decoy

posting pictures

once uploading the picture, you need to drag it into editing window.

By default it uses a thumbnail but you can change it to use the actual picture or have it so it links to the actual pictures by clicking on the thumbnail of the picture before you drag it into the editing window.

If you use the actual picture rather than the thumbnail, you can resize the picture by dragging one of the corners.

pliskin decoy pinkie

On account of being told…

… that I can’t have my name put on the main page due to insufficient blog entries, it has become my New Year’s resolution (one of many) to blog once a week. Seeing that we have already begun the 3rd week of January, I have already failed. “Dude, no!” as one of our best loved characters would say from the series which will remain nameless. What exactly is happening on the island? Why has no one found them yet? Why? Why? Why? There are many theories, but I reckon it’s all in the numbers…

decoy

skiing and footy

skiing was good stuff. Pretty cold most of the time, but nowhere near as cold as it was last Jan. Unfortunately the coldness wasn’t offset by plush powder… Pinkie took well to blades and rich picked up boarding very quickly. Sharna did well on skis in the last couple of days. I didn’t manage any 360s on account of having a bad back. next time.

Played footy for the first time in ages today (though only for 15mins) and we won 1-0 and went 2nd in the table!? bit of a shock after the start of the season we had.

No celebrities spotted but apparantly Abramovich was skiing at the same time as us, but in a completely different part of the alps.

dodman

Fatigued shoulder syndrome

I appear to be suffering from an acute case of karmic consequences. Our Christmas turkey was brought around by Colin and Petra with a sock over its head, because they couldn’t bear to look it in the eye. It put up one hell of a fight, which was hardly surprising since it was engaged in a battle for its life, necessitating immense effort on my part to hold it down and prevent the kitchen looking like an abatoir; and I think I damaged ligaments in both shoulders doing this while my assistant (or was I the assistant?) administered the coup de grace. I had forgotten that that ludicrous wedge of solid breast meat was pure muscle.

Glad to have found the explanation of my aching arms and shoulders, I celebrated by climbing the chicken tree and catching the latest crowing cockerel who was quickly dispatched and cooked in Moroccan style.

Needless to say, we all played football with the head afterwards.