Odd this day

Happy 249th anniversary of the night James Boswell got proper shitted up on booze

4 November 1774

I went home and saw my wife and Veronica, then dined with the Colonel at his lodgings, and, as he was to be busy, just drank half a bottle of port; then sallied forth between four and five with an avidity for drinking from the habit of some days before. I went to Fortune’s; found nobody in the house but Captain James Gordon of Ellon. He and I drank five bottles of claret and were most profound politicians. He pressed me to take another; but my stomach was against it. I walked off very gravely though much intoxicated. Ranged through the streets till, having run hard down the Advocates’ Close, which is very steep, I found myself on a sudden bouncing down an almost perpendicular stone stair. I could not stop, but when I came to the bottom of it, fell with a good deal of violence, which sobered me much. It was amazing that I was not killed or very much hurt; I only bruised my right heel severely. I supped at Sir George’s. My wife was there, and George Webster.

That’s from this splendid book:

…and, yes, that probably should be a night, not the night

It’s also 38 years since the first episode of the greatest TV show of the 1980s* was first aired.

Edge of Darkness

(*I will not be entering into correspondence at this time.)

…and, of course, it’s the joyful 8th birthday of this unimprovable tweet:

… with runner-up status going to the photo that accompanies this article.

To save you clicking through if you don’t feel like it, here is that image:

There should also be special mention for Noddy Holder’s efforts to promote British Sausage Week with this homage to the Grange Hill opening titles:

In fact, it seems quite difficult now to find a photo of Noddy that doesn’t involve sausages…

in lieu of alt text (which you can’t seem to do for multiple images): Noddy Holder in checked jacket and top hat (with red band) holding (clockwise from top left): a frying pan and several strings of sausages, a sausage on a fork, a frying pan with sausages next to a Slades Road sign, a sausage on a fork again

…and finally, in sausage-related drivel this morning, an exciting preview: next month, we will be celebrating the feast day of Þorlákur Þórhallsson, aka Thorlak, patron saint of Iceland, and performer of sausage-based miracles. I’m sure you will want to watch this space.