Yes, yesterday was full on.

sardinesontoastAfter blogging I napped, I woke famished after my last few days of eating basically nothing. Nothing meant things like dry toast, black tea -no sugar (which is how I drink tea anyway) and lots and lots of water, mostly tap, but some fizzy. At midnight on Tuesday, I did have two slices of toast with sardines with no disastrous results.

So, waking famished, I made a decision… EAT!

I donned my going-out-mocker and went out. Taxi, straight to a restaurant because there was nothing edible in the house that would have defamishtorised me.

Brazilians have it like this, or with the rice on top, I like it with the beans on top

Brazilians have it like this, or with the rice on top, I like it with the beans on top

Big plate, of feijão (black beans) on rice, a wonderful creamy gnocchi, and some salady things, cucumber, radish and tomato. Oh, and beer. I figured if I was going to be hung for a sheep might as well be for a lamb.

Scoffed that lot, and went back for more.

More beans on rice, more gnocchi and some cuts off the BBQ. Oh, and more beer.

Then dessert.

Felt good. Taxi home for a nap.

That’s all very well, but I am now having concerns, because it is mid afternoon and I haven’t yet felt the urge. You know, that urge to poop. Did all that milk of magnesia bind be up tighter that twine on a hay bale?

I fear for the worst. How will my haemorrhoids cope?

I have class soon, two, in fact. Will I manage?

I still don’t have anything in the fridge, I want to eat (haven’t done that yet today), I want restaurant food again.

Cloro is growing up.


Wot iz you doingz?

He’s a big pussy now. He bashes the other neighbourhood pussies up. He likes sardines too. He ate the rest from the can the other night. Just look at that luxuriously fluffy tail.

Each night he’s goes on a bender, tearing around the house aimlessly. Well, it appears aimless to me, perhaps his little pussy mind sees reason.

Honestly he’s like one of these…

… but less choreography. Round and round the living room at breakneck speed.

Then he stops on a dime. Simply becomes motionless. Then once he’s determined which direction,  off again, out the door, in the door, up the walls, over me, leaps from sofa to sofa, into the kitchen, back out the door, repeat.

If I can catch him off guard, I give him the five-finger-scratch and be becomes a quivering purring blancmange transfixed in time. You’ve never heard of the five-finger-scratch? Three fingers scratch the top of his head and the thumb and little finger rub behind each ear. Works on any cat.

The weather is still hot,

35°C, 33°C and today is forecast for 38°C and I believe them. Blogging is hot sweaty work today, despite my big mean 50cm fan. We are due for an overnight change tonight.

2326_xxlI saw a new oxymoron tweeted yesterday, romantic zombies.

How can zombies be romantic?

But then they made the film Twilight in which vampires became romantic, so why not zombies?

Talk about 50 shades of horror.

Anyway, must off, students to be taught.