Thick Head

I'm a bit fucking groggy, let me tell you. It turned into a drunken pot-fest here, last night. Tim had to find pot for a grumpy Nicholas, who was unbearable because he hadn't had any all week. Apparently, Nicholas was rude to his drug dealer and was told to piss off and not to darken their doorway again.

Now there's something that doesn't happen every day. So, over a bottle of white, for Tim and a bottle of red, for me, we set about the task.

Good old Guido came to the rescue. While Guido has retired to his warehouse, in Carlton and his farm in country Victoria, he did put us onto a young pup, kind of Guido's protege. He took over the family assets, if you get my drifteroo.

We sang, we danced, and Nicholas was turned back into a human being. Poof!

Me, I'm fucked. Bejasus! Let me tell you.

I sang, Mamma Mia, to Missy, at first light in the kitchen this morning, over a can of the best fish and I sounded like I had advanced throat cancer. The only thing missing was the voice synthesizer instead of the strangled Mulligrub.

Oh my thick head!

And this was going to be my exercise weekend.

Although, I think I have lost weight already. I replaced my pasta carbonara, at lunch, with salads. That was just a bad habit I got into, comfort food in the middle of a stressed day. I ditched the muffin for morning tea. I replaced the chocolate bar, with apples, for afternoon tea. I'm back on fruit and vegetables for dinner. I felt like I'd lost a few kilos when I walked around to the milk bar for the newspaper, just now. And that's with minimal exercise. It's that easy.

I rode my bike, last weekend and I walk to work.
What are all these fat chicks problems? All you have got to do is walk to the supermarket for vegetables, instead of driving to the 7/11 for a Mars Bar.