War Of The War Of The Worlds

Last night’s Troma Night was War of the War of the Worlds night, in which we’d planned to listen to the War of the Worlds radio play, watch the 1953 film (which is very, very good for it’s age), listen to the Jeff Wayne musical adaptation (which, in my opinion, remains most true to the original story), and watch the new (2005) version of the film. Not many, if any, people took up Paul‘s offer to read the H. G. Wells book in advance.

Was it just me; or was the pizza particularly good last night?

Running out of battery power on Paul’s MP3 player during “Dead London” (close to the end), in the Jeff Wayne version, threatened to end the night early. Quick thinking from Paul enabled us to get “back on track” with freshly-downloading copies of the final three tracks within a few minutes, but we were still unable to watch the final, new, film. Perhaps some other time.

Claire and Ruth had a little too much to drink, one suspects, which is at least partially responsible for them wittering through some of the second half of Jeff Wayne’s musical, until Paul and I got pissed off enough to tell them to stop (bad), but, much later on (after we’d run out of Troma Night material) collapsed into a happy drunken post-tickle fight giggling heap on the sofa(better). The absinth(e) my sister Sarah brought back from Benidorm smells like aftershave and tastes like petrol. But if you knock back a shot of it, it’s impressive how quickly it hits.

We drank plenty of the absinth last night, too, at Geek Night. JTA found it difficult to count how many sheep he was trying to trade (Settlers of Catan), before going home and bashing out a drunken blog entry. Paul watched from afar, ocassionally stopping to add a little to the RockMonkey page on Absinth, which remains, complete with spelling mistakes and other messy bits. I got excessively giggly, and ended up debating with Ruth the merits of snorting spirits (thankfully we had the sense not to try this with absinth(e)). And Ruth, despite spending most of her time laughing the small stuffed toy pig I keep on my desk, managed to pip me to the post and win the game just before I executed my master plan. The bitch.

Claire’s dad was visiting this weekend, but hasn’t come to see us this morning: instead, he’s gone straight home, and we’re not sure why.

Rain in Cambrian Place

Looking at the weather, I think the chance of a barbeque tonight is somewhat reduced. Any other suggestions are welcome.

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