Well, I thought I might pull up a chair in the corner here and check out the clientèle.
Fat Bird is on the computer again so that’s my link with the UK ruined for the day.
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Don’t mind Cillin he’s a bit depressed about dragging a weasel across the field. I have told him he needs to face the other way in such circumstances, but as he reluctantly acknowledges, he panicked.
I feel just as Cillin looks some days.
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The kids are in the armchair and they don’t like my taste in music so that’s out.
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I did drop by the music thread here but I kind of got the feeling that acid jazz, hip hop and soul music on the juke box engendered a bottle throwing contest.
It’s pissing down with rain again (don’t believe that Spain is hot and sunny nonsense) and the axe seems to have miraculously broken it’s handle so log chopping is on hold.
The other tribes are all under bushes hurling abuse at the female goshawk in the tree up on the ridge and young Fudge isn’t talking to me because I took her eggs away and wont let her sit. This is a normal day for me and Tribe 1.
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Coffee for me please, Italian, black and strong with brown sugar.
I can’t see any on the shelf but a wee dram of Glenlivet single malt scotch wouldn’t go amiss.
Any of you lot over sixty?