Waiting on the Wing

I’m waiting for The West Wing to download. whilst waiting here by my computer on my hard wooden dining chair, barely softened by the once effective red Ikea cushion which is attached to it, I realised that I’d not posted for a while.

I don’t usually sit here and wait of course; it’s the last episode I’m waiting for, the very last episode of my favourite TV show for the last seven years. I won’t go on about it.

So no posts, what can I say, there’s been stuff happening and I even have news. But the stuffs not been big enough (like that usually makes a difference) or I’m just not able to tell a story about it. And the news is something I’m not ready to talk about yet. Nothing bad and Michelle’s not pregnant or anything I just need to know a little more before I post.

Wondering what the happening stuff is that I can’t spin out to a story? No? Well I’ll tell you anyway. Helped David move into his flat, Michelle head butted a wardrobe while drunk in David’s flat, I went to Largs on Saturday with Laura and Stuart and, most importantly, I actually beat Stuart at Halo (sorry mate had to be said).

So my download is done now and I’m off to watch and maybe shed a tear for the end of the Bartlett administration. Next time I’ll talk about something I swore I wouldn’t ever discuss again in this Blog: Work. Don’t worry though there’s a twist in the tale.

‘Till then.

Every Party Needs a Paul

I wondered what the hell was going on at midnight on Saturday. We were up at Nigel’s flat for his 25th, just a small group of close friends with the notable exception of Sparkie (don’t talk to me about it), when at midnight Claire, Lindsey (I apologise for spelling if incorrect) and Kenny, normally an experienced survivor until the end on nights like this, were leaving. They all had legitimate reasons, work and long travel during the day, I’m not moaning about their leaving at all, I was just shocked at the prospect the night could potentially come to an end at this juncture.

Stupid really. There was no chance of an end in sight at this time. The post midnight guests were as follows: - David, Laurie, Shaw, Michelle, Iona a couple from Nigel’s work (the female was Michelle but I have no idea what her largely silent bows name was), Mark (Nigel’s older brother) Myself, the birthday boy and the never ending entertainment that was Paul, Nigel’s younger brother.

While Mark was, as always a funny guy (save for nicknaming me Geoff for the night after deciding my beard gave me the likeness of the Biker Grove legend), Paul was a force of nature. from trying to convince David to let him down the bottle of his illegal in 49 states alcohol he had won in the Dominican (which would have killed him) to an impressively blush free bought of dancing, and actually getting Shaw to listen to his point of view (they said it couldn’t be done!) Paul kept the party alive. In fact it was not long after he fell asleep that the taxi was called (at 5am). All respect to the wee man he took a fair amount of abuse, what more can you expect from an older brother and his friends, but he kept smiling and got back up after every blow (only Shaw actually physically assaulted him in a ‘my street fighting is better than your black belt’ demonstration (don’t worry he only pinned him)).

It was a great night. Michelle, who won’t mind me saying, couldn’t be bothered going out ended up disappointed to leave and Nigel was smiling covered up in his bed when we left (though I felt he could have waited until we left before getting naked). Happy Birthday Nige’! Or since you’re a quarter of a century old would you prefer Happy Birthday Michael? What is the threshold on Nicknames?