I had to buy some more firewood. I did not want to do this but Muffin has been sitting in front of the fireplace at night staring mournfully into the gloomy unlit space.
Unfortunately, because of the closeness of our relationship, I know what she is thinking. Her thoughts include:
I will sit here and stare mournfully into the fireplace and eventually he will crack and light the fire.
How could he be so mean that he would not provide a small but perfectly formed cat with enough warmth that her fur doesn’t turn to icicles.
Perhaps if I hold my breath for long enough my fur will turn blue and I will faint – then he will be sorry.
I’m not actually very cold at all – but I do like fires.
When he does light the fire I am going to ignore it to teach him a lesson.
He thinks he knows what I am thinking but has no idea – but I know what he’s thinking.
Notwithstanding all this I just love the sight of a cat stretched out in front of a roaring fire. It gives me the sort of warm glow that I got when I saw John Howard lose his seat at the last election.
‘Buying firewood’ sounds easy but it’s not. I will explain.
I have to drive 6.7 kilometres to Hornbach and get a large trolley and make my way to the firewood department.
The first time I did this at Hornbach I thought I had found the prepacked firewood. It was called ‘Chipsi’ and looked like blocked of compressed sawdust. I thought ‘Chipsi’ was a cute name for firewood.
I had almost finished loading my trolley when I noticed that ‘Chipsi’ had pictures of happy rabbits on it. I dismissed immediately the thought that ‘Chipsi’ was made out of recycled rabbits and looked more closely.
‘Chipsi’ is in fact animal bedding made out of who knows what.
When I get to the wood department I load the trolley – as I did today – with 18 packets of wood. Each contains 5 ‘logs’ and each weighs 10 kilos.
When I get back to Billy I load this in the back of the car and in the back seat.
When I get home and drive into the garage I have to unload Billy before I park him so I put Billy on the turntable and the 18 packets into the alcove near the door. Then I park Billy and go down to the basement to get the trolley.
I usually take this opportunity to check on the numerous Austrian women I keep there and make sure they are OK. They don’t mind it there because it is warm and dry and smoke-free and they are all learning English by reading the 42 cartons of books we keep there.
Unfortunately, because of the closeness of our relationship, I know what she is thinking. Her thoughts include:
I will sit here and stare mournfully into the fireplace and eventually he will crack and light the fire.
How could he be so mean that he would not provide a small but perfectly formed cat with enough warmth that her fur doesn’t turn to icicles.
Perhaps if I hold my breath for long enough my fur will turn blue and I will faint – then he will be sorry.
I’m not actually very cold at all – but I do like fires.
When he does light the fire I am going to ignore it to teach him a lesson.
He thinks he knows what I am thinking but has no idea – but I know what he’s thinking.
Notwithstanding all this I just love the sight of a cat stretched out in front of a roaring fire. It gives me the sort of warm glow that I got when I saw John Howard lose his seat at the last election.
‘Buying firewood’ sounds easy but it’s not. I will explain.
I have to drive 6.7 kilometres to Hornbach and get a large trolley and make my way to the firewood department.
The first time I did this at Hornbach I thought I had found the prepacked firewood. It was called ‘Chipsi’ and looked like blocked of compressed sawdust. I thought ‘Chipsi’ was a cute name for firewood.
I had almost finished loading my trolley when I noticed that ‘Chipsi’ had pictures of happy rabbits on it. I dismissed immediately the thought that ‘Chipsi’ was made out of recycled rabbits and looked more closely.
‘Chipsi’ is in fact animal bedding made out of who knows what.
When I get to the wood department I load the trolley – as I did today – with 18 packets of wood. Each contains 5 ‘logs’ and each weighs 10 kilos.
When I get back to Billy I load this in the back of the car and in the back seat.
When I get home and drive into the garage I have to unload Billy before I park him so I put Billy on the turntable and the 18 packets into the alcove near the door. Then I park Billy and go down to the basement to get the trolley.
I usually take this opportunity to check on the numerous Austrian women I keep there and make sure they are OK. They don’t mind it there because it is warm and dry and smoke-free and they are all learning English by reading the 42 cartons of books we keep there.
Then I use the trolley to take the wood, six packets at a time, into the foyer. I then have to take 4 of them off the trolley and carry them up 14 steps to the landing – load them back onto the trolley and take them to the elevator.
I go up four levels in the elevator and then take 4 of them off the trolley and carry them up four steps and load them back on the trolley. Then I take them into the apartment and unload them.
Why doesn’t he take them all up the stairs on the trolley? Because they are too heavy – I can only take two at a time up the stairs.
I go up four levels in the elevator and then take 4 of them off the trolley and carry them up four steps and load them back on the trolley. Then I take them into the apartment and unload them.
Why doesn’t he take them all up the stairs on the trolley? Because they are too heavy – I can only take two at a time up the stairs.
By the time I have done this I am well and truly knackered.
There may be a more efficient way to do this but I got a distinction for Quantitative Analysis and I can’t think of one.
(Yes I can – get someone else to do it – brilliant!)
Before this I had to cycle down to Alt Wien to get some coffee – hoping that they had Caruso back. They did so I bought two kilos which will keep Cate happy while I am in Paris (where I go on Wednesday).
She hated the other stuff that I got when they did not have Caruso - and it has been appropriately recycled.
Tomorrow I have to make some vats of Hotpot and Gulaschsuppe so that Cate will not starve while I am away. She always says she will cook herself meals when I am away but always gets too busy and ends up living on Vegemite Toast (which would kill a brown dog but on which any Australian can survive for months).
I do try to keep up with what is happening in Celebrityland and note with some interest that Michael Jackson is not only selling all his possessions but is also performing in London in July in a series of 10 concerts.
These are definitely his last appearances until he runs out of money because he spent it all on buying Giraffes – for which apparently there is no secondary market – they lose most of their value when they walk out of the showroom.
Now I must say that there are many strange people in the world but to me Michael is El Supremo. He is a certified, gold plated, honking tosser of such epic proportions that no one even comes close.
He is the benchmark used by many other celebrities – none of whom have ever come close to his peculiar brand of style and ethereal weirdness. (Although I think Victoria Beckham is a devotee and may be getting coaching from Michael).
But I am sure that there are millions of fans who need another dose of squealing and mincing and wish him well in his endeavours.
But Michael – Vienna is too small for you – they speak German – there are no Giraffes – go to Berlin.
There may be a more efficient way to do this but I got a distinction for Quantitative Analysis and I can’t think of one.
(Yes I can – get someone else to do it – brilliant!)
Before this I had to cycle down to Alt Wien to get some coffee – hoping that they had Caruso back. They did so I bought two kilos which will keep Cate happy while I am in Paris (where I go on Wednesday).
She hated the other stuff that I got when they did not have Caruso - and it has been appropriately recycled.
Tomorrow I have to make some vats of Hotpot and Gulaschsuppe so that Cate will not starve while I am away. She always says she will cook herself meals when I am away but always gets too busy and ends up living on Vegemite Toast (which would kill a brown dog but on which any Australian can survive for months).
I do try to keep up with what is happening in Celebrityland and note with some interest that Michael Jackson is not only selling all his possessions but is also performing in London in July in a series of 10 concerts.
These are definitely his last appearances until he runs out of money because he spent it all on buying Giraffes – for which apparently there is no secondary market – they lose most of their value when they walk out of the showroom.
Now I must say that there are many strange people in the world but to me Michael is El Supremo. He is a certified, gold plated, honking tosser of such epic proportions that no one even comes close.
He is the benchmark used by many other celebrities – none of whom have ever come close to his peculiar brand of style and ethereal weirdness. (Although I think Victoria Beckham is a devotee and may be getting coaching from Michael).
But I am sure that there are millions of fans who need another dose of squealing and mincing and wish him well in his endeavours.
But Michael – Vienna is too small for you – they speak German – there are no Giraffes – go to Berlin.
