loopy

I was looking forward to a Bank Holiday cycle-a-thon, but the weather is wetter than a squid's bathtub, so I'll be sitting with Ted, watching the snooker. It strikes me as a game that is designed with the sole intention of boring people to death. Ted loves it, and is trying to convince me to feel likewise. I swear that man spends all his time drinking tea and watching Sky Sports, especially since he gave up getting drunk and annoying his wife. Mind you, he raised several nice children and spent decades in the Army, so I guess he's entitled to do what he likes in retirement. So... the snooker... it's the World Championship Final, between Neil Robertson - an Australian who looks, sounds and acts like a ten-year-old boy - and Graeme Dott, a Scotsman with a voice like a dolphin on helium. I'm not enjoying it, but Hannah has invited Nathan round for the day so I'm making myself scarce. She wants to prove she'll be a good long-term partner, so she's downloaded a few Delia Smith recipes and is cooking him lunch. I'm not sure how poisoning him with an under-cooked lobster will help their relationship. Maybe she intends to nurse him through the inevitable sickness and diarrhoea and prove her love that way. She did a trial run of the meal on Friday and asked me to taste it, but I told her I'd rather eat my own socks than die of food poisoning while being her guinea pig, so it went untouched.
By the way - how come January never flies by as quickly as April?

RC 3-5-10