If I was a student of psychology I would get a job at an escape room immediately. How much fun do those voyeurs have that watch the gamers and type cast everyone so quickly into doers, non-doers, and people who like being locked up and playing with padlocks.
Even though my team was locked in a room with Johnny for an hour it was actually quite good fun to watch intelligent folk solving a myriad of tricky mind-twisters whilst Barry just struggled stacking a few stools to form a pattern.
Obviously having so many bondage experts in our team paid off as we broke free just within the allotted time to find a surprisingly empty hallway meaning we were triumphant. Team Keith emerged flustered and frustrated a few minutes later making transparently pathetic excuses that their room was harder, to cover up for the fact they had failed spectacularly to escape. Team Tim arrived shortly after looking equally forlorn followed by the organisers muttering something about interventions in arguments, whatever that meant.
Released back into the wild of Saturday night Leeds we then somewhat psychologically predictably downed lots of pints, sucked stringy noodles in Trinity Kitchen and some of us danced the night away before risking life n limb in death-defying taxis.
If I was a psychology student I could have gone on this splendid Tick Tock Escape room night out and got a first for my resulting thesis. Thanks Keith for locking us all up and not letting us out.
Continuing our recent spate of Club non-diving-but-a-lot-of-drinking weekends, an intrepid lot set off from the four corners of West Yorkshire to gather in the big smoke and wage war against one another with balls and skittles. After beers one, two, three and four in Wither-away-spoons, that well known quality hostelry in the train station, we managed to arrive vaguely on time(ish) at the bowling alley.
Two lanes were filled with slightly wobbly bowlers, whilst latecomers to the competition (you know who you are Keith and Amanda) had to just sit and cheer from the sidelines. Some folk got strikes which basically means they get less goes which is a bit rubbish, whilst others were too skittle-conscious to even knock any down because that’s a shocking act of aggression to skittles everywhere if you think about it. Somebody won on each lane, possibly Tim on both lanes in fact, and beers five, six and maybe even seven were consumed.
We then wobbled off to arrive nowhere near on time at the buffet place where people ate lots of fairly repulsive food and drank some fairly flat ale. Things got quite fuzzy by this stage, but I think most people had a good time….well most except one. Hopefully everyone got home safe, but as no one has been seen or heard of since, its difficult to tell.
Thanks to me (Johnny) as usual for organizing it all….you’re welcome
St Abbs residents gripped their fishing nets in fear as 40 Pirates hit the sleepy diving village, parked up their longboats and campervans and drank Grog ’til it ran out of their noses. The 80% chance of rain never materialised but the biting Easterly wind certainly did. It has been noted that at least one rufty tufty Pirate had a heated vest on under his blouson.
Saturday diving was excellent if a little swelly, but under the water we were treated to the excellent visability which St Abbs has been lucky to enjoy for a couple of months now. Octopus and Wolfish were evident as were shoals of young Pollock. Slightly on the chilly side for some, it proved to be an excellent day diving.
Sunday morning had it’s casualties, some alcohol induced and others just didn’t like the look of the weather. Luckily for those who hung around for a couple of hours, the weather cleared up, the sun came out and another couple of dives were to be had. Black Carrs boated at least 20 metres visibility and if it wasn’t for the 10 degrees C water temp, then we could have easily been in the Caribbean (honestly).