AWI production has ground to a halt this week because I’ve run out of bloomin’ 3x3 mdf bases. Doh. Bit of a cock up on the stores front it seems. Fortunately my usually empty diary was filled with a giddy social whirl, which included:
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| Yet another AWI refight of Hubbardton - this time using Tricorne C&C rules |
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| Plus the almost inevitable win by these lads. Is it possible to achieve a British victory I wonder? Three different rule sets would seem to imply not. |
The arrival of «my son the doctor» (has to be said in a potentially offensive Jewish manner - for which I apologise in advance) and his lovely wife. He reaffirmed our old family tradition of him turning up, stripping the fridge, drinking all my favourite pop, then thrashing me horribly in a face to face game using troops that I’ve just spent many months painting. Ruddy smart ass kid. I blame the parents. Oh wait…
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| My son the doctor rolls up the centre of my line with his light bobs. My loss was so sudden, violent and complete that I somehow neglected to take too many pictures for posterity. |
Being France I also had to suffer the agony of La fête des voisines, an annual social occasion in which the inhabitants of our hamlet gather to eat drink and be Mary (I might have got the last bit wrong). Two of the oldest members of the settlement never turn up since twenty years ago they ended up shooting each others cars over a land dispute that’s still not settled. Also not present was the Pradeix strangler - but that’s a story for another day.
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| The inhabitants of Pradeix lieu dit Saint Dizier Leyrenne, sans strangler. I’m on the right, three parts of the table down, next to the shaven headed fruit of my loins. Ughh. |
You’ll be pleased to know that despite becoming fearsomely drunk, as an antidote to my crippling social anxiety, I behaved myself well and even sat through twenty minutes of Shamanic drumming by the yurt folks, without comment.
I’ll give myself another pat on the back for that, I think.
Toodleooh for now.