I didn't need them, as somehow - using my depths of ingeniusness - I managed to sort out the bridge, by changing the posts for others I already had and routing the holes in the bridge itself out a bit. (There may have been some plumbers tape, a small dog called Toto and a click of the heels too, but I wasn't watching that closely. No big hammers though, I've given them up for Lent.) And it all means that I didn't need to change the position of the holes at all. Though the posts are currently gold coloured, but that can change easily enough.
I don't feel silly, the relieved feeling is overpowering it.
As for the tuners, well, I had written off the originals, but a bit of TLC saw them working well, so I'm going to try them out and if they are OK go with them, as they look beautifully corroded and beatifically aged. And if they prove useless, I have replacements already, so no big deal. I am that calm.
So all-in-all, it is looking good. The one fly bathing in aqueous cream is that the blend pot I thought I had and would have listed as the one banker in my Ronin armory isn't so dependable - rather like a banker, in fact - and I didn't have one at all and have instead ordered a couple. They should now arrive tomorrow, now that I hav ordered them, that is.
So with a fair wind at me back, I may just be able to get it wired and then strung up this week.
Similarly, The Tatty Adonis One just awaits the first pickup to show it's face, so that could happen too. Dirty of Finger or Wide of Range, I really don't know, I'll leave it to the tender mercenaries of the postal service to decide for me.
Which is crazy cool, and I can't help but feel that I'm hoping like a Dingles fan for something frankly impossible.
Thinking of football, I have to say I'm a tad torn about Wolves' gastrointestinal implosion. On one hand, now that West Brom are pretty much safe, I can enjoy the wringing of six-fingered-hands from the direction of Wolverhampton and look forward to the grubby faces of the tear-stained brats on whatever day their final day proves to be final. I hope they get relegated at home as that is always good for a laff and more fun than seeing the couple of dozen away fans. And the outpouring of tears means that they all get a wash, which isn't a bad thing.
On the other donny, Terry Connor seems a decent bloke in an impossible sitch, and it never feels the same if we don't get to play them a couple of times over the season. Which we won't assuming we do stay up and they don't. Plus, I think staying in the Prem for a couple of years means it is actually harder to come straight back up from the Championship than if you do the yo-yo, so we may have to wait for us to be relegated next year before we play them again. And then we have the whole out-of-phase promotion/relegation thing going on again, which is irritating. Not that they ever manage to get promoted if we are in the same division of course which at least means they are stranded down there for a few years playing the Bluenoses with a bit of luck.
So overall, I can't quite bring myself to hope they stay up, but I wouldn't be too upset if they did. A win-win really.
As for the Villa, god, I hope they plummet. It is about time. They could play Forest and compare their European Cup collections, bless them.
(Yes, I can hear the cries of at-least-we've-won-it-and-you-ain't but to be honest it only confirms their status as has beens so I don't really care.
Right, that was the football, the weather is shonky so next week I'll move onto social comment.
La la laaa
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