Einstein again
Or fighting Canadian time.
According to my computer, it's oo27, which is like James Bond on steroids. I know Mr Stuart sits at his computer into the wee small hours and The Nameless One is a mutant who never actually sleeps, but I have grown accustomed to my eight hours a night and expect it to come roughly between the hours of Now and Then.
The problem is that my brain is telling me it is only half past five in the afternoon - no time to go to bed unless there is a seriously hot reason for it. Since Barbara's internal clock beats to the rhythm of a different drum right now, there is nothing for me to do but hammer on the keyboards and try to blog some sense. Either that or the dodgy pages which give your computer the electronic version of Chlamydia - and really collections of eighteenth century ceramic beverage serving ware are not my bag, so to speak. I've always been a bit more of an archery target man myself.
You can see the problem that I have.
Plus I'm not actually home yet. Yes, the holiday's over, but until Saturday I'm stuck in Fife with not much to do. Luckily for me, I have copy of the Novel With No Name, so I can at least cock a snook at those who haven't even got their hands on Cold Granite yet. You boys are in for a treat, trust me.
In the meantime there's just me, the internet and a bottle of Calvados. Let the good times roll...
According to my computer, it's oo27, which is like James Bond on steroids. I know Mr Stuart sits at his computer into the wee small hours and The Nameless One is a mutant who never actually sleeps, but I have grown accustomed to my eight hours a night and expect it to come roughly between the hours of Now and Then.
The problem is that my brain is telling me it is only half past five in the afternoon - no time to go to bed unless there is a seriously hot reason for it. Since Barbara's internal clock beats to the rhythm of a different drum right now, there is nothing for me to do but hammer on the keyboards and try to blog some sense. Either that or the dodgy pages which give your computer the electronic version of Chlamydia - and really collections of eighteenth century ceramic beverage serving ware are not my bag, so to speak. I've always been a bit more of an archery target man myself.
You can see the problem that I have.
Plus I'm not actually home yet. Yes, the holiday's over, but until Saturday I'm stuck in Fife with not much to do. Luckily for me, I have copy of the Novel With No Name, so I can at least cock a snook at those who haven't even got their hands on Cold Granite yet. You boys are in for a treat, trust me.
In the meantime there's just me, the internet and a bottle of Calvados. Let the good times roll...
Comments
As long as it’s a clean terrier, otherwise who knows what sort of nasties you’ll end up catching!