SO, right, on Wednesfay night (technichally Thursday morning) at about 1:30am a load of totally inconsiderate Feckers decided to come and park themselves right outside my door, invade the room opposite, play "sweet child of mine" far too loudly and basicallt made as much noise as possible, and made me resent their very existance as a result. That bit just pissed me off. The strange par was then to come.
After my rude awakening I decided that a trip to the bog might be in order. As I walked outside, I saw a vaugly familiar face and heard a very familiar accent. A doric accent. Not too unsusal, since quite a few people from my neck of the woods seem to make it out alive of the northeast and escape here. Then as I was washing my hands, Mr Familiar came in.
I had heard the name "Macduff" said as the door opened (the name of a town I live next to), and was suprised/traumatised to see the face of the young barman from my northern local wandering through, after having my drinks served to me by him just the Friday pervious. Why he was outside my door, of all places, at this hour, and making so much bloody noise (the bastards) will probably continue to elude me for ever.
The moral of the story: There isn't one. Life is just far too strange, or maybe I am, or both.
FURY-161
"Anything to feel weightless again"http://fury161.cjb.net 
