Spent last night helping J and crew, (there must have been 20 of us) decorate the house. L and myself were dispatched to the local chippy to get pizza to feed the hungry masses. How lucky were we? The last pizza was just being whipped out of the oven when there was a power cut. Was glad that we got ours as I didn't fancy venturing home empty handed, I reckon they would have barbecued us and eaten us instead. Felt sorry for the guys in the chippy though, they were gutted as the night before the Gala is one of their busiest nights of the year.
Woken up this morning at 8.30 by a text message from J asking if I had any double sided sticky tape. S was lying in bed dying after giving himself a dose of the trots. He will not stay away from prawns and had eaten a dodgy prawn sannie. He had purchased it yesterday from a very large supermarket chain which will remain nameless.I tipped myself out of bed and took off down the street on what was a beautiful morning. It didn't last long. By eleven the clouds were closing in and the heavens opened at 12 just in time for the Gala parade. Why can't it just stay dry? A gaggle of soggy inhabitants of the village trailed behind the gala float on which poor wee page boys and bedraggled flower girls sat cowering under brollies. A ruddy washout. I walked the parade with L in 60's gear & H dressed in full spacesuit, holding a brolly over him and his American flag. It was amazing the amount of folk who spoke to him and said how much they liked his suit, even the teenage lads who he met in the park who told him his suit was 'smart as f***'! Hardly appropriate but the sentiment was there. By the end even the promise of a visit to VT's cake stall wasn't enough to stop him saying he wanted to go home. I forgot my gala bag tickets and must have looked a sight pleading to an official to get them, wearing a space helmet (it was better than carrying the thing), and lugging a giant flag with soggy miniature spaceman in tow. Dispatched S to get the car and took off home as they cancelled the sports. Passed J's house and noted the soggy hippie commune looked a state and the runny banner was going to drip paint onto every visitor who appeared for the booze up.
Was glad I had left the central heating on (in June as well, what a disgrace) and we started drying soggy stuff right away and heated the pies from the gala bags in the oven for lunch. Switched on the telly. James Bond was on and I thought at least that's something we can all watch. Hilarious moment when James Bond has a miniature camera on and trains it on an attractive female's cleavage. H starts laughing and says, 'Dad, he's looking at her b..b..b...chests!'
Off to J's for soggy burgers..........