How wearing [ winky wotsit ]
Gxxx
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It was
Trust me…
Carinthia.xx
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Gus I am jealous
I wanted one of them but I wasn’t allowed one
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[yawnity]
tseep
Dawn Chorus happened at dawn. How dare they!
yardarm
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Bacon butties ready
Bread is late due to recalcitrant yeast s-l-o-w-l-y rising
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Sensible yeast. I too have risen very slowly this morning.
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Ha! I remain resolutely unleavened.
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Phew!
I do not understand why anyone would bother with gym membership.
A superking size bed, fitted sheets and a duvet, and decide to change the sheets, and that’s my exercise sorted for the day. Possibly for the week.
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There was one chain that seemed to be known across North London as where posh totty went to meet builders. So I suppose that’s one reason.
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I was going to ask why on earth builders need a gym in the first place, but that’s possibly a bit of a silly qu. in light of the North London lore.
Also, and as the nonnest of sequiturs, when I kill the saxophonist, just as soon as I’ve put some drawers on, will his demise be chalked up to The Virus for statistical purposes?
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Saxophonist?
When did you acquire one of them?
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“But what we can’t understand is why he should have tried to eat his saxophone in the first place.”
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First effing day of effing lockdown, Twellsy. Never heard a note out of the bugger before that.
It’s not that he is altogether unskilled, although he is also no Jess Gillam, but more that he seems to know when I want to be listening properly to something else. Which one can’t, not with an overlay of wanky sax twiddling. Lanky gurt git.
That sort of thing, yes. Although I am inclined to tackle the task from the other end, as it were. And very much sans lube.
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And the rest is a funny story for the second-nearest* pub to the hospital. (“So apparently he was saxophoning in the nude one day, when…”)
* because the nearest pub is where the people who are Terribly Important go.
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Ah yes: pubs* with Patrons Who Go ‘Beep!’
*remember them? [sobbity]
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Gus had mentioned the saxophone player and nuisance thereof at least as long ago as 22nd March, Twellies, with the words “The saxophonist was active this afternoon, btw.” I assume he had been excoriated earlier as well but I am not searching the entire thread to find out.
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Thank you folk
Butterfly memory here
Inept musicians should be locked in together in a soundproof anechoic room and the key melted down so nobody can let them escape
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What’s wrong with a soundproof hyper-echoic room?
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Nowt as long as it blocks all sound from the inside
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Reverb is flattering; anechoic makes you sound shite even to yourself, so should help discourage the talentless.
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