Guinness heart

I was going to say that I can't let Valentine's day go by without a mention, except that's plainly rubbish. I can mention or not mention whatever I like, because this is my blog. I write it, I own it, and if I don't want to be quite that predictable, then I won't. That's the theory anyway, except now I've already ruined the argument by mentioning it. Who said blogging was easy?

In some random association of thoughts that may make sense to no one, especially me, my above rambling has happily reminded me of the famous incident of the Guinness and the magic eight ball. Fame is relative you understand, but I'm going to tell the story anyway.

When I was a student, I drank a lot of Guinness. It's full of iron, that's my excuse. One day I asked the magic eight ball, "Will I be drinking Guiness in the pub tonight?" and the ball replied, with a hint of arrogance that I really didn't care for, Without a doubt. Without a doubt? Really? I thought, I'll show you, you piece of plastic.

So, I formulated a plan to prove the magic eight ball wrong. I would go into the pub, stride up to the bar and order a fluffy alcopop, something red and sticky and distinctly not Guinness, and I would continue to drink such sweetness all night.

A few hours after hatching my cunning plan the time had come, the pub beckoned, and nothing would stop me. I walked confidently through the door, head my held high, caught the barman's eye through the smokey haze... and he started pouring me a pint of Guinness before I even reached the bar. Alas, I think my reputation may have preceded me.

The moral of this tale is this: Never underestimate the power of the magic eight ball. It knows more than you think.