On the weekend, I:

  • moved my grandfather. I’ve grappled with that sentence a bit. Should I say ‘moved’ or ‘helped to move’;
  • drank a bottle of red wine, despite best intentions to have a week of alcohol-free days;
  • watched the last episode of series two of the West Wing and felt a bit lost at the thought of no West Wing for at least a week until I get a chance to get back into the ABC shop, and forced the mister to apologise for making rude comments about the amount of money I spent on that DVD set, because isn’t it a brilliant way of watching television shows;
  • went on a tour of the West Terrace Cemetery with my Dad;
  • helped the mister to hang a load of washing out;
  • hid behind the fridge and cupboard doors to scoff the last of the large Easter Rabbit the mister bought me for a present on Saturday night which was so enormous I couldn’t eat it all in one night, and that’s why I had to hide to eat the rest, so no one else would see me and want to ‘taste a bit’;
  • grappled a bit more with my upstART set while the mister took the boys to a birthday party;
  • read the reviews a few more times, because…well, because it’s exciting and fun, and because I don’t expect I’ll be getting reviewed all that often and I would never be one of those people to say ‘I don’t read reviews’;
  • went to see Ross Noble – there was a great many of us running across Grote Street (or is it Gouger) to get to the car park before it closed. See, now, how Adelaide is that…not staying until the end of the encore, because you have to get your car out of the carpark (even if you did catch the tram in to meet the mister because he had taken the boys from the party straight to my babysitting Dad’s);
  • went to pick up my boys from my Dad’s house very late at night, then facilitated an interesting and complex manouvre involving taxis so that all of us could get home even though we were all going different places;
  • went to see Hot Pink Bits which was really, really good – with just the perfect amount of rude;
  • fell into bed at midnight and dreamed frightening dreams about not getting my set finished on time.

So, you know, the usual gamut of emotions.

Next year.

Next year will be filled with more middle ground.

Oh, and yes, there was a car race. Not my can of bourbon, but plenty of people loved it.