*sigh*

Last night didn’t quite turn out as expected. Headed down to Rileys for some pool to find all of the free 9 ball tables were taken. Deciding that we wanted to play we paid for a table for the night and off we went. It was good fun if a little too hot, the AC seemed to be off. So we played for a few hours till Nick got a call asking us to join some of his friends at a “classy” bar full of “students” in Warren Street.

So we did. Stayed there for about an hour before we were all thrown out at closing time. Headed home, finishing off Canal Dreams along the way. Not great, not great at all.

It’s hot here, hot hot hot. There is another heatwave across the country and it’s reaching to the mid 30’s in some places. Going to see Buffalo Soldiers tonight and looking forward to it. I’ve heard lots of good things about it.

Something I have meant to mention for a long time shall descend into a mini rant today. It would appear that a large number of people are completely stupid. Stop press, shocking news I know. There are large numbers of these people who cannot use a bus through sheer stupidity. London buses generally have their destination written on the front, and indeed most on the side and the back. Now sometimes a bus won’t be travelling the full route, particularly at peak times, so a destination partly along the route will be on the front. When the bus stops at this destination you do not have the right to shout at the driver or indeed to even complain at all at the driver. It is ENTIRELY your fault for not reading the destination printed in big bold letters on the front. Our second piece of evidence for stupid people; buses have bells onboard. If you want to get off at a stop you press the bell BEFORE the bus gets to the stop. This lets the driver know that a) s/he has to stop the bus and b) s/he has to open the door. If you don’t ring the bell and the driver goes straight past your stop or does not open the exit doors at the stop, again this is your own damn fault.

and from the old jokes home:

A couple of months after Custers famous “Last Stand”, his wife decided she wanted an artist to depict what her husband’s final thoughts were as he was slaughtered by the indians.

After a couple of weeks passed, the artist brought the finished painting to Mrs. Custer. She looked at it, and was puzzled. It was a painting of a golden cow and a bunch of indians having sex.

She then said to the artist, “This isn’t what he was thinking of. He was thinking about me and the rest of the family.”

The artist answered her, “No he wasn’t. He was thinking, ‘holy cow, where did all these fucking indians come from?'”