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  1. Here goes nothing

    I'm not a blogger.

    In fact if I was to say what I really am, I would say lazy.

    However, with that in mind and inspired by some recent posts by Zunspec, I have decided to pull my finger out and do something about the RGV250 that has been sat in the garage for far too long doing nothing. Well, nothing except taking up space.

    This may be a another project that never gets finished, but at least if it's in bits it won't take up so much room.

    So Day ...
  2. The Year We Ran Out of Fridays.(14)


    April's remains were bagged and put into deep-freeze, there to await his interment in the Garden of Time, once a suitable tomb had been constructed.

    As you will understand, this was not an everyday occurrence and took a little thought. It is not exactly a well-populated graveyard.

    I sat in my apartment, drinking, accompanied by Tuesday and November, who had little to say, so stunning were the events of the last few days.

    After ...
  3. The Year We Ran Out of Fridays.(13)

    Later on the morning of March 11th.

    Present : The Head Physician, April, December, Tuesday, Chronobitch nurses.

    Venue : The Neuro-Chronological Institute

    "You can go now," I said curtly to the various Chronobitch nurses who stood whispering to each other in a huddle by the window.

    They looked a little affronted, until the Head Physician nodded to them, after which they bowed their heads and scurried ...
  4. The Year We Ran Out of Fridays.(12)

    Expedition : Dawn, 11th March

    Present : December, April, Tuesday.

    Venue : The Pond

    The path to the Pond is a grim place at the best of times. With a massive hangover and only an hour's sleep, it is truly awful.

    Having said that, April seemed suspiciously cheerful, whilst Tuesday was her usual capable, self-contained self.

    She had arrived at dawn, as promised and woke me from a drunken doze with ...
  5. The Year We Ran Out of Fridays.(11)


    April finally fell asleep about 3am, smashing a valuable 16th century balloon glass as he did so.
    I made him comfortable and covered him with a shroud stolen from Gethsemane, an act which caused my lips to twitch with barely suppressed humour.

    Tuesday swept up the shards with a broom, just like any good wife would do and I was about to make just such an observation when the full import of my thinking struck me dumb.

    What the hell was ...
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