Bruised and battered like a slab of flake but still soldiering on.
I went to Southland, cheated, went by taxi but promised I would catch the bus home. That didn't happen. By the time I walked from one end of that place to the other I was closer to the taxi rank and my knees hurt.
Next time I won't bother taking a walking stick, too dangerous to lean on as the floor is quite slippery and goes downhill in places. The temptation to belt obnoxious kids with the stick is too close for comfort. A trolley is better, holds everything and accidentally hitting something obnoxious is just an accident.
I was good, I didn't have a cake....up there. But as the mince pie season is limited I did bring one home for a nom, a very slow nom.
We seem to have the season of hooning around here at the moment.
Last week it was a gang of three that decided to rattle my gates off their hinges. Bad luck to them, BrickOutHouse and mate were out the front door so fast they blurred and said hoons were chased down the street.
Also last week, HerNextDoor was nearly run down by another/same gang of three riding those scooter things on the footpath. Zipping past her, they let loose with a barage of obsenities.
The same week, some person walked up the drive of her house, rifled the cars which they'd forgotten to lock and they didn't hear a thing. I don't think she thought that this person/persons might have watched the house and knew their bedroom was at the back of the house away from the drive.
BrickOutHouse immediately thought of the Mazda shell languishing at the end of my drive. I mean who would give it any thought, it's a shell that looks like it's been through an atomic blast.
But, but, it has "an engine" for which Top Gear would pay money for. You see I totally 'FAIL' motor car engines. He's worried about that and his other car is parked out the front where everyone can see the expensive bike helmet, clothes, various coins on the floor (handy when one is a bit short at the servo) and tools. The worry of it all, what with hailstones and storms on the ducco of the ute, it's never ending.
Never ending is right. Midnight last night, I'm writing in my diary, he's on the net and crash bang from outside. Another load of hoons are pushing over the bins, all of the bins in the street.
He's halfway out the door with one leg in his jeans and in the car after them. They had pushed over every bin and were starting on the next street and thank goodness it wasn't recycle bin night. He gave them quite a mouthful and checked which house they skulked into but I don't recall them at all. Then he came back and picked up neighbour's bins and ours and all the rubbish which earned him a big tick from HerNextDoor who was terribly embarrassed because her rubbish was really on the bugle. *snigger*
Now if we're both out together the house will have to be locked up. Still, as one of my relatives used to say, if burglars walked in here, they'd walk straight out thinking it had already been turned over. Damn cheek!