Saturday

Fans and players set to swelter across Melbourne for this year's football grand final. That's what the news headline said. 

Seriously, what is wrong with the news? Too busy trying to get clicks, or ratings, or some such thing.

Nobody sweltered. It was a beautiful day, perfect weather for a final.

Bruno and Otto seemed to be okay today, we supervised them closely together. They, Bruno, seemed to be back to everything being just fine, that was until Otto, the little thrill seeker, bit Bruno on the testicles out in the garden. Shake of the head. Bruno growled at him and then headed inside, but that was it, what you'd expect him to do. What any of us would do who got bitten on the nuts with needle like teeth. He was still okay with Otto.

David is, down servicing his sycophants, and on his way over for dinner, which Sam is cooking, and then he and I are going to Death of A Salesman. Sam didn't want to go.

We're going to Miss Saigon in a few weeks. David has transferred his many given up addictions into one giant addiction to the musical Miss Saigon. Yes, I know, it seems to be a strange thing to which to be addicted, but he is, there you have it. I won't tell you how many times he has seen it already. Suffice to say, he shouldn't give up his therapist any time soon.