Warm Beer Cold Women

So I'm in England and, pretty much, there's only one word to describe this place: Cold. Which thoroughly concerns me as, according to the few English I have thus far encountered in the wild, this is warm.


I boarded the flight from Sydney to Abu Dhabi to find I was seated next to a sour-faced, middle-aged lady. However, apparently I have some kind of awesome stink on me because only minutes after sitting down, she squeezed past me to go to the toilet and never returned. While a normal person might find this insulting, I was fucking thrilled. I had the window AND the aisle seat. Like, a whole couch to myself with a view of the city lights to my right and ahead of me not one but two television screens. That's right, I could listen to Stewie say cool whip while simultaneously watching that little plane (representing yours truly) fly around the worldwide map. The second flight was much less exciting. No television and an aisle seat. The only consolation is that I was seated next to a pretty lady which, evidently, is a good thing when flying.

Conclusion: When flying, skip the deodorant.

I am staying with Bobby's parents in Eastbourne, on the 'sunshine' coast. Although Eastbourne is, according to Bobby, more or less a retirement town, I must say they are nice little retired people. "You look lovely" said a little old lady to me as she walked by us with her two chihuahuas. I just hope she meant that I was in good taste for a youngon, and not the kind of lovely Dame Edna Everage might consider lovely.

Ps: Their pokie machines are like a big box of hypnotising clutter. Don't judge me kid. That was not my first point of call in England. More like my second.

Picking up after you

Excluding a pee and a poop here and there, the man and I spent an entire day last week in the living room. Indeed, we didn't leave the house at all. No, we weren't sick. And we hadn't been grounded by the old man across the road. In fact, we did it by choice - hoping to be productive.


Amongst a few other bits and bobs, including a hand-sewed bow tie, this little owl was a product of the above mentioned day. He was born out of an old pick (or plectrum if you're that kind of reader). Hopefully, this week will find us at the bead store, buying chain and loops and completing the little hoot as a necklace. By Saturday I should have three or four to sell at the Vintage and Retro Pop-up store. Of course, that is if the old man doesn't ground us again.