about the sartorial arrangements of some of the former inhabitants of the Athenaeum Club, and will be making discreet enquiries during Thursday night's game...

Once I have typed this out, I shall be lunking laundry downstairs and ironing a shirt for the morning. This, of course, will be after the usual watusi during which I coax the duvet into a clean cover. You, gentle reader, will recall that the only way I can do this is to get into the bloody duvet cover with the duvet. It is probably more entertaining in the telling than in actuality, for the late summer temperatures here in the Athenaeum Club, or as I like to think of it right now, the Sahara, anything involving stripping and remaking the bed in such a fashion will leave me gasping for breath and setting off flares to attract passing search and rescue helicopters. And these are in short supply in the north of London, let me tell you.

Ah well. Time to be up and at it again before this latest bout of enthusiastic activity wears off and I descend, sloth like, into my usual couch potato routine.

Ciao, doods.

NB. No. The title has nothing to do with the content. Regard it as an attention-grabber.
NB2. Yes, I am that needy.
NB3. But not really. Just messin' with ya.