The Exile Files

Raging Against the Outrageous. Laughter and Insanity Abound.

Archive for the ‘Strange. But True.’ Category

Oh Nuts…

Posted by Exile on July 14, 2015

I had a bit of a shock a couple of weeks ago. I woke up with a real sense of discomfort emanating from my right testicle. Which was disconcerting, to say the least, as the right one is my favourite. Under the shower I had a good feel around and discovered a lump below and behind the ball. That’s not good, I thought. A lump and pain. I rang the doctor and made an appointment to get my nuts looked at by a professional.
He took a peek and squeezed the offending nut. Pronouncing a verdict of ‘not sure’, he sent me to a clinic specialising in ultrasound examination. I had to wait for the exam as we were off on the cruise in two days. Cruise over, I met up at the clinic yesterday and had my balls looked at again. Scanning was quick and painless and, according to the pictures they received on the high definition screen, there is no tumor to be seen.

No tumor. Woohoo..

However, the extra little bit that grows beside the actual nut may be a little inflamed. That bit has a weird name. It’s called the epididymis. And it isn’t too serious. Just annoying and at times, painful. Like you’ve been kicked ever so gently in the nuts.

This, then, is treatable. I have to go back to my doctor and we’ll figure it out. It may have to be removed, but that isn’t serious either. One can live quite happily without one’s epididymis.

So, I’m a little bit wiser now. A little more aware of my body and its functions. And wiser in more ways than just that one.

I also know now, that is quite difficult to remain objective about anything when your balls are being fondled by a pretty young nurse…!!


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Windsurfing is Not My Specialty

Posted by Exile on March 17, 2014

Well, actually, not at all. But there were boards involved and the wind was definitely up…

It’s no secret that once I get stuck into something, I have to keep going no matter what the circumstances may be. Putting a solid roof on the shed was only the first step in creating a comfortable home for my motorbike which will double up as the workshop/toolshed that I’ve always wanted. Once the roof was on, I decided to insulate it for warmth in the winter and thought it might be a good idea to insulate the walls as well since the wind was still blowing through the gaps. The shed is 10 years old, warped in places and there were open spaces to let the draught in.
Can’t have that sort of thing going on, now can we? Well I can’t, so that’s that.

My mate had well and truly worn himself out on the roof, so he wasn’t going to be of much use. I decided, do it alone and do it well. Stubborn old git that I am.

To insulate the underside of the roof was not going to be easy but I had thought it through. I created a ledge all down one side of the shed to rest one end of the chipboard plates on. The other end could then be lifted up and supported by makeshift pillars to hold them up while I got busy with the electric screwdriver. The insulation held itself up by being forced gently up into the spaces between the rafters. All that was done in nice weather and went quite nicely, thank you. It took me a whole day, a lot of tea and smoke breaks and very little foul language, but I got it done and am proud of the result.

Encouraged by this success, I decided the walls must be easier to do because one isn’t continually fighting gravity when working on the vertical bits. I created the framework, measured and checked again, even drew a plan sketch of each wall. Victory was guaranteed. In fact, I’m nearly finished with the whole job so the arithmetic and planning seems to have been pretty damn good.

The fun part was getting the material in.

See, the weather changed. We had a bit of a storm. It’s still blowing a bit now, three days after.

Undeterred by Mother Nature’s whimsy, I had to get on with the job so it was off to the builders merchants and buy material. Storm or not. I bought screws, more insulation, metal brackets and, finally, chipboards. The boards are big. Solid and heavy too. They measure 2.4 metres by 1,2 metres. The trolley I used to carry them out to my car allows one to stand the boards up, rather than lay them flat. This was no problem inside the merchants hall but once I got into the car park in a force 8 gale I realised I was in trouble. Holding a hundred kilos of weight on four wheels with what is effectively over two square metres of sail solidly mounted on board is not easy.
I set off like a rocket… totally out of control and like a speeding bullet, I careered up the parking lot being dragged along by the cart. I tried to turn it sideways into the wind but that made it tack like a yacht which increased my speed, changed my direction of travel and did nothing for my self esteem.
Luckily, the wind slowed for a second and I finally managed to stop the bloody thing before anyone or anything got hurt or damaged about one hundred yards from my car and very close to the main road. Even more luckily, one of the staff had seen all this and, despite almost laughing himself to death, offered to give me a hand.
Eventually, we loaded the whole lot into my car and I could journey homeward with the backdoor of the car open and plates and wood hanging out. (It’s an estate car. The back door really is at the back.)

My problems didn’t end there. Once at home, I had to get the plates out, one by one, and carry them to the shed. The wind was still blowing. Taking one plate in my outstretched arms. I lifted it from the car and carried it onto the pavement. Once again, the wind caught me and, like a human kite, I was forced down the pavement whilst fighting the drag of the wooden sail. Determined not to be blown to kingdom come by the thing, I hung on for dear life and finally wrestled it up over my head to lay it flat which meant the wind no longer had a grip on it. I had to repeat the process four times before I was finished. Getting the small bits in was easy.

I may have to wait for better weather before I get the last bit of this project done.

If you hear reports of strange things flying over Denmark, you’ll know I didn’t.

Posted in Strange. But True. | 1 Comment »

We’re Doomed..

Posted by Exile on July 24, 2012

Or maybe not, depending on the Mayans, or the Aztecs, or someone else… 

The knowledgeable types amongst us will know that the great Mayan Long Count Calendar comes to an abrupt end on the 21st of December 2012, which heralds the end of the world. In about five months from now as I write this. The winter equinox. Just before Christmas. Bugger. I like Christmas. Or should I say, used to like Christmas. T’was a cheery time of year, in my youth. 
It is therefore, like it or not, that you will have to make the choice of preparing for our utter and total destruction or plan your Christmas shopping in the next few months. If you follow the chatter on the internet, the screaming eejits have the advantage and they are descending upon some otherwise unknown French village in the vain hope of avoiding the coming apocalypse by congregating there. I have no idea why a village in France is going to be exempt from global destruction, but there you are. Voila. 
Admittedly, we have been warned of the end of the world by others at various times in the past, all to no avail, but someone has to be right at some point in time and the law of averages is against us. Not only that, we are talking ancient wisdom here, from the Mayans. And they were bloody clever. (Just raising my finger here! You have been warned!)

The Mayans started work on their calendar somewhere around AD 600. They worked hard at it, making astronomical observations, predicting the seasons, the rise and fall of the planets in the heavens and major events in their own history. All these things were carved in stone in strange hieroglyphic pictures and interpreted by the holy priests of that civilisation, much to the consternation or elation of the masses that were the Mayan folk. It would appear that no matter where you are, religion is power, be it biblical or pictorial. Sacrifices were made, the gods were appeased and all was well. Their calendar was extremely accurate and various astronomical events were predicted until well into our century, including solar eclipses. And then, it just stops. On the 21st of December this year. There was no need to continue, say the learned. It is The End. So there.

Of course, there may be another explanation. Here’s one. is the year 738, about five in the afternoon on Thursday in the third week of the month of the Lizard King Porcupine at the Mayan calendar workshop.
Fred Querxacotl and Joe Zaxtpitl are rounding off the day’s chiseling in stone and Joe is sweeping the floor for the fifth time that day. It’s an hour to knocking off time. Fred seems a little depressed.

What’s up? says Joe.
I dunno, says Fred, I just don’t see the point any more..
To what? says Joe.
All this chiseling every day. We’re up to winter equinox in 2012 now. What’s the bloody point? We’ll be long gone by then. Says Fred.
We’ll all be long gone before that, says Joe.
What? says Fred, and lays down his chisel. What do you mean?
Well, says Joe, according to the vicar in church last sunday, the bloody conquistadores will be here already in about 1520 and they’re gonna wipe us off the face of the earth.
What? says Fred, that’s only about 8oo years from now. I’m nearly 500 years past that already. Bugger me!
Yeah, says Joe, some bastard called Hernan Cortes is coming over here from Europe and he’s gonna sort us right out. Well not us really, but them that comes after us, the Aztecs.
This is news to me, says Fred. Who the hell are the Aztecs?
Well, says Joe, first the Aztecs will rise up within the next few hundred years and be a great civilisation much like we are today and we, the Mayans, get clobbered by them, then come these dego chaps from Spain and they clobber the Aztecs. A bit like what we did to the Olmecs.
Oh yeah. I remember the Olmecs. Bunch of wankers. Big heads. So what about us? says Fred.
Well, like I said, we’re doomed mate, says Joe. We’ll all be long dead by then.
Well bugger me, says Fred. That’s it then. I ain’t doin’ this any more. They can shove this job up their arses.

And with that, the last man able to chisel the words and likenesses of the gods quit his job and went off to live his life as peacefully as he could and never looked back. Joe started a gravel business and got a contract for the South American interstate highway, which failed as a financial project, and ended up in a place called Nazqa building short roads and designing vast rock gardens in the shapes of indigenous animals and birds. Joe’s work can still be seen today, as can Fred’s calendar.
Sure enough, the Aztecs came and finally wrested power from the Mayans forcing them to give up the recruitment drive for a new chisel operator. The calendar was never finished.

Or was it…?? As I said, you decide. Merry Christmas.

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Duck a la Drain..?

Posted by Exile on June 17, 2011

I had a day off today. So did my good lady. That doesn’t happen often on a weekday these days so we decided to take advantage of the situation and take my daughter and grandson out to lunch. This involves a long drive to get to her place and a long walk with the pram to get to the town centre. The walk was pleasant enough as we took the scenic route through the woods close to the town.

On reaching the town centre, we were amused to see a duck with five ducklings surrounded by a hoard of people. A canal runs parallel to the main street and the duck had obviously lost her way and seemed to have some difficulty in finding her way back to the canal through the adjoining sidestreets. I suggested I could take my jacket off and capture the duck, we could then round up the ducklings and transport the whole family back to the waters edge. Then I learned that that wouldn’t be a good idea as five other ducklings were caught in a drain nearby. A drainpipe, designed to remove the water from rooftops was actually missing and the five ducklings had gone down the remaining hole in the street leading to the main drain below. The cover to this drain was adjacent to the hole and we could hear the poor things splashing about in the drain below. Someone said that the rescue team had been called but this is not a priority mission for them, so I decided immediate action was necessary. I attacked the drain cover with my car key attempting to clear the lifting hole of sand and crud but soon realised this wasn’t going to do the job. The drain was surrounded with cobbles, so I attacked them instead, my intention being to rip the top plate and cover away and gain access to the drain.
A young man appeared, armed with a screwdriver and a hammer. He was as determined as I and together we soon had the cobbles up, tore the top off the drain and peered into the hole. Five ducklings, just over arms length away, were happily bobbing about on the top of the dirty rainwater trapped in the drain. He couldn’t quite reach them. I laid down on the pavement, shoved my arm down the hole and just managed to grab the feathers on a ducklings neck. I heaved it triumphantly up from the darkness and people cheered. One down, four to go. I managed to heave another three up without too much difficulty but the last one had learned well from its mother. Being afraid of me, it continued to dive under the water at every grab I made for it. I couldn’t reach it.
Finally, a local tradesman came with a dustpan on a handle and suggested we use that to fish the last one up. After four or five attempts the little duckling finally clambered into the pan and we hauled it up to the surface, me holding the dustpan and my young friend and fellow rescuer holding the duckling.

By now, others had collected all the ducklings into a cardboard box and had caught the mother duck. They were all duly transported back to the canal and released into the more duck-friendly environment. The youngster and I repaired the damage we had done as best we could, replaced the drain cover and blocked the downpipe hole with stones to prevent a repeat occurrence and replaced the cobbles. Happy with our handiwork we shook hands, told each other well done and went on our way.

I looked a mess as I walked into the restaurant where we were to have lunch. Hands dirty, my once white shirt front filthy from laying on the street and my jacket covered in dust. Luckily I know the restaurant owner, explained how I arrived in the condition that I was in and excused myself to the washroom to get cleaned up. And then we had lunch. Which was, by the way, absolutely delicious. My thanks to Charlie, our charming and understanding host.

I am sure now, that ducks in the future, sitting round their duck camp fire in the evenings, will recount this tale to their children. I shall forever be a hero amongst ducks everywhere.

Or maybe not.

I really don’t care. The thing is, five ducklings are alive and well with their mother this evening because two people couldn’t just stand by, waiting, and do nothing.

Which makes me wonder what the world could be like if everyone else couldn’t just stand by, waiting for others to come and sort the situation out and doing nothing, while everything else, other than ducklings, is going down the drain…?

Posted in General, Strange. But True. | 1 Comment »

Monkey Business

Posted by Exile on October 26, 2010

I was in Lisbon a couple of weeks ago attending the World Championships in slow pipe smoking. I didn’t win. And to be fair, Lisbon was a bit disappointing too. However, I did get one of the best experiences of my life out of the trip.

My room mate and travel companion went down with the strange sickness that had gripped some of the others of our group of twenty and decided to spend a day in the hotel. Not wishing to get involved with the great party of people that were off to see something I’d already visited, I decided to go and see the Lisbon Zoo. Not the world’s largest, nor the world’s best, but a pleasant zoo to visit and well worth the price of the entry ticket.

The zoo enclosures are made of the usual stuff. Wood, wire and concrete. The more dangerous animals are enclosed by stone walls and one is provided with a safe area to stand and view at one end of the enclosure. The walls of these enclosures are fitted with armoured glass windows where they are adjacent to a pathway. Such it was, with the chimpanzees. Having found one of these windows, I stopped to view the chimps in action. While watching them, I decided the time had come for my midday pipe and placed my pipe bag in the window on the ledge, if one could call it a ledge. The alpha male chimp saw me there and came charging across the grass, showing me all his teeth and making a great show of his strength, not to mention his size. He sprang up onto the window ledge behind the glass and sat down in the window, inches away. An impressive animal. His underarms the size of my thighs. His fur, or is that hair (?) coal black and shining. Shoulders like Schwartzenegger. I have never been this close to a chimpanzee, let alone the alpha male in a flock. He was huge. Powerful. Awesome.

Not wishing to antagonise the creature, I decided not to make direct eye contact with him. I wanted him to stay there so that I could get a good look at him. Instead, I rummaged in my bag and found a pipe, unpacked it from its glove and stuck it in my mouth. This was followed very closely by my chimp observer. Then, replacing the pipe glove into my bag, I pulled out my tin of tobacco, took my pipe out of my mouth and filled it, returning the pipe to my mouth when I had finished. The big chimp studied all this and then, suddenly, he was gone.

Oh well, I thought, it was fun while it lasted.
Another chimp immediately took his place in the window. I returned my tobacco to the bag and suddenly the big fella was back. He chased off the interloper and reclaimed his position in the window. To my absolute surprise, he had gone to fetch a short piece of a branch which he then stuck into his mouth, imitating my pipe!
Chuckling softly to myself, I struck a match while hiding the flame from him, and lit my pipe. Once I was puffing smoke his interest seemed to go up a notch. He leaned forward to study me more closely.

I obliged him by sitting up, as he had done, on my side of the window ledge. Now we were facing each other diagonally across the window each leaning up the sides of the window and the glass, opposite each other.

And there we stayed, much to the amusement of passersby, for about a half hour. Me puffing on my pipe and him gnawing on his stick.
We nodded, exchanged glances and occasionally our hands met on the glass. Two contented souls sharing the afternoon break, separated only by a sheet of armoured glass, a 2% difference in DNA and about two million years of evolution.
I know people took pictures. I hope they put them on the internet.

Finally, there was some disagreement among the other chimps in the enclosure. His presence was required. He looked at me as if to say, “Oh well, back to work.” and then, he was gone.

I decided the interlude was over, picked up all my belongings and ambled off up the hill past the enclosure. There were lions and other things to be seen, but that half hour with my simian cousin will stay with me forever.

I wonder, who was studying whom? And will he remember the time he spent with me…?

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Laying Down With Dogs

Posted by Exile on December 14, 2009

I’m sure you all know the phrase, “Lay down with dogs and you wake up with fleas.” Said in other words, beware the company you keep. Our two Dachshunds keep us in very good company. Especially now, where the nights are getting cooler and sleeping in their beds on the floor may not offer them the comfort to which they have become accustomed. Which leads to some pretty strange nocturnal shenanigans going on at the shack in which we all abide.

It isn’t so much that we lay down with them, it’s more them laying down with us. They absolutely love sleeping in the same bed as we do. Preferably, in the middle of the bed. Between us. And they are very fond of pillows too. Which all means, that it gets crowded at the top end of the bed at night. So much so, that I sometimes have to simply do an about turn and end up sleeping with my head at the foot end of the bed.

This has nothing to do with me being sentimental with regard to the dogs. No. It is all physics. Gravity, to be precise.

I am heavier than the dogs. This means that I, being of the size I am, cause a deeper depression in the mattress than the dogs do. They, being the shape they are, then roll inexorably downhill and end up in my armpit. Or jammed solidly up against my back. They are wire haired. That itches. I move away. the dogs roll further downhill. I move again. So do they. I fall out of bed. They don’t. They now have my side of the bed to themselves. If I try to sleep in the middle of the bed, then i am eventually squashed between my good lady on the one side and dogs on the other. Yes. I’m heavier than my wife too. So she gets to roll downhill as well. My case is hopeless. I am, as they say, undone. The solution is my 180 degree flip. Isaac Newton, eat your heart out.

The good thing about all this is, that my feet stay warm. The dogs are delightfully warm. Electric blankets are no match for those two and it’s cheaper by far, electricity prices being what they are thanks to the bloody social demofarts and their bloody green taxes on everything good, modern, useful and comforting.

And the fleas? No. Between the baths, the constant combing and the flea drops, the dogs are pest free.

I’m not so sure about me though….

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Re: Health Warning

Posted by Exile on April 28, 2009

My last offering, the post entitled “Health Warning”, has attracted a little spam e-mail which I couldn’t resist bringing here. I have a fairly ruthless attitude toward spam, I generally delete it immediately, but this one caught my eye because of a piece of poor spelling. I wonder just what a “juice fact” is and why would it take 3-5 days?


Emma D

Submitted on: 2009/04/19 at 11:10pm

One of the most important things I found out about colon cleaning is you MUST juice fact for 3-5 days to get the OLD stuff out of your system. Of course clear the fasting with your doctor first.


Well, thanks Em.. that’s very thoughtful of you.

On another note; I couldn’t help feeling a bit put out by the suggestion that my colon is in any way in need of clearing out. That usually gets done at least once a day while I take a look at the newspaper or read my paper mail. Guess what happens when I see pictures of politicians I don’t like.

Yep. I multi-task while I’m on the toilet.

I reckon my colon is in good order. I can fart like an elephant too (just ask my wife) and, while I’m on the subject, my ex, several campers and the entire population of the island of Møn, is still talking about the anal explosion that shook the earth several years ago. I’ve never heard a camping site go so quiet in the middle of the day. It was a real party stopper. My guts are OK.

images I have no idea who Emma D. is or why she may be interested in the workings of my bowels, but hey, if you require some help in that general direction, drop her a line. Or should that be, dump her a line?

At least, she won’t be filling you with crap.

I left all the links here, so you could get quick and easy access. Have fun.

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OK, This Has Gone Far Enough..!

Posted by Exile on March 6, 2009

Picture 009 Have you noticed the price of petrol today?

I did. Actually I look every day. But this one took the proverbial biscuit.

Driving past my petrol station this afternoon I couldn’t help stopping and taking a picture of the electronic advertising. This is a real picture, it isn’t photoshopped.

After not tanking the car up.. I drove off.

There must be a short circuit somewhere, because the sign was OK later on.

Or was this just a practice run for coming fuel prices?

Either way, I don’t think the poor guy who owns this place had much custom while his sign displayed these outrageous prices!

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The Measure of A Man

Posted by Exile on February 26, 2009

We had a bit of fun at work today. It started out seriously enough in that we needed to take measurements of a crate due for shipment. For some strange and inexplicable reason, the team’s tape rule was nowhere to be found. One of my guys, being the helpful type spoke up saying not to worry, he had an ordinary tape measure that he uses for his photography hobby somewhere in his bag. He usually carries his camera with him everywhere. Ok then, out with it and on with the job. Job done, measurements duly noted and paperwork sorted out, we returned to our normal working activity. On a Thursday, that usually isn’t too strenuous as the first three days of the week are hell on earth and we can generally take a bit of a breather by the fourth. And so it began.

We now had a tape measure to play with. And play we did. We measured our arms, both for length and girth. Then our legs. Across our shoulders and from earhole to earhole over the tops of the heads. Our noses. The distance between our eyes. Circumference of our heads. The spread of our hands. There eventually had to be a little competition involved so we measured each other for reach from finger tip to finger tip while standing in the crucifix position. And then the same from toe tip to toe tip. It’s amazing just how far one can spread ones legs without actually doing the splits. We were giggling like schoolgirls.


Finally, of course, we measured waist and chest. It was then that I found out that my body has reached absolute and perfect harmony.

This was a bit of revelation but, as I have always regarded myself as being a harmonic type, I was neither shocked nor bothered by the final confirmation. How have I achieved this absolute zen condition? Well, it’s very simple really.

I weigh 110 kilograms and my waist measures 110 cm. I am, metrically speaking, perfection personified.

I am, in some strange way, as heavy as I am round. Dali Lama, beware.

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My Aching Back

Posted by Exile on September 27, 2008

I suppose I should know better at my age, but one can’t help getting into the spirit of things. The company I work for has had a few problems in the past with staff and personnel not feeling as though they “belong”. This has led to some pretty quick comings and goings and a high turnover of folk on the floor. This picture is changing now. I am relatively new to the company but I have assembled a good team for the evening shift. I have a new boss, he’s the latest addition, but I like this guy. He’s a no nonsense type too. A new economical type bean counter and a new country manager have also joined the team. All this since January this year.

So it was a good idea to do something on a social level to sort of knock everyone into place and have a bit of fun. We did this yesterday. My mob started early for a change to get our stuff done and the whole place shut down at four in the afternoon. The grill came out and the beef went into the oven. We started with a good old barbeque and beer and then had a chance to sit down together for a while and chat. Which was nice. Then it was off to the main event. Bowling? No. Go-karting? No. OK, paintball? No. None of the above. We went curling.

imageCurling was invented in Scotland hundreds of years ago before the Scots had discovered sex, drugs and rock and roll or golf. Well, they had the rocks, they could roll them, but the sex and drugs was a no-no and golf wasn’t invented yet. So they just hurled rocks at each other for entertainment. Then they discovered the concept of a target to throw things at and curling was born. Put the whole show on ice and you have a recipe for a good giggle, broken bones and good deal of jibing and poking of fun. The idea is to push a forty pound piece of polished granite down a forty yard long stretch of ice and have them stop on a target area no bigger than a toilet seat. Or so it seemed. You have to wear special shoes. One shoe has a teflon sole. This makes standing up and walking impossible as one foot is rendered totally useless and all friction is gone, so you get a thing that looks like a padded crutch to support yourself with although this is really to be used as an instrument to polish the ice, as if it wasn’t slippery enough to start with. Then you divide up into teams of four and hurl great rocks at each others rocks until only one rock is the winner, being nearest the centre of the aforementioned target. Note, the said rock nearest to the middle is often a source of contention and discussion. At least, it is when you play against me and my rock is in the target area.

Sounds easy. And fundamentally stupid. But all good, nearly clean, fun. As it happens, a few of the competitors left the field early. One of our group did the proverbial “both feet in the air – fall down on your head” trick and had to retire nearly dead. This frightened a few others off. One or two wouldn’t venture out onto the ice from the get-go but stood on the sidelines and gave hearty encouragement to the others of us that were out there defying gravity and certain death. Some took pictures. I look forward to seeing them.

The problem is, that being in my middle fifties and hardly as supple or flexible as I was last year (!), I am aching all over today from having had to fight the uncontrollable slithering that otherwise had threatened to end my life or, at very best, caused involuntary fits of biblically epileptic proportions as my arms and legs windmilled about in an effort to hold my balance. The stick thing which we used as a crutch or ice polisher brush thingy (why didn’t it have a name?) wasn’t much use as a support on the ice but it was great for poking the opposition in the moment of their executing what may have been the winning shot. I suppose one could call it a “curling weapon” but I daresay professional curlers would find that too offensive. I am supportive of the idea of introducing weapons to sports! You’ve already heard of a football club, so let’s get literal.

I digress. Sorry.

The evening was, by my estimation, a victory for social outings. I can recommend it to anyone who hasn’t tried to curl. Loads of fun and possibly a sport I would consider if I had the physical condition to match the aftermath!

The result? It was draw. No. Really. It was a draw. Honours were even at the end of four rounds. 6-6.

Look out. Crazy old fat guy on the ice.. The world just got a tad more unsafe people. Be afraid. Especially if you curl.

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