Nice Young Boy. Shame.

I got a lovely phone message on my answering machine from Josh Gale. He's a notorious tight arse, so he must be sad, or lonely, maybe both. Is that too cynical?

You know, right about now, I can't really afford to call overseas. On my own and all. So, I'll just have to email back, hey?

How busy is he, anyway? Or sad? Or lonely?

It's been 41 degrees here for two days. And it's forty three degrees in Adelaide, as I type. Try getting enthusiastic about anything, after that.

Although I have been reintroduced to the pleasures of the good herb, since Friday - and he was doing so well, said Marion to Brenda, over the back fence. Nice young boy. Shame. So I have been easing myself through as best I can.

Blanche, it sure is god damned hot in here. (When I asked Tom what was the male characters name in A Streetcar Named Desire, he smiled and said, I'm referring back to the Simpsons, you understand.)

Tom is now standing in the middle of the lounge room shouting, If I'm going to smoke, so is everybody! But of course, we’d expect nothing less. What’s good for Tom is, er, um, good for Tom.

I had to race Red off for a hycalonic in the middle of all this heat and smoking. Don't ya think I was wonky in the surgery in the Bundoora emergency care Veterinarian? You bet ya! I felt cross-eyed as the good doctor discussed, what seems like, maybe, time catching up with dear Red. I'm choosing not to believe that there is anything wrong with him, of course. Complete denial, you understand.

And I need it for the pain, man! (Southern accent) I just needed a puff for the pain.