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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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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.
How prescient, Rosie. We had snow this morning.
Chicken, fish, four sides ... am so full now.
I must not indulge; I am already overweight.
But I can cook some really good food.
Oh yes, she can. I second that emotion.
I do not have my work head today.
Another Monday morning post, a month later. Pfft.
Woo, Wednesday afternoon, woo! ...woo, woo... woo... Twit.
This looks like the end for one of
the slowest games on record in the Morniverse.
Some things are really worth waiting for. Sometimes.
I think that I see what you mean.
I've got a mate who uses up-speak? Sad.
Imagine sometimes being age bracketed with millenials. Terrifying.
Less chance if you cultivate your grey hairs.
My cat was a millennial, born about 1990.
My millennial falcon was stolen by George Lucas.
Freddie Starr ate my hamster. No, wait, ummm...
It's Summer! It was Winter a moment ago.
(Raak) That's a pretty good definition of Spring.
True English people, nostalgically talking about the weather.
Nostaligic? It's happening right now! There's no waiting!
Spring again. Looks like Summer, feels like Winter.
Shurely not with the Cup Final coming up?
Summer starts on Mid-summers day. Finishes shortly afterwards.
I hope Mourinho cocks up at Man U.
I never wish ill on anyone. Except Trump.
One no trump, doubled, redoubled, went three down.
*waves tiredly from under a pile of marking*
We have had rather a good thunderstorm today.
And another one today (sic) and tomorrow's Thor's Day.
Glad to be of service, don't you know.
Too much pizza. Too much cake. Now sleepy.
Hummmph! European cup boredom has set in already.
Being of the Cambrian persuasion I profoundly disagree.
I didn't leave the house the whole weekend.
Too much pizza. Too much cake. Again? Yes!
Ooooh cake! I need coffee and walnut. NOW!
In fact, I think that's tonight's project. Yummy.
Don't leave that cake out in the rain.
I fear that this sentence will non sequitur.
Did anyone get solsticed overnight or this morning??
Is it Summer? Dense rain is hiding everything.
Well, that's it, the days are drawing in.
Thank goodness. Short nights are short of sleep.
When nights grow longer the heat grows stronger.
Longer days give more time to do things.
Finally out of hospital after hit-and-run...
Hidden textor if hit-and-run is one word: Finally out of hospital after hit-and-run got me.
There's a story behind that, mark my words.
I hope you are well and fully reassembled, Giertrud.
Well, that hot spell did not last long.
Was hot here yesterday - bought a new hammock.
Still sweltering in mad dogs and Englishmen weather.
I'm on hols. Forecast: three days' persistent rain.
Well, it is raining here if that counts.
Nineteen millimetres of rain have ruined my drought.
More rain in August than in July, already.
[Rosie] So sorry about your ruined drought. *snigger*
Radio Four long wave, Test Match Special, civilisation.
American niece arrived safely. Sent her to Amsterdam.
Why you sen' 'er Amsterdam? Wa' she done?
She wanted to see. Ate pancakes, drank beer.
Next week's over-hyped heatwave has been toned down.
I wish someone would tell the mosquitos. Ouch.
There's a full moon Thursday night. Take care.
I suggest you put your trousers back on.
Nobody will see anything - it will be cloudy.
Weather report Jersey: It is quite windy today.
Is your Jersey windproof? Mine has knitted holes.
Next Wednesday looks very hot (at the moment).
It was here, at any rate, old chum.
It was quite sweaty this Wednesday, 27 degrees.
Sweatier here, 29 degrees by all accounts.
We had 31 yesterday. I'm buying discounted sweaters.
28 here, which means I am a sweater.
Somewhat cooler today and windy too, by jingo.
Another 30 degrees today. Thunderstorms tomorrow, I hope.
3 Degrees now. Next up is The Supremes.
My baby love went completely pear-shaped, alas.
Eight words is insufficient for Morningtonesque prolixity, obviously.
People can look stupid in just in eight words.
Eight? Two!
Behold, the full moon beams down at us.
Is it now a waxing or waning sliver?
Silver should be scrubbed with Silvo, not waxed.
Wax would make the Lone Ranger slide off.
The clocks went back! The clocks went back!
What did they find when they got back?
[Rosie] They found there was no time left.
Poor clocks! Let's hear it for the Luddites.
Apparently Donald Trump's clock has two little hands.
We're out of time on that one. Next!
Critical mass of stupidity attained, implosion countdown started.
Where's the bloody Kryptonite when you need it?
Kryptonite? What I need is a crap tonight.
[Rosie] Just had eight days of the other.
I find a crossword helps. Number two down.
Italians no problem. Milan is on the Po.
I have been barred from my local. Hooray!
Is that because of your outspokenness then, Rosie?
That's one way to save money over Christmas.
(Softers) They cannot stand even mild web criticism.
(pen) Nah! There are plenty more agreeable places.
So you're looking for a 'yes' pub? Cheers!
(pen) Not difficult. A splendid one in Croydon.
It's bleddy dark, innit? When's the solstice then?
(pen) Wednesday at 10.44 UT. Gloom, glorious gloom.
Horrah! That means it will soon be Summer!
The sooner Summer comes, the sooner Winter follows.
Raak, that is really a very depressing truism.
The sooner Winter comes, the sooner Summer follows!
Which comes first - the winter or the summer?
Storm Barbara hits as we go to sea.
Ploughing the waves is a desperately wet affair.
And the furrows don't stay where they're ploughed.
I'm adding a comment here for no reason.
That statement defies its own logic, doesn't it?
I'm adding a currant here for no raisins.
Happy New Year!
And the same to you.
My keyboard is all smeared with coconut oil.
Not being naughty in the office, are we?
The painful truth; seasonal excema, defies cortisone cream. :o(
I have some coconut oil -- must try it.
Is it any good for trombone slide lubrication?
I find it stops my coconuts from chaffing.
[Rosie] You'll be playing all the Copacobana tunes.
I can only play The Girl From Ipanema.
But not The Boy From New York City?
I can do this screamer at half pace.
[Rosie] Go on then. Don't blow a gasket!
A nine millimetre snowdrift appeared outside my house. ?
Please keep me away from the news today.
pen, I've become a newsphobe since May's promotion.
(pen) Got any gaskets, then? There are limits.
I'm going back to bed and staying there.
Is this a form of hibernation, then, Superman?
Yes, it's the next step in human evolution.
My mouth has evolved into a cereal port.
How long can we possibly avoid the inevitable?
For as long as your toothache is bearable.
For as long as I still have teeth.
I haven't eaten cereal in about 6 months =(
Alas for [Tuj], the bears steal his porridge!
My local supermarkets have stopped selling Weetabix. Brexit!
Brexit? Well, f***s it up if nothing else.
Friday Friday Friday Friday Friday Friday Friday yay!
My opinion doesn't count. Probably best that way.
My opinion doesn't count. Probably best that way.
Friday pizza cake Friday pizza cake double yay!
Sunday afternoon. Wasted most of it asleep. Bugger.
Monday morning sunshine! Stuck in the office. Bugger.
Monday morning rain. Snug in the office. Smug.
Monday morning, retired, lazing at home, even smugger.
Aching shoulders, arms. But in a good way.
[Raak] Have you been lifting pretty ballerinas again?
[pen] Just beating on drums the whole day.
What goes with fried onions? A friend asks.
Liver. Sausages. Bacon. Black pudding. More fried onions.
Steak, hot dogs, more hot dogs. Damn. Hungry.
Your appetite appears insatiable, pen. Is this good?
[Rosie] Absolutely not. I'm a fat bloater, curses.
Never thought of you as a fish, pen.
The pen fish is mightier than the swordfish.
Nobody has made a comment for two weeks.
Except you. You broke the radio silence, Softers.
If we're very quiet, that might mend it.
Such an approach requires elimination of the flatulent.
pen, did I transgress in some obscure way?
Incoming! This message will self-destruct in five seconds.
[Bismarck] Your message may have a faulty fuse.
Don't touch it! It might still go off!
My wholemeal rolls have gone off, but quietly.
Longer life wholemeal. Kept cryogenically frozen, for ever.
They're not "off", they have a freshness difference.
I wouldn't try that approach with chicken nuggets.
Nor mussels, definitely not with mussels, oh, no.
My home-made chicken liver pate was off immediately.
And so was I. Anyone need a purge?
After Brexit, all communications will be reduced by
The early worm is caught by the bird.
Birds are sharp; especially their pointy little beaks.
The dawn chorus is in E flat major.
I didn't know the dickybirds played alto sax.
The birds outside my window play fowl music.
Ta-dum, ta-dum, ta-tee and I've forgotten the rest.
Not just the rest but the key change.
I'm not changing keys. Mine still open doors.
They won't open my back door - it's stuck.
Have you tried some sort of greasy lubricant?
Rosie, you didn't glue the front door, too?
(pen) It sags. Cheap 'n' nasty from B&Q (one word).
France apparently voted for a macaroon as president.
[Bismarck] Preferable to a biro that works underwater.
Brexit friends coming for the weekend. Shit fuck.
That's the "entertainment" you're putting on, pen?
The Eurovision Song Contest has been and gone.
Has it? I did not really notice it.
It's been chucking it down here all day.
Muggy but dry here. It was 30c yesterday.
Oh the joy of the decaffeinated vole dance!
The caffeine content of voles is quite remarkable.
Makes them jump over composers. Vole Over Beethoven!
*fixes a vole where the rain gets in*
Italian voles can fly, caffeinated or otherwise. Volare!.
Fixing a vole? Isn't that by The Beatles?
Revolver is by the Beatles. I remember it.
Volvic. Ideal for voles with a blocked nose.
Volvo. Ideal for transporting large numbers of rodents.
Evolution, or the development of Vole mark 2.
Voluntary. To ask the vole to hurry up.
Alcovolism, a terrible trend among the gnawing youth.
Voles never need to wear spectacles — nolens volens.
Is it the weekend yet? How much longer?
A couple of days need to go by.
I wonder if voles look forward to weekends?
Most voles support Sunderland, so I doubt it.
The vole weekend runs from November to March.
This proves that voles are of Australian origin.
Hot. Rug under shady tree, watermelon. No voles.
Hot rug. Under shadytree? Water me lonno voles.
Watermelons can swing like mad. Just get this.
So do cement mixers; a favourite of Pater's.
Compared with that, my playing is crap, alas.
My playing is like a cement mixer's, alas.
I can play the cement mixer - musique concrete.
He who pays the builder, calls the tune.
Music for plumbers. Sounds ideal for tap dancing.
There was once a group called The Scaffold.
Didn't they hymn the virtues of capital punishment?
You want to get ahead? Get a guillotine.
Are pesky seabirds annoying you? Get a gullotine.
Is the guillemot a seabird which headed off?
Guillotine motion in the Commons: A good idea!
Whose head shall roll? Such a wonderful choice.
Head rolls? I prefer bacon butties, sans ketchup.
You are teasing my taste buds now, pen.
Friday. FRIDAY! Do you know what that means?
Your devices are buggered, yesterday being THOR's day,
But today is Wednesday, and it's nearly lunch.
...Tuesday, Wednesday heart attack; Thursday never looking back...
Your British Friday comes before our American Friday.
American fry day means we eat French fries.
Chunky chips or French fries? Which is better?
Mmmm. A tough choice. Can I have both?
Mayonnaise, ketchup, brown sauce or salt and vinegar?
It's Saturday, I'm on hols and I'm working.
Is not all of life, the great work?
"My heart is in the work", said Carnegie.
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