I have always wondered what the album of the title by The Flaming Lips (from well before they turned into a hippydippy love-in) was actually about, but the title itself is a perfect description of a hangover you're gonna get the day after the night before.
Such is the situation I now find myself in as write this, although the redoubtable Nurofen is working its magic as I type! Yes, I am open to sponsorship deals.
Last night was the occasion of our annual BBQ/garden party/summer drunk - call it what you will, and a jolly fine time was (hopefully) had by the small to medium sized but distinguished turnout of friends we mostly see no more than once or twice a year - probably the main reason for holding the soiree.
Kelly saw a sparrowhawk take out a pigeon in mid-flight. Damn - I wish I had seen that.
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I wrote that at 10:15ish, it's now 3:40 and I'm feeling fine. Just watched the Hungarian GP - well I say "watched", what I mean is I watched the first 10 minutes or so, fell asleep, woke up 10 laps later, turned it off, went and had a long natter with the neighbour and the 2 guests we have staying with us, and turned it on again with 5 laps to go. these days you don't actually need to watch any more than that, so much of a boring procession has F1 become. Bring back the edge of seat stuff of the Senna/Prost/Mansell era I say.
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