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Playing my trump card for Halloween

This year, I have decided to go for a minimalist yet effective option.

Total cost: EUR1.50

And still, I almost soil myself each time I look up from my computer screen.

To be fair, I almost soil myself each time I look at my screen too. Such is the amount of emailed nonsense that lands there at regular interval.

What can I say, I am surrounded by beauty…

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Halloween-ween situation

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Coke head

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Went to the restaurant-named-after-a-mass-murderer at lunchtime with Carlos and Colm.
The number of shrimps in the Nazi-Goering has further decreased (two and a half today), the rice was hard and dry, this was really really the last time I eat (poorly) in Mao.

When asked what we wanted to drink, the cheapos went for water and Carlos asked for a Diet Coke.
The waitress apologised and said that they only had Pepsi Max.
He frowned, pondered, weighed his options, thought a bit more, and finally conceded that Pepsi Max would be ok, he supposed, as an exception.
I told him that in a blind test he wouldn’t be able to tell the difference.
He assured that he o so could tell!
I retorted that he o so could not!!!

On the way back to the Mistake Factory, I purchased a can of Coke, one of Diet Coke and one of Pepsi Max.

Six identical cups were procured.
Numbered 1 to 6.
The three cans were poured randomly in cup 1 to 3, and then again in cups 4 to 6.
I asked him to:
a- identify the three beverages
b- match the 3 pairs

Carlos tasted the Pepsi Max in cup 1 and declared “Ah! Real Coke!”

I was right. He was wrong.

I was o so right. He was o so wrong.

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Don’t even think about it, on you go. Go!!!
Stop that! You can’t stop here. This stop is not in use.

GO! 

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Go!!!

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The after-show must go on

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A packed and incredibly noisy Eddie’s Rocket wasn’t perhaps my no. 1 destination of choice after the 2 hour gymnastics show, but I was outnumbered by 4 to 1 and apparently a splitting headache does not give you an extra vote. Or five.

While the gymnast was cramming chips by the fistful, her brother was trying really hard not to regurgitate his hastily slurped milkshake, and cheesy chips and coke-soaked burger.
He had a look on his face that reminded us of the good old reflux days…

While Mrs mememe2u escorted him back to the car with the precaution of a nitroglycerin handler, I did the same with the bill.

It exploded in my face when I reached the till.

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She’s not a cat that works. No, she’s a cat.
But she’s the cat at my work.
Actually, I think she thinks that she owns the Mistake Factory.

Silly cat.

She doesn’t.

No the whole three floors.

But she definitely owns Bronagh from Accounts.

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Emily the work cat

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Sorry folks.
It’s the end of a looooooong, tiring week.
And the opportunity for an easy, not-too-taxing pun was too good to let go.

Off to bed.

Via the pub, for 2 or 3.

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Sancerre apologies

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As I had forgotten to pack a lunch today, and given the massive queue at the sandwich-place-that’s-closest-to-work, I offered to go to McMeumeumeu to Carlos.
His face instantly lit up.
It has to be said that I very rarely condescend to eat consume quasi-food products in the place with the big yellow M (for ‘merde’) on the door.

The atmosphere soon took a turn for the worse though as Carlos reflected sadly on the unprecedented levels of violence impacting our world (I tried to explain to him that the levels of violence have been higher in the past – late 80s and early 90s spring to mind* – but that it wasn’t so close to home, so barely noticeable).

By the time he had finished his quarter pounder with cheese, there was little hope for humanity.

By the time he grabbed his diet coke, we were a doomed race.

When the long rattling slurp he produced through his straw reminded us both of the trumpets of the apocalypse, I was faced with a binary choice.

Either comfort him and try to lighten things up like any decent friend would.

Or whip my camera out from under the table and immortalise the sad slurping moment.

* Afri-what?!
 

 

 

 

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Happy(ish) Meal

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