THE street is oh, so quiet tonight. We have just been outside with the dogs (plural because we are walking a neighbour's while she goes to Cardiff to see Cliff Richard in concert)and ours are the only lights on as far as the eye can see.
There is a glimmer around the curtains at number four, which means Gerry may be watching the snooker or something, but everywhere else the good people of the street are in their beds, dreaming dreams of things they cannot have, like the people of Llareggub.
Even Bazza's lights are off. He will be dreaming fitfully of cruise ships in beautiful harbours and prolific goalscorers in Argyle green.
Everywhere people are going to bed, and I'm not tired.
I was just warming to a conversation about British cinema history when my blogger friend from Dorset signed off and turned in for the night.
Running went well again, if the Waterside hill can ever be described as 'going well'. With Alan absent, the Caerphilly Kid was left in charge, and a fine job he made of it. Ten sprints up the old road, ten recovery jogs down the dual carriageway. I put everything into the ninth and powered past one-two-three people, puffing and blowing like a decrepit steam engine. Then I ran like Mister Soft in the Softmints advert on the tenth and one-two-three people went past me again.
After running I took up an invitation to see Fire For Effect in rehearsal at the college. Matt and Alex, latterly of Space Beacon Earth, have put together a new band and they sound good. They played 'Word Up', as performed by Gun and not as performed by Cameo, plus a couple of Foo fighters covers. Good, very good.
Shower, late supper. No wonder I'm not tired.
Anyone out there want to talk about The Third Man?
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