Andrew

My instinct tells me (and it rarely fails me, if you ignore about 5,245 disastrous decisions that I have made in my life as a responsible adult - i.e. the last 6.5 years) that you (I'll have to cut short those long and not really essential parentheses as they stop the natural flow of a sentence) don't want to mess with Andrew (see what I mean?).
You do not even take the piss behind his back.
Because it feels like he'd know, and that's not the sort of risk you want to take on a Tuesday (what? is it Wednesday already?) evening...
So I opted to ask him if I could photograph the back of his head as we both got off the Dart today.
And he did not require much convincing. And I did not even get a slap in the process.

For some reason, I have a feeling that he has more in common with Roman than he would initially think. It's just that they don't bat for the same team.

Anyway, thanks a mil for allowing me to photograph your "I see everything so don't piss me off" tattoo Andrew, and not minding that I plaster it over the interweb.

I thought that I'd be stuck for a blip today as my lunch time wander did not reap anything.
I was even contemplating defrosting the kitten that I have been keeping in the deep freezer for such a no-immediate-blip-to-be-had occasion.
But a blip was there all along on the train back home. It was literally staring me in the face.