At nine thirty fiveish on a Saturday evening the brightly lit number 18 to Broxholme Gardens raced past the Lee Road stop. Looked pretty empty but it shot by so quickly I didn’t properly see in. I guess it was too early to be bringing party revellers home. Unless they were the afternoon crowd. Early doors more like it. We are off out for an afternoon sesh ourselves next Saturday. Disco at Home night club. Doubt they call them discos anymore. Showing my age. Was unaware that the number 18 came past our house! Useful to know.
Was on the way home from Brittain’s annual Christmas bash. Always a v good do fair play.
When I got home I sat in the snug for a few mins doing stuff on my laptop. Got an email from a clothing company asking for a review of the shirts they’d sent 14 days previous. I normally only leave good reviews and only then when they are deserved. This lot got a 1 star. That parcel has been “with Yodel” for the last twelve days with no obvious way to get in touch with them to find out what on earth is going on. It’s almost certainly a customs job but this ain’t the kind of service levels we are used to these days.
Forced out of bed this morning by a carol sung to the tune of Ilkley Moor baht at. It sounded bit tinny and therefore not worthy of my attention. Someone will now tell me that the carol was the original version of the song and that Ilkley Moor is a popular adaptation. This would be a big disappointment which I refuse to believe.
We sang Ilkley Moor at the test match in Trent Bridge one year, quite a few moons ago. It was during the tea break. We were sat in the Radcliffe Road stand and some extremely drunk Nottingham Forest supporters began to bawl out tuneless football chants. Looking over to the stand in disdain I decided to start singing Ilkley Moor. Before I knew it a load of people had joined in. The song went on so long that the tea interval had finished and the game restarted. It was only after the last verse had finished that I realised that half the stand had been singing including with harmonies. Everyone clapped. Good times.
Can’t remember how the game ended. I think we were playing the Windies. These are very alcoholic days out starting with a pint or two and a full english breakfast. On that occasion we ended up in the curry house over the road to the ground. Most of us were on a minibus back to Lincoln except for Pieman who lived in Stamford and was being given a lift back by his wife. He had driven to Nottingham, parked the car near the ground and she was coming up on the train to bring them both back. Only problem was his iPhone had run out of battery and he couldn’t remember where he had left the car. Took him two hours to find it. She was furious. Good times.
No fox news to report. A quiet night at the lake. Wildlife mostly closing down systems for the winter I daresay.