The plastic decal holding up my road tax disc peeled off by itself this afternoon because it got too soft. Nothing is built for this weather. Nobody is built for this weather. My blains are boiled.
This arvo, I went and did something I shouldn’t have done, seeing as I still have a bung back which causes me to walk like I have an ironing board up my arse, and which, in turn, causes me to have a splitting headache. I went house hunting.
I viewed three condo developments in the east, and seriously toyed with the idea of actually seriously actually putting down money on one of them. So seriously actually seriously I was glad I didn’t bring my chequebook, else I would’ve written a rubber cheque. But seriously, if I had the money, anyone who wants to sell me an apartment or a house only needs to show me a seaview and an open-concept kitchen. A snazzy-looking bathroom with glass walls helps a little too.
My brains were so soft by this arvo that I was glad I had company with me who asked the realtor the requisite ‘common sense’ questions while I gawped at the nice kitchens and bathrooms. There was one kitchen so nice, I’d want to have my own cooking show or entertain friends every night, have them sit around while I complain about how little money I have left.
Seriously actually seriously, I need to go find some money.