It's not what you do, its when you do it.

Anyway, I'll get back to the windy chuff lumps in a minute and detail the tactical distribution of air biscuits in good time.

Can I just say that we had a great weekend and are now here at cassa del S&F's with the moff in tow being all at home for chrimble. Our first night was a bit of a pub crawl while the Moff was out with a couple of her soon to be off to the states after exam chums and we got back in after much booze and deep fried confectionery AFTER she did. Bloody kids today, no stamina. Moff did join us last night for a few drinkettes and we took her back to the flat, said goodnight and went off in search of more entertainment promising not to fall on our faces and wake her up when we got back to said flat.

Now. We wound up back in "The Auld Hoose" cos it has a great rock juke box but on Saturday they had a DJ in and the place was packed. So we stood at the bar and all the tall gothy young ladies had to squeeze past us to get to the toilets. Hey, its a dirty job but someones gotta do it. Actually everone had to squeeze past everyone else to even move. It was one of those nights.

So I am in there and am cursed with the arse of beelzebub due to beer, fried breakfasts, all you can eat chinese and indian buffets and such. Mrs F and shipscook kept giving me the look and saying "is that you? god you stink!" at various junctures. But I was cunning. I waited till some bloke squeezed by and let loose then, and said "No, it was him!" with my patented big blue innocent eyes fluttering away.

I am amazed the people on the table behind us survived the night. But they did go eventually and we nicked their seats!

So my arse is good for something after all.

ahem.

I would put the wavy smiley but they have gone missing from the top of the page. probably in disgust.