You drive 22 miles to drink London Pride?

(Phil) Er, well, not really, but it's there so I have it. I play from time to time in a small swing band. The leader is a Croydon Tram nerd but otherwise quite normal and all the group's CDs have a picture of a tram in some part of the country on the front. It makes my interest in steam locos seem positively mainstream, just like my preferred type of jazz.

[Rosie] Ah, I see. I used to walk 25 minutes to my local most days, even though there were about 20 pubs closer. It's a crappy trendy bar now though. But these days I only have to go downstairs for the best pub in town :-)

What does that have to do with Wimbledon?

When I'm in London, I usually stay with my Wimbledonian friends. It's a very nice area indeed, and quick to get to from Waterloo.

[Néa] How is Great Uncle Bulgaria? He must be getting on a bit by now.

(Phil) Pity that town is over 100 miles away. I drive 7 miles to my "local" (Greyhound, Carshalton). This limits the intake but I don't want a skinful these days.

[rab] The aquarium's quite impressive - but make sure you go to the right one, there are two. Don't go to the one which is so old it still has trilobites swimming around.

Happy Birthday pen!

Is it not the fashion there to stand on street corners and say "wubble" to passers-by?

Sorry rab, I'm in the process of going through my "Black Adder" dvds and I couldn't resist it.

[SM] Don't forget to pin a live frog to the shoulder blade!
[pen] Happy Birthday!

<pedant> A quick internet search reveals that the fashion is to stand on a bucket...</pedant>

[Sierra Mike] I shall invest in those same DVDs. I saw the full set for 18 Euros (twelve quid) in MediaMarkt and am kicking myself that I didn't snap them up.

<superpedant>I think it was also the shoulder braid and one says "bibble", not "wubble".</superpedant>

[Projoy] You wouldn't let it lie, would you.

[Projoy]Personally, I always thought it was "wibble".

Thanks for the birthday wishes. Had a lovely time getting lost in Wiltshire and Somerset with the Dutch Miller, who booked us a romantic night away and bought me dinner. He has now gone back, but left his own clogs on my back doorstep, next to mine. I think it's a sign.

Or if not a sign, a new euphemism: 'Leaving ones clogs on the back doorstep'. A new game, perhaps?

[Knobbly] You're confusing your Blackadders. 'Wibble' should be said with your underpants on your head and a couple of pencils up your nose.

(pen) I hope he hasn't been, er, well, sort of Emptying His Raingauge.

[penelope] He popped his clogs on your back doorstep? What a shame, he sounded like such a nice bloke. My sympathy is with you m'dear.

[pen] Has he left a message in them?

[Duj] I sniggered at your black joke, and reminded myself to make sure he has plenty of life insurance.

[Darren] No, the message *is* the clogs, i.e. "I'll be back". I've just booked another flight to go over there for ten days later this month :oD

[Rosie] I suppose we could calibrate the empty clogs on the back door step to become raingauges...

(pen) Have you heard of the Cloggies, a cartoon strip of yesteryear, by Bill Tidy? They were a clog-dancing group from a northern industrial town. They won their competitions by assault which normally consisted of co-ordinated knees to the goolies of their opponents. One of their members was The Blagdon Amateur Rapist, a middle-aged man who wore nothing but shoes, socks and a tie and humped anything that moved. Let none of this distasteful nonsense detract you from your burgeoning romance.