(sic)

You can tell I was drunk Friday night. The title of the blog should have been “Why I hate physics (a drunken rant)” rather than the rather more baffling “(a drunken rate)” that I put when I posted it. I was thinking of changing it this morning, but I make a point of never going back and editing my blog entries, and it does look quite funny, so I’ll leave it as it is.
I’ve been drinking more because my Philippa is away for the weekend and I feel lost and lonely. The sports centre where she plays badminton have an annual ‘friendly fixture’ against a similar place in Suffolk. They play volleyball, five-a-side football, bowls, darts, snooker and a few other things that I’ve forgotten, and through some complicated, convoluted scoring system they end up deciding which is the best sports club. (This is the fifth year they‘ve done it, they tell me, and the Suffolk lot have won it three times.) So Philippa and about forty others have piled down to Diss in a big coach on Friday and they won’t be back until tonight.
She asked me to go along, but I’m working all day today and I’m on shop floor management duties so I couldn’t really wriggle out of it. I lack my darling’s competitive nature anyway so I wouldn’t have been bothered whether they won or lost, which wouldn’t really make me a good supporter, would it?
So instead of sitting on the sidelines watching sweaty men hit balls to each other while waiting for my sweetheart to hit a shuttlecock, I’ve been drinking lots of red wine, eating lots of French bread and watching lots of black-and-white sci-fi.
I must be missing Philippa though - “The 50-foot woman” looks incredibly sexy, even though I know she’s been dead for ten years.

RC 9-10-11