The strap on my digital watch finally snapped during the first half of the Barnsley v Wolves match yesterday.
Naturally I'm sad, but the fact that it passed whilst in the midst of duty brings me great comfort. I had to hold it Alex Ferguson style during injury time to see how long was left. Then at the final whistle I pressed stop (at 4:57 time added on). I'll keep that time visable until the batteries run out, and put the watch into the 'drawer of things that need fixing but never will'.
You know, if you could string these wonderful vignettes of your life together into something about 60 minutes long, you could give the intolerable - yet staggeringly successful - Stuart McLean a run for his money.
I think I ate too much fried catfish in Nashville. It's not easy to find around here, so I had it twice in four days while visiting my mom. I didn't think it was possible to eat too much of it, but there you go.
Also, Nashville is not Baton Rouge. No self-respecting Cajun would plunk a dill pickle slice on a pile of fried catfish. At least they held the cole slaw like I asked them to.
Have I mentioned how much I hate it when dill pickles come into contact with my food?