Dinner Night

I was up at 11.50, or something like that, the cost of going to sleep so late. It could have been past midday, I’m not sure, I don’t think so. The effect of not working.

All ideas of getting a job seem to have disappeared. Clearly. I'm not even thinking about it any longer.

I am relieved to read Shane’s note that Guadalupe, the cleaner, isn’t coming. I’m very happy, I don’t have to put up with her intrusion into my life. I go and get my lap top and I set it up on the kitchen bench. 

I make coffee and prepare muesli. I have stewed apple on my muesli for the first time in I don’t know how long. It's lovely.

I am concerned that I have let my blog get behind by a week, yet again. What have I been doing for the previous week? I don’t remember? Ha ha, funny about that. Why can’t you remember, Christian? Who knows, ha, ha.

I catch my blog up by four days. I have to write big slabs of it, especially Saturday night, I can’t even remember what we did on Saturday. I had to email Sam to ask him.

I find photos for each entry. 

I smoked the last of the pot. Oh well, that’s it, no more. It’s just beginning to turn me stupid, anyway.

I have a Rapid Loss meal replacement shake for lunch, despite only having breakfast at midday. (That’s the spirit!)

I play with a photo on my PC for one blog entry. It seems to take an inordinate amount of time to finish.

At 4pm, I shower and wash my hair and shave and put cream on the blemish on my face and put colour on my hair... as per Sam’s instructions. He will be pleased.

He will be here soon

It’s Project Runway night. 

Sebastian comes over to cook dinner. Nick arrives too.

David is the last to arrive.

Shane and Sebastian and Nick cook dinner in the kitchen. They make it sound like everything they are saying is fascinating.

“Don’t you have an olive pipper?”

Sadly… they talk all the way through Friends and Big Bang Theory.

They are their usually, hohum selves. It’s an awful thing to say about friends, but I was looking forward to Big Bang Theory. My A-team friends have moved interstate, or died, or gone nuts, so this is what I am left with.

Sam sits with me, on my team. He’s my A-team, naturally.

We have a huge niçoise salad, followed by roast chicken and Nick has provided a Blueberry Cheese cake for dessert. Sebastian makes some comment about my non-contribution to the dinner, which I ignore.

David, apparently, can’t eat blueberries. That’s the first I’ve heard of that?