Glued to the Lips

Just been to see Tom and cut my mum’s lawn. It’s 39 degrees here today and 42 tomorrow. (*) Oh listen here Heuy, enough with the heat already. Fucken hell, we’re all fucken baked, don’t you get it, you big fucken myth. Get your big, white hand back on the wretched dial and crank it back a few notches to the left.

I’m off to Bolago in a mo to escape from the swelter, but I thought I should just finish this.

Tom cried, welled up maybe, when I told him that Josh (and everyone) had been thinking of him every day. He said to thank Josh and that he could feel all the positive chi coming his way in I.C.U. Or something like that.

Today he was resplendent with such scabby lips, the likes of which I have never seen on anyone before. He says he’s not sure if they are cold sores, or not. He said he thinks that the tubes are actually glued to the lips in ICU, rather than stitched. He’s not sure if the scabbiness is a direct result of that.

He drank out of my drink when I first got there. He was gracious when I turned down another sip.

It’s hot! Hot! Hot! FUCKEN HOT!

I’m supposed to be at Bolago working on my script with Aby, as I type. I dunno, I seem to feel that everyone wants a piece of me, at the moment and yet mostly I’ve been scuttling off to my bed room for early nights.

Tim and Nicholas have been fighting, lately, which has been a reason for heading to my room. Which I don’t mind, I love my bed so.

And the heat hasn’t helped. I’m such a petal when it comes to the heat.

So there you go.

Now I’m going to drink tea, pack me stuff and pop on my broom.

Cackling all the way!