Next time we'll comment on how hell has frozen over

I don't know how you do things in Australia, dear, but in England a full English breakfast is more than just bacon, sausage and beans. Here we call this bacon, sausage and beans.

I can tolerate sleeping in a room that smells of cigarette smoke . . . for one night . . . but at breakfast the two guys behind me smoke whilst I'm eating. That is just fucking rude. I can't say anything because there are ashtrays on the table, but it still pisses me off.

A tick goes in the 'Never again' column next to the Bell Inn in Wantage. It was already pretty close, but this is the last fucking straw.

Next time we'll get wet

'arwell IBC is built on an old military airfield, as you may have gathered from the link I posted a couple of days back. When the wind blows, there's nothing much to stop it, and it can whipp around at
a fair old pace. When you get rain and wind, the rain comes at you pretty much horizontally. And fast.

This was the case this morning, when I got off the bus and went the wrong way, adding five minutes and about 5 gallons of water to my journey to the office.

Next time we'll fire up the printer

Nothing much to do last night, and it occured to me that next week I could print up some of the Talecrafters stories and do a bit of critting in the evenings.

Last night I did a bit of plotting, moving some scenes I last looked at some time towards the end of last year. No great progress, but I'm hoping that if I carry on doing this inbetween reviewing, I might even be able to start writing it.

Later . . .