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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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The Met Office are now naming Atlantic storms.
I'm naming my bad moods. This one's Aelfsige.
Rain, rain, rain. When will it ever stop?
I'm now part-owner of a 70-year old tractor.
Anything 70 years old should be scrapped forthwith.
My mother might rightly put up a fight.
They don't make them like that any more.
No, they're all diesels (diseasels, colloquially) these days.
Is it spring yet? Is it spring yet?
BOING! BOING! BOING! BOING! BOING! BOING! BOING! BOING!
Starts 1st March, pen. We shall have snow.
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