Saturday morning work.
Hey hoe.
Pay to play, as ever.
It was very quiet. Big Client #1 doesn’t do much social at 8am on a Saturday morning.
The Postman Delivers:
Goodo.
We’ve decided that Now TV is the best solution to doge BT being screwed by Sky with the sports channels.
Sky was expecting a mass migration of pissed off BT users to do a deal with the dirty Digger.
I’m just a satellite snob, Comrades.
And so we’ve gone with Now TV instead - which is… owned by Sky.
Whoops.
Still, it’s cheaper than the satellite option and we aren’t under contract.
The Postman Also Delivers:
That’s more like it.
My visits to the Wooden O this season have been restricted by time and place.
The renovation of the flat has meant that I can’t guarantee where I will be week in, week out.
The end is in sight, and so is a return to The Globe.
Work finished; my attention turned towards the cats.
We are letting them fly solo for the weekend. It was a little heartbreaking saying goodbye.
[not actually true - Daisy and Dotty both buggered off underneath the garden shed as I made a hasty retreat to the train station…]
It started to rain as the 10:32 to Penrith pulled out of Euston. It didn’t stop.
Seven and a half hours later and I arrived at Cockermouth.
I had quite a headache.
We caught up with the Test back home at The Oval. I was told that Ben Stokes use to live a couple of doors away in Cockermouth.
Saturday evenings around these parts are all about the dark stuff. We went out in search of some Jennings.
Chin chin.