Reprographics - The repro man blog

We were at Palaia!! At an agraturisma about 5km away. Beautiful part of the world!

ha amazing, if you ever go back, autumn/harvest is very special.

festivals celebrating tuscan beans, truffles, first press wine with wild boar..
paid 12euros all you can eat/drink at the il campo, hic

the sound of pop pop from the hunters' shotguns down int valleys at dawn was all too real though. culling the wild boar, but i suspect it all ends up on the tables in restaurants or home.

Excellent Luci. Put a smile on my face.

My mates went there in Autumn and the boar shoots were constant. I found a boar hide and killing field on one of my walks. I've nowt against it, as long as it ends up as chops and ragu! I'll look into an Autumn jaunt!

i'm itching to go back with bike, Palaia would be a good base for morning decents and hilltop finishes, followed by epic feasting.

https://www.airbnb.co.uk/rooms/7039587?checkin=23-09-2016&checkout=28-09-2016&guests=6&s=USEAr-e0

I quite fancy a MTB there. Some of the roads were totally fucked! I'd hate to round a fast decent and hit some of those pot holes.

Cheers @mi7rennie mate!

i often ask which side of the road should we be driving on..

In my experience it doesn't really matter as long as you have a horn in reach...

Bacon sandwiches on a Friday morning are a bit of a thing in my office. Probably are in most offices. I don't partake for reasons we'll get into a bit later but it's a popular thing. Very popular this morning with the usual naysayers citing the bank holiday as justification. Not quite sure why a full schedule of boozing and barbeques morning noon and night for three days while the weather is variously too nice or too bad to warrant anything more than lounging in a torpid state until the clock finally demands it's time to pay the pied piper. Whereupon they'll be overcome with bitterness that they're exhausted. 72 hours of meat sweats and hangovers will do that to person I guess.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, I was put in mind of Luci's parable of midweek pork pie indulgence. The call goes out once the stragglers have managed to put in an appearance and someone enthusiastically collects order. "Bacon sarnie, TSK?" they beg hopefully. "They're really good, or you can have egg and sausage if you want, maybe some toast..." the litany of options presented to me like an oath that must be sworn every week to appease some gluttonous gods. I decline. Calmly. Firmly. Repeatedly.

When the zealotry continues with a near evangelical fervour. The geiger counter like clicking of typing ceases and eager eyes peer over desk dividers. A smell of hot grease leaking through bleached paper bags wafts into the office and mingles with a palpable aroma of anticipation and fear. Hope for salty gratification, fear of denial, an order misplaced. Crinkling bags are distributed and the horror begins. Incisors rend and molars grind at bread, meat and sloppy stringy fat. The kind that puts up a fight and attempts to flee back to the refuge of the bun. It's a forlorn hope and the rebellion is quelled. Cries of ecstasy ring out at the wonders of bacon, further praises to those deities of excess. A call and response with muffled agreements.

"Don't you like bacon lad?" I'm asked. Words forced around half chewn wad of food. Enquiry and satiation locked in battle as neither is willing to give ground even for a moment. Table manners a fleeting memory of childhood and maternal upbraiding.
"Aye, I do like bacon" I reply, my gaze not shifting from my monitor. There's things I don't need to see this long before the witching hour.
"But lets be fair, that's kind of the reason for the fat state I'm in now. Had I not indulged in so much bacon so recklessly in my youth, I might not be the middle-aged embaressment I am now".
"But you're not fat" they entreat, a swift defence against a tacit implication.
"Well, not like you lot" I quickly don't say. "Well, not too much. But I'm heavier than I want to be. Time to exercise a bit of moderation to counter the effects of youthful negligence" comes the more diplomatic response.
There's quite a few fatties in the office. But let me be clear, I haven't lived their lives, I can't tell what's led them to be as they are in this time and place. I'm not prescribing what bady shapes people should and shouldn't be and I'm only judging myself, not them.
The fervour wanes, the chewing slows, gazes stop meeting.
I'm not judging them but I might be smiling a little. I'd like to think a lesson might be learnt to leave well enough alone but I suspect the repetition of history is right on schedule for next Friday.

I went looking for Luci's pork pie tale for a timely reminder but couldn't find it. Hopefully he's going to make good and give me a decent shitbreak today.

Bacon bleakness! I love that!
I decided to take August off from writing - I'd been getting into a right muddle trying to work out what to write, when to write, and decided to put writing on the naughty step. It's pretty liberating! Just reading, reading, reading. Picking up literary tips from a wide variety of authors. I'm chilled and ready to get back at it soon.
Loved that piece, mate - you should start a blog!

oh dear, the net is finally closing in

Bollocks! They're on to me!

After a rather long holiday from writing, I'm back.
Here's my latest story, Candyman

Cheers!

Brilliant. Do you ever feel like someone at your local recruitment agency is on to you? "Let's see what he writes about this guy!"

Love the new one, worth the wait @General_Lucifer

That was the highlight of todays net belming

I think you're missing an 'I' here:

take a mouthful of very cold coffee look at the screen some more.

Oh and Candyman, Candyman, Candyman, Candyman, Candym......

thanks everyone! I'll get on thtose errors as soon as - I'm getting chased for jobs at work at the moment. Selfish twats, wanting a days work for a days pay...

wanting a days work for slightly less than a days pay, with the difference made up in sweets...

Sweet dreams...

I really don't have a sweet tooth anymore...

He wears a tatty grey t-shirt and tatty grey shorts, tatty grey socks and brown sandals. He has a great sheaf of bin bags tucked into the waste band of his shorts, cheap bin bags,

It should be "waistband" shirley?

Edit:

He says, You go home. It ok. I say so.”

You missed a " there I think.

EditEdit:
hugely enjoyed reading that, though.

Great read. Thanks

The not-smoking smoker is somebody I identify with.

You should be a pro editor, @Murphys_Law! Cheers mate - I'll sort those out.

@Skülly I'm glad it's not just me then. It's cigars and pipe tobacco that floats my boat but they don't count. Panache beats cancer every time.