Living

What is this 'holiday' shit? This is living. No office. No timetable. No deadlines. Wandering through Byron to a stunnning beach, nothing to worry about except where to go for lunch (probably the courtyard in the pub overlooking said stunning beach), feeling chuffed at having squeezed another couple of days of living in, certainly no Motherdrama to worry about (The Dreaded One's, not mine... hmmm... The Real Dreaded One?).

Biggest dilemma right now is how, exactly, we go about blagging our way into the three day party at Tenterfield. We were selling tickets at Psydeways but I didn't think we'd be up here for it. Usual deal is we get a couple of names on the door (tree) in return for selling tickets. We really should be thinking about heading back to the real world, but this party sounds amazing. And the one last week was washed out, therefore we deserve to go to this one, God damnit. The cosmos owes us. Gonna put those blagging skills to the test and see what happens.

But not until after lunch in the sun...