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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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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.
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