Last night, after I'd posted this for the first time, my posts started appearing halfway down the page. I deleted it and posts returned to their normal location. I re-posted it and, hey, presto, off it goes a'wandrin again. I'll try leaving out the photo this time, and see what happens.
Anyway yesterday evening was a funny old evening, as Arkwright might say.
In circuits as well as being knackered I discovered that a pharmaceutical company is creating a medicine for diabetics that has been developed from the spit of the Gila Monster.
I can see it now. A man in a white coat sitting, late at night, on his own in his laboratory; he can't sleep, a result of having spent the day testing new drugs on himself. He's doodling images on his notepad. In between the woman with voluptuous breasts and the penis-shaped sports car, he thinks to himself, 'I wonder if the spit of the Gila Monster might provide an answer.' He doesn't know what the question is but it doesn't stop him. The next morning he is on a plane to the Nevada Desert with a quest: to catch the venomous lizard.
It was an Irishman who told me about this new drug. Now I wouldn't dream of casting aspersions on our Celtic cousins, but they are renowned story-tellers. And he did tell me this just after he told me about his father and the mobile phone. It seems his father lives in the Republic of Ireland and he has a phone that flashes green to show it has a connection. Except when he crosses the border into Northern Ireland when it flashes orange. Politics gets everywhere.
Then on my way home I saw a rather large man wearing an off-the-shoulder t-shirt. Is that normal?
I've just eaten lamb koftas and mushroom omelette for dinner; is that normal?
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