Here is Conrad, up with the lark, with a long wait for the bus.
"What shall I do?" is the refrain. "Aha! Divert folks with a cheeky little early-morning post - they won't be expecting that!" and of course you wont*.
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| Sorry. Couldn't resist. |
Lowri's Goodbye
The lovely lillting Lowri** left a couple of weeks ago, and decided that tonight is the celebratory, congratulatory and commiseratory night that her ex-colleagues quaff an ale or two and shed some tears about her going.
She is going to Zed Arts, who are a community theatre group, and if you ever attend one of their shows and encounter a laughing lady with a lilt, check first because there are other women from Wales in the Wet City***, but it probably will be Lowri.
| The Lowrey. Close enough |
Matters Consequent Upon Lowri's Goodbye
Conrad, who needs little to no excuse to quaff an ale or eight, is going to be accompanying the lightweight young rascals who will be collapsing in the gutters of the Northern Quarter from 4:15 onwards. At some point those present will gravitate towards a club, so named because it beats your hearing to death with a barrage of ENORMOUS NOISE. Conrad, not wishing to damage the delicate cybernetic mechanisms that serve him for ears, will make his excuses and leave.
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| These are expensive and delicate, you know |
I'm getting there! Just be patient. Really, some people and manners ...
Conrad will hence be getting back late from Manchester. No! Eight-thirty is not late. After ten, probably, which means very little time to compose the blog and post and pimp it. Hence this small but beautifully formed cousin of the real thing.
| Pip pip! |
And don't forget, there is no letter "G" in Russian.
* Because telepathy doesn't exist just yet, not before DARPA get their patent in.
** I can use these words because they are objective and true
*** After yesterday, the new slang for Manchester
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