Naughts and Crosses, circles and plus signs
In Which Your Humble Blogger doesn’t go in to the symbology of that plus sign, because frankly I don’t get it.
In Which Your Humble Blogger doesn’t go in to the symbology of that plus sign, because frankly I don’t get it.
In Which Your Humble Blogger is one of those people who often doesn’t see that a thing is missing until it’s there—but isn’t everybody?
In Which Your Humble Blogger notes that the shortest group are evidently also referred to as gnomes or dwarves, or possibly dwarfs, but not elfs.
In Which Your Humble Blogger doesn’t seem to have blogged this one before.
In Which Your Humble Blogger was prepared by an Arizona childhood to accept that YHB will not actually see all these great actors in great plays, and to be happy just to the Playbill delivery van making the drop-off at the stage door.
In Which Your Humble Blogger takes a contrary position.
In Which Your Humble Blogger doesn’t talk about England’s easy victory today, or their excellent performance in the Australia ODI series, but about a videogame.
In Which Your Humble Blogger downplays for rhetorical effect how much he really likes some of the other punk bands, but that would totally take away from my point.
In Which Your Humble Blogger would read them on a train or in a house, although preferably not with a goat, and not in the dark, because it’s bad for my hat and makes my eyebrows get red hot.
In Which Your Humble Blogger returns to that humble little village where a single candle is sufficient, the social rules are to be followed with exactitude, and the dead rise from their graves and feast on the flesh of the living.