It’s been a quiet month blog wise due to all sorts of exciting goings on at work, (more about that here) but myself and the team from 29a managed to squeeze in some fun exploration of the slightly shinier and richer side of the tracks where we live.
It turns out that although the residents of Little Venice appear to live on the fabled “Streets of Gold” in London, they still find time to slip in a decent gag when comes to house numbers:
That'll be 2a then?
We soon found ourselves in the age old quest to find a pub, succeeding at the third attempt (some of our party may or may not have been wearing shorts and sandals, which may or may not have been deemed inappropriate dress for drinking in the posh pubs in Maida Vale). We were delighted to find not only were we allowed into the Prince Albert (giggle!), but there was all sorts of fun to be had with the Scrabble game at our table.
That was until about 3 rounds in when I was dealt the hand below and sulked about my crap luck for pretty much the rest of the game:
No chance
Needless to say, I lost. Badly.
Other highlights of the evening involved dictionary checks on the following words:
ungritted, any thing that isn’t gritted
– disallowed due to it clearly not being a word.
grimxkin, some rubbish skin
- see above
littlepony, a small pony
– not putting a space between words does not automatically make one word
sea/pony/grittedtax, tax applicable on the sea/a pony/something gritted
– adding “tax” as a prefix or suffix to an existing word does not make it a word
…and just as I’m finishing up this post the man on the tannoy has asked for the Milk Manager to head to reception. It just goes to show what a great opportunity being Milk Monitor at school was. If only the rest of us had grasped the opportunity with both hands like this fellow then we’d all be laughing into our silver-tops like he or she is right now. Adios.
