There are two options. Either, I forgot to post my daily photos on TWO separate occasions, or I thought it would be sensible to stop clogging up my blog with photo posts every three days.
One of these options would be the result of being sensible, the other of being daft. So it should be obvious which one is true.
Seatbelts on, hold on tight, and please try not to vomit. Here we go:
This blurry little chap turned up on my ceiling, a few feet away from my head, and stayed for a solid three or four days. He moved about two inches every night, then suddenly disappeared. I like to think that, in that short time, we formed a special bond of companionship. Michael dubbed him 'Sir Loughborough'.
"Another photo of a mug? You must be mad!"
Why? It's only the second photo of a mug, and they're both good mugs. What a ridiculous statement, to claim that having two nice mugs makes me clinically insane. You should watch what you say, in future. Fascist.
I'm spending time in the in-betweens of writing at the moment. Rather than wait around like a dullard (yes, I said it, dullard!) I decided to record some old songs. It's a leisure activity. This is the rough list I made for the album, provisionally entitled Old Songs.
I made this, and then I ate it. Over the course of three meals. If I had the choice between not eating some Mexican food and eating some Mexican food, I would choose to eat some Mexican food. That's how much I love it.
This is the park I go for walks around. I love the sky, and you get so much more of it in Norfolk. (Note: not all the sky is pictured here.)
This was an open mic night at the Birdcage that we stumbled across by accident. This guy was reciting an essay on the Ontology of Sheets, which was pretty damn hilarious. Sadly, nobody else I was with was that bothered, so we left early. But I'm gonna go back there next time. I might even do something for it, at some point.
The question is, quite simply, why not? Michael had a flick through the dictionary for me, and he is pretty sure that 'all comers' includes me. Even if it it is a weird phrase, now I come to think about it.
Pool in the dungeons of The Mischief can only mean one thing: boy's night out. I didn't actually win all my games, which is probably why I was hiding. I don't like not winning all my games.
Our chimneys are so wonky, and our roof is so flat.