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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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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?
The last move was a week ago. Blimey.
Since then I've been to England and back.
I've been to Oxfordshire and back many times.
Isn't Oxfordshire at the bottom of your garden?
A little further. Two miles down the lane.
It's cruel that Berkshire is now so truncated.
True, "Berks" is ugly; it needs its "shire".
I'm definitely in the "shire" part. Hobbits ahoy!
Lost most of itself to Oxfordshire, I meant.
Just the Vale of the White Horse, really.
I used to live in Wiltshire, next county.
So did I. In 1997-1998. Happy days. *sigh*
I'm still in Wiltshire. Sometimes, however, I move.
Some of my children are true Moonrakers, consequently.
I've eaten my own weight in strawberries today.
Is that a, er, very large quantity, pen?
Several acre's worth, so you could say so.
It is my daughter's and son's birthday today.
Twins? Or by coincidence exactly N years apart?
The latter. A bone of contention ever more.
I have nothing useful to say right now.
At least you prevented another boring monologue, Phil.
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