The end of time

So here's to the end of another year, and my God what a year it has been. Apart from whatever jobs or studying we claim to do in our free time, we've actually accomplished a fair amount. Besides breaking the land-speed record for a battery powered car (Charles 1) and constructing a raft that clearly would have floated us to safety in the likely event of the apocolypse, we managed to fit in a lot of kart. Oh we cycled round the Isle of Wight, but you wouldn't know about that becuase George STILL HASN'T WRITTEN UP HIS DAY. But I don't think 'a lot' of kart does it justice. Here are some stats to try to get across the extent to which we played that game:

Closing scores:

Luge - 32 (1 tech.) - 21%

Oli - 115 - 77%

Gay - 3 (14/9, 24/1, 26/2) - 2%

That makes:

150 championships.

~ 2400 races.

~ 6 days 6 hours of straight kart. That's nearly a straight week.

and God knows how many laps. I definitely did 2, Luge probably about 4, Gay... I don't even dare guess!

Closing targets:

Luge - 3

Oli - 4

Gay - 2

Bearing in mind they fluctuated by roughly 1 in each direction throughout the year.

Oh and I just noticed that I never failed to reach my target of 4. Both my laps were when my target was 5, and on both occasions I scored 3. Odd.

And somehow despite all that, we managed to spend a substantial amount of time in the Gordon's, and even occasionally went out to this place called Jesters. Whoever would have thought.

So just to top the year off, we thought we'd have a killer house party. After brewing our own beer, then drinking it all before the party, we decided toget some booze in. A trip to the cash and carry and the local brewery later, we came to realise we'd way, way overbought. Not to worry, as it's actually sitting next to me right now. All 50 cans of it. Anyway, the party was great, but due to a few early leavers, we decided to take the party to Jesters. Then, according to my memory, nothing happened until we'd left Jesters and decided to pay the Death Swing on our way home. Big mistake. After turfing some randoms off our swing, we dicked about, searched for Luke's phone, and generally made a hash of standing. However, no one as much so as George. In one ambitious gymnastic movement, he managed to backflip off the Death Swing and land on his feet. Unfortunately in doing so, a dodgy landing had left him sobbing in agony while the rest of us laughed and called him a big girl.

A few piggy-backs later we were home, and even after an hour of playing Luke's 'gayer or straighter' card game, George's ankle was still swolen and still causing him agony. I made the executive decision of sending him to bed, and we all hit the sack. Somehow, Luke made his bath run the following morning, after about 3 hours sleep, but on his arrival home was confronted by a demand to be taken to A and E. It soon transpired George had broken two bones in his ankle and would need surgery. Balls.

Not the way we'd planned to end the year, but hey that's life. We'd had it coming all year, well at least George had.

Good work, it's been an incredible year.