Wandering (slowly)

I'm running hobbling away to the Duck Prickle Farm this afternoon, to spend a few days in the bosom of my family, since they've been whinging about not seeing me for months. The funny part is the Colonel and Lady Duck are incredibly busy this weekend, so I'll only really be seeing them in the mornings and evenings. Still, it will be much nicer doing my daily short walk around the property rather than tottering up & down my street.

Tathra Girl -- by the time you read this, you'll probably have heard from me. If not, I'll be the next phone ring.

A few dot points for your reading pleasure:

-- It's birthday week, apparently. Naomi (beloved 'Dr Sista Outlaw', termed so because she is my ex-sister-unmarried-to-my-brother-in-law and thoroughly PhDed) hopefully celebrated her guts out after a fairly trying year; Laura is a bit low, but cheered by typed cats. Coz looks splendid, entering the hair cycle yet again. I love the hair cycle. Short, long, and the infuriating stages between. Makes life worth living.
Happy Birthday to you all, and any others I've missed.

-- Jahteh nearly split my stitches this morning with her pre-Christmas post. Be warned though, don't read it on your feed-reader; mine only showed the coloured lines and not the commentary she provides. Which actually made the whole post much funnier when I dived in.

-- Charlie Sofo, one of my favoritest living artists, wrote a beautiful post about libraries. Please read and enjoy. And then look at his other posts. And then look at his art.

-- Thank you to Bernice, who came to Canberra for her usual weekly visit (she commutes for work, poor love) and gave me a studio present -- a wee little bar fridge! Yay! Cold white wine at the end of the day! We borrowed the keys back from Byrd and went to the space to oooh and aaah again. It was so worth the walk.

-- Best Beloved went to (one of) the opening(s) of the new National Portrait Gallery last night. I didn't go because I wasn't invited. *His* friend Barbara Blackman has long known BB's valuable skills as a handbag at openings (which is the role he played with me before we fell in love) and takes him all sorts of posh places.

So I had takeaway noodles in front of Wallace & Gromit with Bernice and Bumblebee while he sent me text messages like ANY MESSAGES FOR ROLF [Harris]? HE'S RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME (to which we replied FIND A STICK. POKE to which he replied WHO NEEDS A STICK?) and WHAT SHOULD I SAY TO MR AND MRS HOWARD? NXT TO THEM to which our reply was absolutely unprintable.

Unlike Kevin, who was apparently very gracious about John Howard's role in encouraging the gallery's new premises. Unlike Ron Radford, who apparently allowed the jackhammers of the National Gallery's renovations to not just start up just as Kevin got up to speak, but to continue to emit horrendous noises freely (in the very late afternoon, cocktail hour!). And that is about the extent of BB's gossip, apart from recognising a few faces like Margaret Olley, William Yang, etc. If I'd been there it would have been juicier. Never mind.

OK, BRB. Might even be able to blog from the farm computer...