So - late night postage. After another long lifeguarding shift I return to post. I am, as I said, back home and hence on dial-up again on my mothers pc. This means all postage is now a cloak and dagger affair. As I have neither a cloak or a dagger I'm currently improvising with a blanket and a spoon. Not as sinister, but better for eating yoghurt with. I am also my moms lounge, which kind of shatters the Dangerous Covert nature of my postage, but I like to think of it as my space lair, so do that if you think it would improve your Dark And Bright Experience.

Right - to explain about the ankle-girl first. Long story short - a girl who was a friend of a friend fell down the stairs in the club we were at on Monday night and screwed up her ankle. The aforementioned friend, lusting after her (she is pretty cool) offered to pay for a taxi for them both, only to ditch her for a different girl. So there's me, this girl and 2 other friends of mine. She's very drunk. She says "I know you, don't I?" - a phrase that now causes me to crouch into a defensive Ninja Stance upon it's utterance. She then spent the long, long walk back to hers (we had to walk her home, carry her home, and, at one point, actually find her home) explaining some details of stuff another friend of hers and myself had got up to a long time ago, to my friends. Suffice to say, it wasn't about crochet. I was mocked. A lot.

The explosion explanation: A local car mechanics caught fire and as the garage contained several large cannisters of acetylene everyone within a few hundred meters was evacuated to my local sports center. Where I was working. Meaning I ended up dealing with a lot of people milling around, acting stupid and looking kinda dazed.

I will return to my usual excess of postage later "today" as I'm not working 'til Saturday again and will thus be reclining, like some kind of... recliner..., around my mothers abode. Be told.