I put on Joan Armatrading, strictly the her first cd, it is a work of genius. I watched Tom Dailey youtube. He is a sexy little beast.
At 7am, Buddy woke up, stretched next to me, stretching his front legs out and his neck up, I said to him, “Do you want to go and sleep… er, okay, I did say daddy,” but I swear I would only ever refer to Sam in such away strictly when it is only me and Buddy, I wouldn’t dare utter those words in public, too cutesy. Buddy followed me up the stairs, he powers up, not so elegant on the trip back down. He was straight into the morning-sun filled bedroom and up on to the bed.
“Oh, why did you bring him in here.” You’d think I’d take this as my first clue? But, no.
On the bed, sneeze. That's my bulldog.
Not repentant, I closed the door.
I came down stairs and I rolled my second j.
Marvin Gaye followed Joan.
An hour later, the boyfriend and the bulldog arrived back into the lounge room. "Why would you do that?" Truthfully, that should have been my second clue.
"Don't you want to sleep with you bulldog?" Then I offered him a j. Truthfully, the joint offering was probably the biggest mistake.
He flung open the windows and the doors. The wind blew in cold at 8am.
He's not in favour of the pot head boyfriend. Shake of the head. Not so much.
I pointed out to him that he just got blogged in real time. I wrote it as it happened. He smiled. He switched on his laptop.
"Where's my coffee?"
Leo Sayer followed. He was a great song writer, and singer. The man can sing.
Muesli, milk, banana and honey. 9am.
Sam played Diablo, accepting the "poison stick" intermittently.
The bulldog got washed. The front and back gardens got swept.
There was a walk to the supermarket, where I was promised free range at whatever I wanted. It was a “sweetie” run and I could buy whatever I wanted. Could I eat all I wanted was also checked, in case there was trickery afoot. Yes, apparently, I could. Then Sam said he would come too.
Donuts and cakes were dismissed immediately. “No!” The Venetian cookies were scratched from the shopping fairly early. Actually, we wanted Scotch Fingers and Venetian cookies, but they had to be the same if we wanted the “special” to apply, so we got the Scotch Fingers as Sam wanted to dip into his tea. Ice creams were scratched too, but we were allowed to get a tub of ice cream, which we weren’t allowed to eat today. Chips were allowed but, again, they couldn't be eaten today.
We ate a whole packet of Scotch Fingers dipping them into two cups of tea each. Yum. I love the way the short bread biscuit goes all “puddingy in your mouth.”
We ate rolled turkey with macadamias and cranberry stuffing and roast vegetables.
At 7am, Buddy woke up, stretched next to me, stretching his front legs out and his neck up, I said to him, “Do you want to go and sleep… er, okay, I did say daddy,” but I swear I would only ever refer to Sam in such away strictly when it is only me and Buddy, I wouldn’t dare utter those words in public, too cutesy. Buddy followed me up the stairs, he powers up, not so elegant on the trip back down. He was straight into the morning-sun filled bedroom and up on to the bed.
“Oh, why did you bring him in here.” You’d think I’d take this as my first clue? But, no.
On the bed, sneeze. That's my bulldog.
Not repentant, I closed the door.
I came down stairs and I rolled my second j.
Marvin Gaye followed Joan.
An hour later, the boyfriend and the bulldog arrived back into the lounge room. "Why would you do that?" Truthfully, that should have been my second clue.
"Don't you want to sleep with you bulldog?" Then I offered him a j. Truthfully, the joint offering was probably the biggest mistake.
He flung open the windows and the doors. The wind blew in cold at 8am.
He's not in favour of the pot head boyfriend. Shake of the head. Not so much.
I pointed out to him that he just got blogged in real time. I wrote it as it happened. He smiled. He switched on his laptop.
"Where's my coffee?"
Leo Sayer followed. He was a great song writer, and singer. The man can sing.
Muesli, milk, banana and honey. 9am.
Sam played Diablo, accepting the "poison stick" intermittently.
The bulldog got washed. The front and back gardens got swept.
There was a walk to the supermarket, where I was promised free range at whatever I wanted. It was a “sweetie” run and I could buy whatever I wanted. Could I eat all I wanted was also checked, in case there was trickery afoot. Yes, apparently, I could. Then Sam said he would come too.
Donuts and cakes were dismissed immediately. “No!” The Venetian cookies were scratched from the shopping fairly early. Actually, we wanted Scotch Fingers and Venetian cookies, but they had to be the same if we wanted the “special” to apply, so we got the Scotch Fingers as Sam wanted to dip into his tea. Ice creams were scratched too, but we were allowed to get a tub of ice cream, which we weren’t allowed to eat today. Chips were allowed but, again, they couldn't be eaten today.
We ate a whole packet of Scotch Fingers dipping them into two cups of tea each. Yum. I love the way the short bread biscuit goes all “puddingy in your mouth.”
We ate rolled turkey with macadamias and cranberry stuffing and roast vegetables.
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