The name is Mills. Old Mills.

You know the way one will always warn you about meeting in "real life" people that you have only ever known through soyber space.

Well I finally met Oldmills today.

It was a major disappointment. The man never swore once. Well the only time he (sort of) swore today is when he complained that the "flippin" scones were off. Or at least they could have been fresher. He then blushed and said "forgive my French. But it is true isn't it, the scones could be fresher. Oops. I realise, I am being terribly impolite, forgive me for asking you to forgive my French. You are French after all. No offend intended".
He then proceeded to sip his cappuccino (with the little finger sticking up) and we discussed variable rates and mortgage repayments.

Did we f***

The man drinks like a trooper, swears like chimney and smokes like a fish.
The lovely Cardbird had arranged to put us on the guest list of an all age concert in Whelan's (where Marty Whelan works as a bouncer).
We were expecting the average age to be 12 but there was an older crowd than expected and loads of sunlight streaming into the concert place. Quite unusual really.

Dans le scrotal sac vs Dubious Pip were great.

Here is what they sound like.

Rejects: (I'm not calling you a reject Oldmills, these are just the potential blips of the day that did not quite cut the mustard)

Primary colours Mills. With background lovers

Don't mess with Oldmills. With background lovers.

Thanks for the jellies (we had to get the kids sedated to go to bed, they were on such a sugar high).
Thanks for the chocolates ( Mrs Raheny had to be sedated too, she was on such a chocolate high).
Thanks for the book and the calendar (your photos deserve to be seen big and in print). Except maybe "cows in the mist"
Sorry for getting you tipsy.

Cardbird, you are a Lady!