arrow_circle_left arrow_circle_up arrow_circle_right
Each Move Must Consist Of Precisely Eight Words
help
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.
arrow_circle_up
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?
Maybe we should play the game in hexadecimal.
Yes, let's. I would only be forty-seven.
And I've got two years till I'm thirty!
Phil, why is your nose growing so long?
Noses run in our family, I've been told.
You should all try and be more phlegmatic.
My finals are over for the semester. Hooray!
My husband is doing housework. I am redundant.
Maybe you could go and take his job.
I'm on a cross-channel ferry. *waves waves waves*
Merry Christmas to all. I repeat, Merry Christmas!
Maxed out iMac. My Christmas present to me.
From me to me: Trinidad and Tobago Rum.
Windy miller got me an iPhone. Big surprise.
A giant purple rhinoceros occupies my living room.
[KS] Is it still there? Are you coping?
It rode home with me on my trike.
It must be on tricyclics then. Bad news.
Well, the New Year is here, same crap.
Yes, my bowel movements continue to be satisfactory.
Said rhinoceros has not moved. I'm okay, though.
Well, that's good news. What are you on?
Planet Earth, as far as I can tell.
My word, what a cold morning it is.
Still a bit light - and 17.22! No, 17.23!
No such luck for us here on GMT.
By Valentine's Day it's still light at 5pm.
That's at yours, not at mine. We're later.
It gets dark at 6pm here right now.
Where's 'here'? Further south than here, I'll wager.
Where's 'here'? Further north than here, I'll wager.
Hidden text51.3186 N
Correct. I'm at 51.9308°N-4.4792°E and four floors up.
I'm between you. 51.516094N, -1.2460551E, on first floor.
Four floors up, pen? Just about sea-level then.
(Phil) The OS places that in a field.
[Rosie] Not on my map it doesn't, matey.
[Phil] I think it does with pen's coordinates.
(Phil) My OS co-ordinate converter is out of date.
[Rosie] 3.069km, bearing 95°21′18″ from work to home
(Phil) Parsonage Green, then? That looks quite nice.
51.31905N, -0.06190E. Points to right house, wrong address.
Hmmmmm, my directions weren't quite accurate enough apparently.
(Phil) Aldworth, then. An error on my part.
Weekend! Rain now, clearing later, I've been promised.
[Rosie] Correct. Great pub. No mobile phone signal.
I have used a lot of goes recently.
(pen) An infinite source, like that of rain.
[Rosie] I'm beginning to believe that you're right.
I appear to have absolutely nothing to add.
Take it way, Phil, or perhaps multiply it.
Now? I was waiting for the division bell.
I've spilt tea down my shirt already today.
Another fence panel down. It can stay down.
Has it got back up again yet, Rosie?
I asked it nicely and up it leapt.
Would that everything rose so readily these days.
With the exception of ground water, of course. not a sentence....
Not a sentence, but a grammatically correct retort.
Now we are in March; how time flies.
Now we are in March there is frost.
What's for dinner tonight? I have no idea.
I'll be having fish from Barton-on-Humber.
I had fish from Ikea. Flat packed flatfish.
A screwdriver rather than a knife and fork?
FOG! What say you about the fog, Rosie?
Fog here stops planes, newspapers and the mail.
The Clean Air Act (1956) has ruined fogs.
Back in the mists of time. Remember then?
arrow_circle_down
Want to play? Online Crescenteering lives on at Discord