[m i a o w] the cat

One good thing (of the mounting number of things) about leaving Hervey Bay will be escaping the scary food. I have whined about the expensive coffee (though I don’t drink it and have a new song that details this), and now it is time to whine on other topics. Nachos, for starters. Order nachos without the ‘extras’ in Hervey Bay and Maryborough and you get cornchips with salsa. You have to pay two bucks more for the guacamole, and another dollar if you want sour cream. Huh. Yesterday we went to a cafe that had about twelve different types of coffee. I ordered English Breakfast Tea. They brought me the same kind of teabag that I’m trying to get through at home. Bushells Blue Label. I should have asked for a two bagger.

M has long been known to worship at the altar of use-by dates. If the milk is even near its use-by date he won’t touch it. So going to dinner at M’s mothers place is always interesting, as she has minimal smell and taste left, but a will to cook for us that knows no bounds. When we first moved up here M would eat nothing that came from her fridge - he has now mellowed slightly and can cope with cooked dinners. However, over the weekend we were there for dinner for two nights running. The first night was crumbed chicken - largely flaccid and unidentifiable, and the second night *shudder* was crumbed pork patties with ham and cheese worked in. I don’t think I could have lived through the 1950s on this kind of diet. It rendered me insensible for about 15 hours.

Thank god for mudcrabs - one last night and M caught another one just after dawn this morning. Off I go to strip three million year old putty from the windows of my study. Much better than trying to come up with a ’structure’ for the ‘report’ of the ‘conference’ in Spain.