nunoncastors

In the end I didn’t go because, well, I’m a little indolent at times and never quite got round to planning anything properly. I still want to go but think a little consultation with the intertested parties is required first.

So, when can folks make it?

Also, apologies for my lack of responsiveness recently, it isn’t that I don’t love you but it is that I’m easily distracted. Last night I sat down to reply to all my emails and the posts on the message boards I frequent and ended up playing about with a pack of Tarot cards I found lurking amongst my books.

I had four attempts at divining something nice for myself and on each occasion found that I’ve a stuggle coming up and an unhappy ending. Yay for symbolism.

SUPER-FUN UPDATE!

For those that are interested, here’s what I would have posted if I were less rubbish and more prompt.

Gang Aft Aglay

Now that the foul and pestilent congregation of vapours that is Bonfire Night has passed it is time to get on with activities more sensible than blowing up your money and burning effigies in a Shaffer-esque fashion. Not that there’s anything wrong with that of course; I love pretty colours, loud noises and images of human immolation. Indeed nothing fills me with more glee than the idea of a man being hung, drawn and quartered then paraded through the streets, nothing more than a bloody, pulpy, mess.

What does upset me is that a decent firework, one that actually goes bang as opposed to pfft, costs about twenty-five quid and lasts for all of thirty seconds these days. I desire more bang for my buck and am easily disappointed when my Emerald Fountain turns out to be a bilious dribble. I’m fairly sure the chap butchered for his efforts would desire more of a memorial than a sound like a wet fart and two solitary sparks cast three feet into the air. The display he was planning to put on would certainly have been more impressive albeit in direct contravention of health and safety rules which, I’m sure you’ve noticed, have been getting out of hand lately.

For example, I recently found out that new fire stations are not being built with fireman’s poles as they present a risk to health and safety. That’s a risk to health and safety for men who go into burning buildings as part of their job. Does anyone else find that a little ridiculous? Then there’s the warning on the bag of peanuts I bought yesterday that states that, I kid you not, they’re not suitable for people with nut allergies. Also, the sky is blue and water is wet.

I figure if anyone with a nut allergy eats a packet of nuts and nearly dies then frankly, they deserve it because they’re idiots.

But I digress. I’d intended to go to London this weekend only now it turns out that I can’t afford it, haven’t organised it and have generally forgotten all about it. So I’m not going. Not this weekend anyway.

I still want to though. Dates anyone?

I cannot adequately describe my feelings regarding Armistice Day and Remembrance Sunday beyond a profound sadness at the loss of life and the futility of war. It suffices to say that I remember the fallen and the cost in lives that my liberties and lifestyle required.

Whatever your particular stance on war and the politics behind it, it still remains to be said that most soldiers are just ordinary men, with ordinary lives, getting on with what, for them, is their job. Who am I not to respect them for doing something, given the choice, I’d rather not?

OK folks, it’s like this. I need to do my Christmas shopping and I want to go on the giant slides at Tate Modern. Using my lightening intellect I have deduced that these two separate activities can be coalesced into a single, awesome, day out where exciting things happen and everyone has ice cream whenever they want. Or savoury pancakes. I had those the last time I was in London and they were really rather tasty. You’d think seafood pancakes wouldn’t be even vaguely appetising but you’d be wrong, they are. They’re also very filling and a cure for cancer.

Well, maybe not cancer, maybe just hunger pains and the common cold. Anyway, I fancy a trip to London, mainly for the hell of it, and I think people should come with me so that the joy may be manifold and the capers many. I promise not to veer toward the reading room at the British Museum if you promise not to let me and at no point will I sing Gilbert and Sullivan numbers.

I was thinking of going next weekend, the 11th to be precise, and hoping that you folks could make it. If not, well, dates can be changed and plans remade to include the majority of folks. RSVP people. RSVP.