hot and sticky in a not very interesting sort of way

Sydney. Waiting for the plane to be ready for my lolling. Three hours into this whole flying back to London nonsense and I already smell like I've been going for a day. Must invest in a better deodorant.

On the road again

Let me tell you about my toe. You want to know this.

I ripped the toenail back. Not off, just back to a 90 degree angle. I made a sound like a kitten being squished. That was ages ago and the nail is all dead and still not doing what a nail ought to do and still quite the owie. So I've painted it pink. A nice, jolly shade of pink.

So, yes, have been a trifle slack on the updating front, which would lead you to believe that I have a very exciting and busy life. And I do. It is thrilling. It's been a bitchin' summer. Being unable to get my bung toe into sneakers to do exercisey type things has meant I have had to find other ways to fill my days. I drank a lot of tea, had a lot of guests, had not enough sleep on several occasions and then managed to stub my sick toe which had very bad results. And then I was told I had toes like a budgie. I am going to Google budgie toes to check the validity of this statement in a moment.

I have been taking Spanish lessons. I'm not so good at Spanish.

You know, I'm not really 'feeling' this blog tonight. It's not rolling like a homie. So I will end with the fact that I had a delightful trip to Palmerston North to celebrate pa and I turning 99, an enchanting stay in Christchurch where I practised my cackling, a very brief but awfully good fun time in Wellington last night that involved a small amount of violence on the way home as we free hit each other, and am now in Auckland, having had pints with the gang and then a nap because Penelope is no longer 23 and cannot function so well on four hours' sleep, preparing to not enjoy my flight to London on Tuesday.

OLD

I am old. There is port. Port is good when it is old. Ergo, so am I.

Logic possibly not so good right now. Oooh, look at those teaspoons. I should collect them. That's what a spinster would do.

Somewhere, in a parallel universe ...

Penelope actually updates. Sadly, here she has her grubby little hands on a book and is going to sit in bed with chocolate and get crumbs on the sheets.

If I look out my window I can see the shadow of 31, trying desperately to hide behind a lampost, as it hopes to eventually leap upon me and overpower the lesser number 30. I see you, 31. I know what you're doing. And you can wait until I'm good and ready for you.