The girls next door are moving out. The, shall we say, plain one with the voice that shreds ear drums, and the quiet standoffish one who never seems to say a word until she's had a few bevies in the back yard... late in a Saturday night, then she has an awful lot to say.

I'm not complaining, don't get me wrong, they were noisy like once a week, so that's okay, and the rest of the week nothing, it could have been a lot worse, might be a lot worse.

They are heading to Queensland, which is where the chick with the terrible voice will fit right in, in a state full of terrible accents. I mean, really...

They have put all their stuff out the front, as people are want to do these days, and the vultures descended in record time and it all disappeared quickly, like seagulls on a discarded wrapper of hot chips on a picnic table by the beach.

Sam came in with their huge laundry bag full of DVDs, about which I was very happy, adding to one of my favourite things in the world, my movie collection.

I got a succulent they put out, adding to my other favourite things, my pot plants. It was in a bright yellow plastic pot and is arguably dead. I repotted it into a terracotta pot with new succulent soil and maybe it will come back, it will be touch and go, but they are pretty tough, the succulents... I can't speak for the girls. There should be a list onto which people go who kill plants, and if you are on the list for killing a succulent, you should be banned for life from owning any further house plants. (You think I'm kidding)