When one goes away for a short while, one expects to find a few things changed, broken, painted, shiny…whatever. While I was gone either M or my Dad bought the wrong tea (probably while I was I was in London musing over the phrase ‘the wrong trousers’ while perusing some Wensleydale Blue). As I am a product of my parents (specifically, my father) I find myself unable to throw them in the bin where they belong, so M and I have taken to drinking ‘two baggers’. This appears to be the only way to get a transition from tasteless brown water, to something resembling tea. Leatherwood honey also helps.

[Tangent: Back when my mate Johnno was still a proud bogan and I, on occasion, had the title ‘Honourary Bloke’, we would assess the shaggability of girls by Bags. Not handbags. Paper bags. No bags were the best, three bags were the worst. As in;
One Bag: on her head
Two Bags: one for her head and one for your head
Three Bags: one for her head, one for your head, and one for the light by the bed
To be used in conversation thus:
Johnno, shaking his head sadly; ‘Mate, I’d buy her a drink, but she’s a real two-bagger.’
(What can I say - this is the guy who told me the real meaning behind the morning after phrase ‘I tried to chew off my own arm’.) –/end of tangent] - and don’t even think about getting politically correct on me *yawn*

Anyway…we’re now getting through the scary teabags in double time (literally), which brings me to the Cake. M got me a birthday cake. There’s a first time for everything, though I have to admit to having given up on this particular wish. So I was winsomely surprised! Lovely chocolate mudcake with my name written on it - he’s whizzing along on such an excess of cake-related points that you can hardly see him when he passes. Problem is (and I may have mentioned this before), M doesn’t eat left overs. Usually this suits me fine - all the more for my oinky self. However, we have eaten the bottom fifth of the cake and he has now deemed it ‘too old’ for consumption. Personally I am finding that it’s improving with age, but that’s not the point. This is the point: - how am I going to get through all this cake!? For so long (make that six years) I have wished him to get me a birthday cake, so now I’ve got one I can’t let it go uneaten. Unless I declare the next three days a cake-only zone. Yes. But how long does mudcake last? My life gets more complicated by the hour.