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A great deal of thought went into the creation of this image. I hope you appreciate it out there in cyberland. I kind of like the hang-dog expression on the dragon's face (which is not really a dragon, but rather a model of one of the griffins on Notre Dame cathedral that Liam bought at a stall on Paris's Left Bank) as he watches the knight approach to 'take him out', to use contemporary American parlance. 'Not again...' it seems to be saying, 'Why can't they just leave me alone?' This kind of sums up how I feel just now as I ponder doing some work before the rest of the household return from the (whisper it) golf driving range. While Liam and his friend, observed by Linda and her mum, hit little white balls with a big metal stick, I was watching two groups of 11 grown men chase a large leather ball around a field in an attempt to get it into each other's net. My team, Celtic, managed to achieve this no less than four times, while the other team couldn't manage it at all. Victory is all the more sweet when it follows an Orc defeat! So, grinning like a loony as we start to crawl up the table to within striking distance of our rightful place at the top, which is currently (and temporarily) being squatted on by a bunch of Edinburgh upstarts - whose name rhymes with upstarts. The Orcs, in the meantime, have fallen to fifth place behind such giants of Scottish football as Kilmarnock and Hibernian... Steady my bleeding heart! Well, being in such a good and contemplative mood makes it too darn difficult to think about translations just now. Wait... I'm off the hook... the car has just pulled into the driveway. What a stroke of bad luck. I guess I'll just have to leave the translations until tomorrow. Ah well, can't be helped.

Last year I caught this R*****s supporter fleeing from Castle Greyskull