One and a half percent

I did it. Sort of. Badly.

I met up with the world famous Misty, or more precisely her viking alter ego. And her viking friends.


Misty tells me they are all very nice people, and I should interact with them. The problem of course is no matter how nice they are (and they where), I am a total and utter failure in the interaction thing.

But I'm a creep
I'm a weirdo
What the hell am I doing here?
I don't belong here
I don't belong here

(tnx radiohead).

True, after this photo was taken, to the untrained eye, it did appear that they engaged in attempting to beat seven bells of sh*te out of each other. I'm not sure I would like to take part in this if I was invited (I was assured they're all highly trained at clonking each other).

But I failed miserably in the more peaceful pursuits that I could have done. I wonder occasionally if I'm perhaps somewhere on the autistic spectrum, I've never been able to do the small talk thing well. But that feels like cop out, blame my failing on this label sort of thing.

Normally at this point I would have given Misty her birthday presents (my excuse for going), and buggered off into the sunset to be miserable thinking what could have been. But due to unexpected happenings which I won't go into, as Misty will no doubt a) want to tell the tale herself, as it's her tale, and b) make a much better job of it, I found myself having a second day of Misty and friends.

Which be where the 1.5 percent comes in. That being how far round the earth I drove today. Woo! Knackered now! I know some people prolly go that far to the corner shop, but I'm not used to it. Sadly I am used to getting the evil eye from certain people who think I'm stupid to do such things. C'est la vie.