Spicy and Vivacious on the Back Palate

Spicy and vivacious on the back palate... don't we all want to be.

I'm eating fruit toast and drinking what's left in the bottle of the red wine, from last night.

Maybe I'll go into the city and watch Jindabyne? I haven't seen a movie in ages.

I have a woman, who lives up the lane next to me, in some of those "Aren't I hip I now live in an inner-suburban dog box", new apartments, the type who'd probably want all the deros in Fitzroy killed (like the idiots who moved to St Kilda who want the prostitution cleaned up) who has reported me to the council, twice, for my late night shenanigans in my spa.

Both times I have said, quite dead-pan, to the harassed council representative, at the door, "I don't have a spa," all the time knowing that she is talking about my ducted vacuuming system, flued outside.

"Oh, um, er. Are you sure about that?" the last one ventured.

"Am I sure that I don't have a spa?" I repeated, with a laugh.

"Oh... er... rightio then," he said red-faced as he left.

Well, I can't use my vacuum system without thinking of the good lady up the lane - oops, I seem to have left it going, while I write this.

Fuck, she's lucky I'm such a grot. I'd rather get lower watt light bulbs than do house work. But, when the debris is visible on the carpet, I've just got to clean.

I wonder how one turbo-charges a vacuum, you know, sports exhaust, louder note...

Jasus! I must be bored if those sorts of thoughts are amusing me.

The census lady entertained me for moments. Apparently, you can do it online... and the Jedi religion is perfectly acceptable. I'm going to be a Jedi Knight. Who can stop me?

It must be time to have a shower and head to Lottie's, any more perked coffee and I really will get jittery. She said she wanted to give me money. I'm not sure now what for exactly, but I'm not going to turn her down, naturally.