The last few days I've been flat out like a flat thing that's just been run over by a large flattening device, having recently celebrated winning the "Miss Flatland 2-D Championship" by being particularly flat. Quite busy, in a word (or two).
Friday Dad helped me move all the furniture out of Collingwood and into Chez Thorn. A skip was ordered to remove 20 years of crap from the repositorial manor, much of which had been taken to Canberra in 1991, returned to Rosanna in 2000, moved to Chez Thorn (Mk1) in 2001 and on to Chez Thorn proper in 2002 and still resides neatly in boxes in the shed, spacious and unloved. An indictment on materialism, probably.
Saturday was spent filling said skip, before dropping kidlets off at mum and dads and going to A Day on the Green to see the Hoodoo Gurus and the Angels. For more detail, and some rather fetching photos, see textile seahorse's posting. I'm the one in paisley.
Betwixt stage and bar, I bumped into a former Ministerial advisor who is still fighting class battles that were waning when we were born. The points I won for attendance (honest, working class music) were stripped as soon as Raoul saw me off to the reserved section.
Today (Sunday) was spent removing the last of my goods and chattels from Collingwood and cleaning. Despite a relatively normal neurochemistry, I remain relentlessly cheerful.
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