Tomorrow, our place, garage sale.
Last one we sold the Subaru to some bad bastards with dirty beards and violent pink-eyed dogs tied up on the back of their ute. They looked at the car then went away and came back hours later with a paper bag full of $100 notes, some with traces of white powder on them, which they exchanged for the Subaru. It seemed fair.
I didn’t mind the cash. I was on my way to Mexico and it came in handy. We hadn’t meant to sell the Subaru. It just happened to be there and then they turned up and asked for it.
I’m not allowed to have any of the proceeds from tomorrow’s garage sale because I haven’t helped. I’ve just bitched and moaned about refusing to waste hours of my life putting stickers on crap when I could be tweeting. You should have heard them scoff at that, but tweeting sharpens the brain and hones writing skills while sorting through crap is just depressing.
In a minute I’m sneaking into the garage and getting back stuff I might want, and then I’m going through friends’ stuff they’ve left us to sell for them while they go for a ferry ride and lunch by the river, thank you very much, to see if there’s anything I might want. I have to do this surreptitiously. Last night I tried to do something surreptitious and I trod on the Dog’s squeaky toys that he’d left all over the garage floor despite being warned time and time again that there’d be consequences. I was caught red-handed in the act of retrieving a fondue pot circa 1976.
However, as the Dog was diagnosed just yesterday with some kind of canine emphysema (I told him to stay off the cigs but would he listen) I can’t be too hard on him. He still has a cauliflower ear. He wouldn’t stop boxing either though he knows what I think of that brutal activity.
No wonder I blog. Nobody listens to me in my own home.
On top of all this my brand new iPhone arrived today, after Telstra kept sending me emails that said “Your iPhone has left the warehouse.” Eventually I got fed up with these communications, sent one back asking if they’d delivered it to Gracelands, and whined that I was lonesome tonight. But now it’s arrived I have no time to play with it till the bloody garage sale is over and cleaned up and all the rubbish hauled to the tip.
Have a good weekend.
No Place For Sheep 
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