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This is the first of, and possibly only, as yet undecided, series of meandering and unfocused witterings about whatever happens to pop into my wee head.

So, I joined SL for reasons that escape me.....due mostly to a misdirected google search when I was trying to find the result of the second race, the 2.30, at Plumpton,(I lost). 

Crikey it's a complicated place, especially to someone like me who has the online savvy of a moss covered rock.

Now, because I'm a premium member, (don't worry, I'll still talk to non premium members, but it will be with a cetain degree of smugness), I got a house thrown in. After three hours of turning up in various strange places....I swear I momentarily arrived at a 1970s disco with John Travolta, but that may have been the tiredness kicking in, I eventually found my home.

Right, furniture, thinks I.....No, really, I did, my head's that empty. After another bout of bout of fruitless bouncing hither and thither I found the market place thingy and got a free living room set.

Once I figured out where inventory was I clicked on various...um...things, to try to get the furniture in the house...all to no avail.

I then decides to hunt down John Travolta and have a Bee Gee moment or two, which, given I still hadn't fully mastered walking and avoiding walls at the same time, was, in retrospect, not a good idea. Especially when even I realise that wearing three large items of furniture about my person restricts ones ability to light up a dance floor.

Haute couture furniture...so last year.

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A mate of mine called Derek has Tony Manero's complete wardrobe in his inventory, and needs little provocation to bring it out - he just needs to see a car with a GB plate on it (he is slightly dyslexic with a smattering of OCD, so he reads it as BG) to slip into a white suit with open neck black shirt and a pose reminiscent of the 200m runners on the podium in the Mexico Olympics.

He's Canadian, mind, so his musical tastes are slightly eclectic, but seeing him disco dance to "The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald" is a once in a lifetime experience - if you're lucky.

I'll point him at this thread and watch the sparks fly.

[You might have to explain what a Plumpton is, however; and throw in how you pronounce Towcester while you're at it...]

[Oh, and ask Pam to show you her range of houses; even if you were wearing a three-piece suite in them, they would still look good.]

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Maybe it was your mate i saw, then. 

First things first. Towcester is pronounced tow, said like 'now'  and the last bit is like stir, so, tow stir. Plumpton is a wee race track near Brighton on the south cost of England.

See, I find it all but impossible to read Fitzgerald without starting to sing 'Safety Pin Stuck In My Heart'...I'll see your mate's eclectic and raise him downright obscure.

I've just checked out 'The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald', I now feel a strange and not entirely healthy yearning for a Fairisle jumper. 

 

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Richtea57 wrote:

Three piece suite.....I was just one letter away from wearing the right stuff

It's hell when those ESLer merchants truncate their product descriptions and don't realise it.

[PS The inhabitants of Towcester actually pronounce the "Tow" as in "toe", so that their town sounds like the small white goods appliance which is everybody's favourite choice of wedding present, but then again, those same inhabitants think sausages are the acme of haute cuisine.]

[PPS I assume that you support Leicester City, or maybe Blackpool]

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Very kind of you to say, thank you.

You know that scene in Crocodile Dundee where he's walking down the street in New York for the first time, a  bit overwhelmed by it all? That's me in sl, that is, albeit without the big knife, leathery features and homespun charm

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LlazarusLlong wrote:

A mate of mine called Derek has Tony Manero's complete wardrobe in his inventory, and needs little provocation to bring it out - he just needs to see a car with a GB plate on it (he is slightly dyslexic with a smattering of OCD, so he reads it as BG) to slip into a white suit with open neck black shirt and a pose reminiscent of the 200m runners on the podium in the Mexico Olympics.

He's Canadian, mind, so his musical tastes are slightly eclectic, but seeing him disco dance to "The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald" is a once in a lifetime experience - if you're lucky.

I'll point him at this thread and watch the sparks fly.

[You might have to explain what a Plumpton is, however; and throw in how you pronounce Towcester while you're at it...]

[Oh, and ask Pam to show you her range of houses; even if you were wearing a three-piece suite in them, they would still look good.]

Now wait just a minute.

I have lost count (which is not an admission of that particular compulsion mind) of how many times in the past I have told you it isn't Travolta, who has long since departed this good Earth, and that what everyone is now seeing is an animatronic replica from Madame Tussaud's, it is Brando!

Further, I was in a disco, once; dancing no, not then nor ever, especially to the hymn 'Edmund F', which, parenthetically, I was privy to hearing the germinal chords for when one summer Gordo came up north, as was his penchant during the summer to fish, drink copious amounts of rye and fish and write a little music and drink more rye.

No explanation is needed for Plumpton, or how to pronounce Towcester as my heritage would not permit the transgression of being unable to do so, thank you very much as I have been a follower of the Sport of Kings, and Queens, having seats within a sausage throw of Liz and Phil at the Queens Plate on a number of occasions.

Otherwise, it would be a pleasure to make their acquaintance.

PS It isn't dyslexia, it's big fingers on small keys.

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LlazarusLlong wrote:


Richtea57 wrote:

Three piece suite.....I was just one letter away from wearing the right stuff

It's hell when those ESLer merchants truncate their product descriptions and don't realise it.

[PS The inhabitants of Towcester actually pronounce the "Tow" as in "toe", so that their town sounds like the small white goods appliance which is everybody's favourite choice of wedding present, but then again, those same inhabitants think
.]

[PPS I assume that you support Leicester City, or maybe Blackpool]

I am not one of the residents/inhabitants of Towcester, but you must cut a little slack to some of us Americans. I read Towcester as toaster, and my speech still has an echo of toaster when I pronounce 'Tow' as now or as toe so it always sounds like toaster.  Go figure.  Perhaps they should shorten their town name to just 'Ester' and save on all the explanations. 

I have experienced sausage that I would consider outstanding in taste -- haute cuisine.  Chicken with truffle and pistachio sausage.  Wow.  However, I do believe, and I could be wrong, that everyone in Towcester thinks sausages are the acme of haute cuisine regardless of how Towcester is pronounced.   Talk about night fever!.

 

 

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:smileyvery-happy:

 

Indeed - and thank you for the laugh!

 

One of my favorite moments, I somehow managed to wear half of my inventory all at once!  A house or two,  furniture, misc. objects...    though, I can not claim to have pulled it off with any grace or panache. :matte-motes-nerdy:

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DejaHo wrote:


Derek Torvalar wrote:

 

...  as was his penchant during the summer to fish, drink copious amounts of rye and fish and write a little music and drink more rye.

 


No golf?

Wouldn't be much point. You would run out of golf balls as you are surrounded on all sides by forest so deep and thick if you walk 20 feet into it you lose your sense of direction and are hopelessly lost. 

Besides, there is fishing and rye. No time left for golf.

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Derek Torvalar wrote:


DejaHo wrote:


Derek Torvalar wrote:

 

...  as was his penchant during the summer to fish, drink copious amounts of rye and fish and write a little music and drink more rye.

 


No golf?

Wouldn't be much point. You would run out of golf balls as you are surrounded on all sides by forest so deep and thick if you walk 20 feet into it you lose your sense of direction and are hopelessly lost. 

Besides, there is fishing and rye. No time left for golf.

I am raised inner city; I learned how to golf in an inner-city (I had to check the style guide for hyphenation) environment.  We played rooftop golf.  Yes, we would drive or use an iron to get our ball from the roof of one building to another; any building we could gain access would be considered a hole.  Par was assessed on distance.  The drain pipes were the 'holes'.  My point is that trees (too low) or fish (because we were only a four iron from the Fulton fish market) never got in our way, and we drank lots of bourbon too.    There is always time to golf in the summer. 

 

ETA: We lost buckets of balls and broke more windows than Hurricane Sandy, but we golfed. 

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