Whatever that means
Remember those days when you were a wee boy and you’d catch a daddy long legs (or is it Danny long legs) and pull its legs off for a laugh and maybe just leave it with one wing so it could flutter round in circles? No? Err, no, me neither. Maybe it was just a bit in The Wasp Factory. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. It was one of those days. Not literally. Before you go all PETA on my ass, I didn’t actually pull the wings or legs off any creatures. I just spent the day picking and poking and scratching at things. Bending them, conceptually, to see if they could break. They did. Great fun although it’s of no damn use to me.
A strategically timed meeting (where a lazy photo of the Nelson monument was taken, with barely a pause, as I walked along) meant that an early finish saw me on the train at 4.25. Unfortunately I was still sitting on the same broken train at 4.45 when I got chucked off because it had been officially can
Red’s comment reminds me that I also took a walk up the antiseptically clean and bright Scotsman Steps. This is just so I can find the photos later when they’re back to being a piss stained but photogenic disgrace.