Sunday after

Cèilidh went great. Pics and videos may have to wait, there’s a few floating around. Third and final drunken set ended on a bit of a messy note, but Finlandia went nicely.

Food was excellent. Karelian pies with haggis, trifle with Irn Bru jelly and mämmi, and oh man, the millionaire’s shortbread. I stumbled out of there with a box of the stuff. So good. Also won a couple of free drinks in the raffle.

Lots of fun, and no hangover today. Hanging out with the kids and watching cartoons on Netflix.

That is all. Another bullshit crazy week coming up.

About Hatboy

I’m not often driven to introspection or reflection, but the question does come up sometimes. The big question. So big, there’s just no containing it within the puny boundaries of a single set of punctuationary bookends. Who are these mysterious and unsung heroes of obscurity and shadow? What is their origin story? Do they have a prequel trilogy? What are their secret identities? What are their public identities, for that matter? What are their powers? Their abilities? Their haunted pasts and troubled futures? Their modus operandi? Where do they live anyway, and when? What do they do for a living? Do they really have these fantastical adventures, or is it a dazzlingly intellectual and overwrought metaphor? Or is it perhaps a smug and post-modern sort of metaphor? Is it a plain stupid metaphor, hedged around with thick wads of plausible deniability, a soap bubble of illusory plot dependent upon readers who don’t dare question it for fear of looking foolish? A flight of fancy, having dozed off in front of the television during an episode of something suitably spaceship-oriented? Do they have a quest, a handler, a mission statement, a department-level development objective in five stages? I am Hatboy.
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