Is it Sunday? That's right, isn't it? Every day feels like Saturday, even today. It's difficult to know what day it is when all your reference points fall away. What day? I have to stop and think. It is deliciously, oh, I wanted to say decadent, but it's not decadent, that would be downgrading decadent just a touch, it is deliciously comforting, knowing that it is all smooth sailing for as far as I can see into the future. It's lovely really.
We went and at lunch out. 30 degrees was promised, which, you know infers sunshine. It look as though it was going to rain the whole time, but it didn't. It stayed grey overhead and threatening, but the threat never eventuated.
We stumbled across the Italian festival as we transversed suburbs, that was interesting. And, as you'd probably expect, it was all about food. And cars, there was a whole display of Italian cars.
I fell asleep on the couch in the afternoon. Ah, that is the best, just drifting off, just like that, not a care.
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