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Each Move Must Consist Of Precisely Eight Words
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Just as it says on the tin. What happens in the game may be debated in the game: perhaps it'll be a conversation, perhaps a word-limited reprise of various games we play, or whatever.
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[Phil - Bless you!] My shiny new grand-daughter sneezed fifteen times yesterday.
[Chalks] That's almost a whole years-worth in one go.
My shiny new grand-daughter is in New Zealand.
[Software] That's about as far as possible from Jersey.
Six drafts. Now number seven gets underway.
6 drafts? You'r quite a boozer, aren't you?
There's no-one that can drink like our Pen.
If only it was as nice as beer.
Beer absorbed rapidly tonight thanks to prior dehydration.
I am guessing you don't need a humidifier.
A toilet might be a good thing though.
Let's treat this game to some August posts.
Eheu fugaces labuntur anni! Is that august enough?
Plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose
I Fort Augustus was a town in Scotland.
Another day. Another eight words. C'est la vie.
Wedding anniversary tomorrow. Must remember to visit shop.
Why not try a restaurant? Far more congenial.
Dinner, washing-up, then out for coffee and dessert.
That strange foreign custom - going out for afters
Because it's so expensive to eat out here!
[pen] My french relations do pud and coffee out
Makes sense. Low-fat, low-cal firsts, sweet indulgent afters!
Who's going to give the next eight words?
I solemnly predict that it will be Rosie.
Right. But then immediately wrong again. Tough luck.
One simply cannot win against this fiendish wench.
More predictions: how many words in CdM's next?
And when the next comment about infrequent commenting?
No-one knows all the answers. How can they?
They simply bribe the examiners with propelling pencils.
Oh Wednesday, Thursday Friday, hurry the fuck up.
So, shagging only at the weekend, is it?
No, dear Rosie. I'm sick of being office-bound!
Better than being egg bound one might suppose.
Monday morning office-bound after a weekend outdoors. Ugh.
Life has a predictable cyclic quality, eh, pen?
Certainly does. But no cake today. Cycle fail. :o(
Cake today, I've been promised. My favourite word.
Cake is nice but I prefer the cheeseboard.
Had a nice Ardennais cheeseboard last weekend. Tasty.
You will never make a convincing xylophage, pen.
And you are getting better at pedantry, Rosie! :oP
I think pedantry is a bit cheesy, frankly.
I don't have eight words to spare today.
Neither do I. What a very spooky coincidence.
I've got plenty but I'm a stingy bugger.
Garden centre has Christmas grotto open. Bah humbug.
I'm full of fish, chips and walnut whips.
Fish have scales, therefore a well balanced diet.
Maps have scales and therefore play the piano.
Logic dictates that maps show rights of weigh.
But do they show the rights of Kurds?
Back to England on Thursday. Overnight ferry again.
You do spend lots of time on ferries.
Concerts, birthdays, etc. And it keeps me sane.
Today is my birthday, anniversary of my birth.
The North Sea is not all bad, pen.
Back on t'other side of t'North Sea. Raining.
Is it time to call this a day?
Perhaps, But what would would fill the slot?
This in itself is a source of discussion.
Perhaps something with a different number of words?
Any other integer would feel... not quite right.
Perhaps it should not be an integer then.
I'm afraid there's really no answer to that.
"I'm" and "there's" : one point five words each?
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