Harrogate-arama

Hurrah: it's Harrogate time again! Those magical 4 days in summer that reek of beer-fuelled crime-writing-related shenanigans. What could be more fun? And this time I'm determined to see Agent Phil perform his now legendary monkey impersonation. Yes, he's small, but he's wiry. I can't believe I missed it last year - that's what I get for being sensible and going to bed before three in the morning.

Well, I am getting on a bit. Mind you, I've been successfully podging up for most of the year, putting on that extra few layers of fat to counteract all that alcohol... Or I could just, you know... go tee-total for the duration. Which sounds like a radical departure from festival etiquette, but both Allan 'mine's a fruit juice' Guthrie and Zoƫ 'Ooh, I'd kill for a cup of coffee' Sharp* manage it on a regular basis. And they don't come across as soberer-than-thou temperance types either. Damn their un-bloodshot eyes!

And it's not as if I'm going to have much opportunity to get absolutely weaseled, I've got the TOPCNoTY presentation to go to on the Thursday night, and as I'll be on the stage I probably shouldn't be roaring drunk. Then on the Friday night I'm getting thrown out of a balloon, so again sobriety will be the order of the day. So any heathenistic excess will have to take place on the Saturday night. My panel gets out at half four and I'm free as a free thing after that. Woo-hoo!

After all there's no point wasting all this weight I've put on.

And as an extra special treat to myself, whenever anyone asks me to be in their team for the Saturday night pub quiz I'm going to fake a dose of industrial-grade haemorrhoids and slope off to the bar instead. Well, maybe not haemorrhoids, that kind of thing is likely to put off any groupies. Maybe I'll fake something more sophisticated, like gastric flu? Or leprosy?

Or I could just admit that I'd rather creosote Gordon Brown's backside with my toothbrush - and then brush my teeth with it - than sit through another bloody pub quiz?** But personally I'm leaning towards the leprosy.

* And the scary thing is, she probably could - and all she'd need would be a teaspoon and a little sachet of castor sugar.
** I should point out that I know some perfectly nice people who actually enjoy a pub quiz. OK, so there's clearly something deeply wrong with them, psychologically speaking, but you know... each to their own.

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