Okay, there's really nothing happening

Except painting. Sanding and coughing.
But it's on my list to update the bloody blog tonight so best get to it. Now, there was something I have been mulling over lately but for now it eludes me.
Ned (half of Ned and Dulce from over the fence) was today hospitalised because his kidneys are failing. He will need dialysis from now on, poor man. Even their cat looked dejected this morning. I wish him good luck and told him today I might sneak around to see him if he's in for a while. He's been feeding me passionfruit from their vine. I come out of the house in the dark and there, by the car door is a bag of them. I love 'em and eat four or five in a single sitting. They are lovely neighbours and are very much aware what goes on around them. They know if I am working late, and enquire about how my wog is going if I've been coughing too much. It's nice to know someone is looking out for me as we had a bit of a run in with a drunken painter which unnerved me for a little while. I am sure it was just pi** talk but I got my chisels sharpened just in case I have to defend our little investment from the threatened vandalism.

Trevor and I have been sort of babysitting Maree, wayward NZ'er and has been roaming around the world for a while. She had a job for a while but has decided to return home and face her problems head on. She fell off a stool at some nightclub night before last, knocked herself out and had to go to the Hospital for observation. Life with Maree is one big merry go round and never dull.

Hey, how about Kevin's jaunt to the strip club? Revealing it is a strategically intriguing move, pretty much guaranteed to get him some votes just for being one of the boys. In sunny Augathella we have a euphamism for these visits. The boys all start ringing each other up discussing the "Landcare Meeting" they must attend. They seem to have thought up this thin disguise as a way of putting us wives off the scent. But then they spend the next two weeks giggling amongst themselves and give the game away completely. And as for 'what goes on tour, stays on tour' that lasts about five minutes and they give it all up about who did what. Our strip club is just a back room of the pub where a few nubile women put it about. They may dangle a few streamers from the walls and play some bump and grind music then the girls pack up and go to Blackall.

Moving on, our little skinny S has been excelling on the sports field. She's made it to the squad for high jump and we wish her lots of luck at the Regional trials.

K has found out exactly how loud she may play her new stereo that Daddy bought. It was confiscated (always going to happen, otherwise how will she know what's the loudest she can play it?) and we hear whispers of a glad wrapping episode recently. Bash rang his baby and a familiar but not genetically familiar voice answered and told him to call back, K is busy. Some poor kid comes back to a plastic bedroom. I do hope Ms Makin doesn't read this before the dust settles. Naturally, to protect the guilty I have used only the first initial so there can be no recriminations!

Better blow this rathole as I am rapidly running out of suds.