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Feb. 3rd, 2007 11:53 pmA book I ordered on Amazon Marketplace arrived this morning - 23 Sweet FAs by Andy Sloan. Or not, as it turned out. Although it had the cover of 23 Sweet FAs, the book inside was actually The Reluctant Tuscan by Phil Doran. A printer's cock-up. Cue visit to the Post Office to dispatch it back to the seller with a request for a real copy of 23 Sweet FAs - and I had to stand at the Queue Here sign for ten minutes while a 14-year-old girl told the counter lady her life story in between handing over a series of parcels for international registered post.
Hawks v Basingstoke in the afternoon. The programme lady said to me "No three-course dinner this week!"
"No, it's back to burger and chips from the tea hut," I replied.
A dire game, but we won 1-0 and went top of the league, so ain't complaining.
In the evening my mother and I went in our Mayoral capacity to a race night at a local pub in aid of a stroke victim who was left paralysed but is slowly recovering, although he'll be wheelchair-bound for life. His family need £9,000 to make the improvements to their home that'll allow him to return there from hospital. My mother, in her civic capacity, has already helped them raise a big wodge of that, and going into tonight they were about £500 short of the target. The landlords, Rob and Sue, were a warm and friendly couple; Rob bought us drinks on arrival and got us a refill each a bit later. With my throat still sore, and wondering if it's the onset of a cold, I stayed on Red Rooster all night. None of the horses I bet on won, but during the auction I picked up a handsome gent's watch for £22 (from Harrods, according to Rob who was auctioneer and general MC for the night, although Mr Al Fayed's store's name is nowhere to be seen on the fascia nor the packaging). Over the night three different blokes, all in Pompey tops, seeing my Havant & Waterlooville jacket, remarked on how we'd won today and were top of the league and wished us good luck. Kushti.
The evening ended with the raffle. Rob was an evil caller! He'd say "Three hundred..." and pause. If the holder of ticket 300 stepped forward, he added "And six..." Then if the holder of ticket 306 bit the bait, he'd round off with "...-ty-nine." One of the loud blokes on the pool team, fooled into thinking he'd won in this way, yelled "I hate you" at Rob when he burst his bubble. My mother was first to win a prize (one lady yelled 'Fix'); later another of her numbers was drawn but she said 'Put it back in'. Rob was genuinely touched. At the end he did a speech of thank-yous before announcing that the evening had raised £820. Then the wife of the man whom the event was in aid of, and his best friend, came forward to say their thank-yous and the best friend announced he'd like to make it up to a round £900 and handed over the requisite notes.
We said our goodbyes to Rob and Sue, who thanked us effusively for coming, then as we made our way out Rob announced over the mike "The Lady Mayoress [sic - he called her that all night] is leaving the building"...
Hawks v Basingstoke in the afternoon. The programme lady said to me "No three-course dinner this week!"
"No, it's back to burger and chips from the tea hut," I replied.
A dire game, but we won 1-0 and went top of the league, so ain't complaining.
In the evening my mother and I went in our Mayoral capacity to a race night at a local pub in aid of a stroke victim who was left paralysed but is slowly recovering, although he'll be wheelchair-bound for life. His family need £9,000 to make the improvements to their home that'll allow him to return there from hospital. My mother, in her civic capacity, has already helped them raise a big wodge of that, and going into tonight they were about £500 short of the target. The landlords, Rob and Sue, were a warm and friendly couple; Rob bought us drinks on arrival and got us a refill each a bit later. With my throat still sore, and wondering if it's the onset of a cold, I stayed on Red Rooster all night. None of the horses I bet on won, but during the auction I picked up a handsome gent's watch for £22 (from Harrods, according to Rob who was auctioneer and general MC for the night, although Mr Al Fayed's store's name is nowhere to be seen on the fascia nor the packaging). Over the night three different blokes, all in Pompey tops, seeing my Havant & Waterlooville jacket, remarked on how we'd won today and were top of the league and wished us good luck. Kushti.
The evening ended with the raffle. Rob was an evil caller! He'd say "Three hundred..." and pause. If the holder of ticket 300 stepped forward, he added "And six..." Then if the holder of ticket 306 bit the bait, he'd round off with "...-ty-nine." One of the loud blokes on the pool team, fooled into thinking he'd won in this way, yelled "I hate you" at Rob when he burst his bubble. My mother was first to win a prize (one lady yelled 'Fix'); later another of her numbers was drawn but she said 'Put it back in'. Rob was genuinely touched. At the end he did a speech of thank-yous before announcing that the evening had raised £820. Then the wife of the man whom the event was in aid of, and his best friend, came forward to say their thank-yous and the best friend announced he'd like to make it up to a round £900 and handed over the requisite notes.
We said our goodbyes to Rob and Sue, who thanked us effusively for coming, then as we made our way out Rob announced over the mike "The Lady Mayoress [sic - he called her that all night] is leaving the building"...
