She managed but two slices. I managed one slice. Truth to tell, this pizza was not great, and we will not be ordering from Leonardo's again. Sorry Dave. I think it because Fiona prefers thin base pizzas and Leonardo's only do deep pan. On this particular pizza, there was not enough topping and far too much bread. Added to this, it was overcooked.
As with all these things, we are constantly reminded that neither of us will be in Stanley for very much longer, so our choice of pizza place will not be an issue.
You'll be glad to know that I have completed the song I first previewed on Christmas Day.
It now also has a name: “Christmas On The Hill”. Thanks to TL for coming up with that. The only other entry I had was “Hill Street Taxi”, which didn't quite make it for me as a name in itself, although I can see where Cal was coming from.
This tune will appear in the Podcast list for those who subscribe.
Thanks to Wendy Beck for performing the flute solo, and I hope you all like the finished results. It's a good example of how different a final mix can be from the rough one.
It's a rare thing, to see one's-self at work - but here I am. I'm doing what I do best, being anally retentive in the supposed name of fun.
In reality, I often seem to experience things only insofar as I can capture them for the blog later on. I may need to have a think as to whether I am missing out in the name of personal journalism.
It's the one where a wife/girlfriend “discovers” a pair of ladies pants in the car as they drive along. She then proceeds to accuse him of having an affair with another woman and insists that he will not be joining her in bed that night. He knows he is guilty of nothing, but can do little to improve the situation.
It cuts to her in bed on her own, enjoying her Lenor washed sheets. The strap-line is something like: “You'll never want anyone in bed with you again.”
I just can't see how this can ever be a success.
People love sleeping together. It's been popular since forever. Cuddling and sex are absolutely fantastic! I can't believe the stupidity of this type of advert, and it certainly does not make me want to buy the product.
Please tell me I am wrong, and that they are lovely and clever. It would be a kind of comfort to me, in a way.
I'm very intrigued and rather amazed by this online quiz. It can easily be done in around three minutes, and does not involve answering any questions, yet the results for me have been jaw-droppingly accurate.
Firstly, and most importantly, Happy New Year to all of you who fill several of your precious minutes each day reading my earnest and well-meant words. You're all nice people, and I remain convinced that your brilliance and generosity is now not long from being discovered and rightfully lauded all over the world.
Trust me on this.
On New Year's Eve a festive happy was planned and duly attended at Jason & Antonia's abode. What follows is my pictorial tribute to the combined jollity. I should explain that, in this case, for “jollity” you should read “inebriation”.
With smokey swirls and turdlike capers
And fans that glow like lighted papers
With bits of cardboard cut into rounds
And little bangs and fizzing sounds
Indoor fireworks! They're quite a faff, A lot don't work, but they're not quite naff.
Alcohol played its part, I'm sure.
But this bit isn't a poem any more.
See? It doesn't scan and any rhymes
You imagine, man, are not there.
The shadowy tundra left behind by the ravages of the indoor fireworks.
This is to be used by Terry Gilliam in his next epic.
Left: Jason and Rebecca, from below.
Middle: Antonia, pleased as punch with her new rubbish.
(she'll keep this till Easter, in a small pouch)
Right: At last - a great piccie of Christine. What a relief.
The yoghurty detritus of a smashing evening.
All I will say is that I have seen indoor fireworks, and you can't take that away from me now. If you would like to see some of them RIGHT NOW, take a look at the video below. It's a chance in a lifetime. Just click on the sparklers...
And finally...
The proud host sits on his own.
It is near to the end of the night.
For most it was lovely and great,
And happily, this one doesn't rhyme either.
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