I got up with a hang over and at some hummous and crackers with my little cobber Hobart on the sofa. Then I did some dished. While I was washing with my marigolds on, I was day dreaming about getting a really terrible disease and having to stay in hospital for a long time and wondering if my friends would be allowed to bring Hobart in to sleep on the bed with me. My mind wandered further and I imagined tell my friends how ill I was and how I would have to live on the ward for a long time and my friends were rallying around offering to take care of Hobart and who would watch the flat etc etc. I considered letting my ex live in the flat on the one condition he didn’t root anyone in my bed – but on that point he can’t be trusted. [He apparently returned an earring to a lady friend that she had left at his apartment ONLY IT WAS SOMEONE ELSE'S EARRING. WHAT A DOUCHE.] Anyway so back to me being critically ill in hospital. Finally I agreed with myself that it would be best if Mrs Kipling and The Cardinal took it in turns to take care of Hobart as I know I could trust them both. I ended up thinking about my Granny Barbara who ended up hanging herself in the New Norfolk hospital in Tasmania with a shower curtain and the big pool tables they had in the recreation room there we had to hang out in when Mum and Dad when to visit her before she died.
Then I caught myself – WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT – and remembered my dream. In it I was bestie friends with the ex girlfriend of The Rubber Band Man!!! How this happened I don’t know. We were chatting away in French. In my dream her face was very soft and friendly. I don’t think this will ever happen though. She called me a whore once for sleeping with her ex. Such is life.
Speaking of life, The Frenchman left a bag of figs on my doorstep the other night.