Two weeks ago I was unexpectedly visited by olilolo’s own Stu and Doyle at my house.
“To what do I owe the pleasure,” I asked the pair, as I reached for my broom, “at midnight on a Tuesday?”
I swept the shards of broken glass into a neat little pile beneath my bedroom window, while the guests untied their harnesses and caught their breath.
Two abseiling ropes were hanging in through my broken window, where they had entered moments earlier with a crash and an airhorn. A look of pure exhilaration was etched into Stuey’s face. Doyle took both of the harnesses and calmly tossed them into my laundry pile.
“We need to talk.”Read More