Whistling past the Graveyard

Chucking it down, it was, as I legged it to the bus. And then, it was even heavier as I legged it from bus to tram. And strewth, howling winds and bucketing rain as I legged it from the tram to the office. A fine start to the day, then.
Work, work, work, and then home so briefly before more legging. To Tuk Tuk to meet the son and have a blether. Plenty good chats; but underneath all the big talk, there’s still a wee lost boy trying to find his way. Perhaps that’s how I appeared to my Dad for so many years, of course.
So then.. a film! The Hateful Eight. Half way through, you could be forgiven for walking out. A snoozefest, literally. And then it kicks in. Worth the wait, well, probably. But with some pruning there could have been a really excellent film there. And I think MrT has surely reached the limits of black comedy/gorefest. I hope.
Home to find an old friend has been in touch and has been posting disturbing and slightly deranged comments on the old FB. Poor old guy. I think I may have to give him a call. Oh dear.