Distractions

Sun.02.11.08. This is the day after Halloween when, Philip had hosted a fancy dress party at Salty Towers. He naturally was Dracula, the blood sucker, Danny Brennan the Mummy, David the Phantom of the Opera, Adele was Morticia, Jennifer was? Katie arrived covered entirely in green rubber, God knows why, but nevertheless it must have assisted her habitual mission, when she becomes seriously pissed, to stick a lip on every male at the gathering. There must be a story in this but I can’t think what at the moment? I suppose it is due to the fact that I do not give a flying fuck what goes on down at the Towers.

Lowtie has decided to drink Perrier for 2 weeks in preparation for the annual arse licking contest in Keswick. This seems quite odd considering that the entire weekend is devoted to drinking vast quantities of ale; usually at least 25 pints per day. The trip is scheduled for the weekend of the 22.11.08. Typically coinciding with the date for the Beaujolais run Salty has succeeded in scuppering any threat from any alternative rival ‘excursion’. Last week he was busily passing around his agenda for the weekend, the dinners, wet breakfasts (on Saturday morning there is a faint possibility that England may be playing Australia in the Rugby Union world cup, a 9.00am kickoff) combined with leisurely afternoon strolls punctuated by lavish lunches. My personal preference would be that I would rather have my nuts cut off, lovingly and skilfully prepared, then served and garnished by Cockney Mick.  

Oddly during the afternoon I heard ones of those bizarre conversations executed on a mobile phone in the less than salubrious ‘stones’ at the Oak. Graham, the self confessed bi-polar ‘ex’ roady was having a slash whilst at the same time holding a conversation with his wife, “Yes, that’s right, the total package for £57 quid, Harry the rat says it can’t be beat, installed and everything, anyway how was the spag bol? Not too much tomato?” then whilst washing his hands concluded with “I’ll speak to him tomorrow for a proper timeframe, specification, the whole nine yards break down,” simultaneously, whilst shaking off,  he then clipped down his mobile turned to me to ask if I wanted 2 tickets for a Jo Bonamassa concert in Manchester. 

Meanwhile Lewis Hamilton was on the way to securing fifth place in the Brazilian grands prix to claim the driver’s championship; he was a assisted by Timmo Glock, who was lying in fourth at the start of the last lap with Hamilton sixth, but, whose tyres suspiciously lost all grip dropping him down to sixth place placing the fortunate Lewis to a winning fifth. Perhaps he hopes to drive for McLaren next year or maybe his German background favours northern Europeans as opposed to greasy Latin, South Americans like Philippi Massa?