[m i a o w] the cat

Friday night: I was very disappointed not to make it to Anthony’s shin-dig with Deb Conway in his (and Raes!) loungeroom. It was J’s last day at work and everybody had to go for dinner - for some weird reason, everybody went along - no one had any other committments, and I felt too bad to leave after an hour. Bugger. Bugger. Saturday found M and I prancing down Brunswick Street. It’s very nice to have him along with me - h’e much less intimidated by fancy clothes shops than I am, so we swanned in and out of many! I hit Kleins Perfumery [swoon] and we had a glass of red each and pesto bread at The Fitz.

That night was the party held in honor of the Doctor Of Grass’s Phd. The bits of it I can remember were fun and I have lots of photos that I took throughout the night of people dancing in the kitchen and eating the sublime fingerfood. Spent Sunday feeling extremely poorly - I returned to the house of Doctor Grass and was fed hot water, panadols, soda water and fizzy ginger drinks - to the point that by about 5pm I felt not too bad at all. But then we got the taxi from hell. I think by the time we got to Collingwood I was closer to a technicolour yawn than I’ve been for quite sometime. The taxi driver was a maniac, cut kerbs, took speedbumps like they weren’t there and the worst bit? The taxi reeked of a combination of sweat, cigarettes and body odour. M also felt very queasoid. I had to pass out again for two hours to recover, and nibbled at the best dinner I’ve had here so far - take away indian, plus Mungs marvellous banana/coconut salad and another salad of tomato and italian parsley. Now I’m almost back to feeling human - if you can disregard the coldsore that is threatening to take out my whole face.