Mahinda’s Little World

Solomon Grundy,
Born on a Monday,
Christened on Tuesday,
Married on Wednesday,
Took ill on Thursday,
Worse on Friday,
Died on Saturday,
Buried on Sunday.
This is the end of
Solomon Grundy.

Poor sod. Wikipedia, as usual, has more details.

So, it’s a particularly dark and stormy Thursday evening, and I’m walking to Solomon’s with Housemate Helen. Housemate Lynda cried off for work purposes, and Housemate Andrew was just being an old man - we left him sitting on the sofa drinking cider.

Most of the other Withingtonites and Didsbury folk couldn’t make it out, leaving just me, Housemate Helen (the smaller), Pete and Rosy.

No sign of Ceilidh Cat either, although she did drop me a txt saying that she’d meant to turn up, but was at the other end of Rusholme* and it was bucketing down. It’s from that txt that I found out that she’s a Cat rather than a Kat.

* It being Eid, Rusholme would have been absolutely rammed solid.

Oh well, never mind. Not quite a hattrick of knock-backs. I think.

The four of us had a jolly enough time drinking, and moseyed on home at normal closing time. One of the things we discovered was that a pint of Hoegaarden is, in fact, as big as Helen’s head! But then, she is tiny.