Well, it's a week since I've seen Pete. Sometimes it's longer than that. In fact yesterday morning, sat outside having my coffee, I thought I might call him. When I say call, obviously I mean text. No unnecessary chatting. 'At Petit Delice, coffee?'. And more often than not, within 10 minutes he'd appear. However, this time last week, we said 'tara' to Pete as he headed off to San Francisco for a year. Naturally he joined us for the Monday PCR and then we headed out for Burgers and Wine.
Except Chris doesn't drink wine...until he's pissed up on beer, then drinks ours. And James - my body's a temple, this week, could only mange something that looked like a burger, only much smaller. So there we are. Pete's away. He seemed excited, and there's a very real danger he might turn all American on us, forget how spell and start being nice to people. So we've taken it upon ourselves to remind him of his roots and promote the fact he's a tough northern double-hard bastard and to continue saying it like it is. A Brit.
