Ah, slot car racing! Nature's answer to the 'real' world. Another famous Mess meeting last evening with all the classic hallmarks in place of verbal abuse, foul language, cheating, spectator whingeing - soggy chips - and an absent Mrs Grumpy.
Spiders, Beetles and 1970s' Scalextric F1 to finish, all washed down with a glass of beer.
Here's a dull post but, it has a point for those of us who take time to get around to doing something useful. Pics below of a couple of tail pipes. Fitting them half an hour ago took 10 minutes, but thinking about it has taken three years!
Those things we've left undone that we ought to have done...
Good suggestion, Keith. Night is a good alternative, I'm sure. To be investigated. Might take a while because Mrs Grumpy's got some damnfool idea that I shall be accompanying her on an 'outing' this weekend. It'll be a garden centre, of course, so I've made plans to go basejumping, wearing nothing more than a sturdy tweed jacket and non-matching shoes.
A Beetle below in 'Night' as an alternative to black.
Which part of BASE jumping are you planning? Or do you have all four in mind? And, if you are going to be wearing only a tweed jacket and mismatched shoes be careful whilst doing up the leg straps on your 'chute!
Not all nights (and Knights) are black....a Pale Moonlight shade might be new. Lol
And the shoes....good heavens man, risking your well being like that. Oh, the humanity!
Socks are one thing, typically contained (but still generate a local Force 10 when spied unmatched). But visible unmatched footwear? Forfend, nay heaven forfend!
We had better to pledge all chips to Ghandi and whiskey to Haddock than to risk such a gale.
And by the by.....I do so appreciate how spyders (with or without stingers) crush their arachnid namesake if the latter ventures to the track.
Gosh, Peter, I didn't know there are four types of basejumping, and thanks for the advice about straps. Might have to change my shoes, too. Perhaps I'll wear them on the wrong feet, for easier identification if the 'chute fails.
"Oh, we know who that is. Odd shoes on the wrong feet..."
Happy to hasten to the Mess last evening as Mrs Grumpy voluntarily connected her electric television set to the National Grid for the purpose of absorbing her fave prog. 'Gardeners World' is broadcast by the BBC specifically to annoy me by featuring people with weird, irritating voices.
Longer than usual to calm down last night, but many laps with an RSK and a few Beetles did the trick. Enduring happiness followed, as did peaceful sleep, until a nightmare featuring a multitude of people with irritating voices, and a full bladder, alerted me once again to the perils of the conscious world.
Despite a long list of plausible, and wholly unbelievable, excuses, I can't get out of it. Into stripey blazer and matching shoes for a garden fete. Garden fate is more accurate. Cucumber sandwiches and polite conversation on the lawn, followed by soporific coma at potted plants, neatly laid out borders and much gorping at fools in funny hats.
A few laps at The Mess with a Heb before impingement by the world of incomprehensibles, therefore. Bedtime soon.
A marvellously devious idea, Mark. Thank you. A Force 10x5 would be a dead cert. Almost time for my morning decaff. Made by Mrs Grumpy today. Dunno how she navigated her way to the kitchen unaided alone. A new SatNav app perhaps.
There is regret in the HR2 postal district this gaily illuminated afternoon. Mrs Grumpy dragged me to a garden fete where, after a most agreeable strawberry cake and tea, I found a stall flogging things. Among the stolid effects there was an 'enchanted' Castle.
Battery operated it not only has red glowing eyes, but a 'voice' emulating an egg-laying hen. I am delighted, Mrs Grumpy is not. She even resorted at one egregious moment to using the kind of language the Danes and Vikings articulated years ago when, after attacking the North East of England, they came across a large contingent of incomprehensible Geordies who didn't know the way to Sunderland, either...
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