Crikey, spent the finest long weekend ever in Paekakariki, housesitting for the very generous spirited Helen in her humungous, gorgeous home. It made me realise how crammed in we all our in our little place, and I resolved to straighten out my studio so that it would be an appealing destination to go and pay bills and whatnot. I was so good I spent several hours this afternoon hauling boxes around, and deciding whether or not to keep diaries from 1993, and old essays, and the manual for Glen's Technics stereo he got in 1982 (for the curious: I kept the diary, otherwise I might forget again that I'd studied Foreign Policy, ha! Who knew? And I had to keep those particular essays, because otherwise I may have forgotten that at one stage I was capable of writing the perfect comms plan a Work and Income New Zealand restructure at one point in my life. And of course I kept the stereo booklet. After 28 years I couldn't be held responsible for chucking out something so vital).
I put up a noticeboard, and piled all my fabric neatly, and went through some boxes of business documents from when I owned a catering/takeaways business (I kept them, because otherwise I may forget again that at one point I was capable of pulling together a pretty flash looking catering menu).
Boy, when I die, and it is decided that I am worthy of writing a biography of, the researchers will be staggered at the depth of my interestingness.
We also hung out with a couple of my friends from school. At my age you go around in a perpetual stage of being confused, because how did 20 years pass? How? What happened? Was I asleep? Drunk? On P? Because I understand that P makes 7 days feel like 1 day, and that is the only way it could possibly make sense.
Glen just came home with my gorgeous new clogs, which arrived in the post. Last time I had gorgeous new clogs was 1993. It is in my expenses list in that diary. Those researchers will probably have to do some serious analysis on what this means.
Which reminds me, time for a wine.
