Nothing to say this week

I’m too happy to blog this week. It must be true that truly great artists, like me, need angst to truly perform. Alice and Jack are back from the terror and barbarism of South East Asia, broke but not broken. I’m making myself known at the Dept. of Housing and my little three cylinder scooter is legal for one more year. Has anyone else had such a good week?
Yes the babies are back, Alice a little plumper, in the right places I hear, Jack with a hansom if youthful beard, now removed. You may get lucky and see photographs. Alice is back at work but she treated me to most of her leisure time from Saturday evening to yesterday (Monday) evening, a great privilege. Lots of great stories, most of luxury, in foreign climes which add up to the great holiday experience that makes the return to work just that much more depressing and angst ridden, so look out for some good blogs from Alice.
I was invited in my shorts and thongs as public housing applicant to inspect a couple of Waterloo bachelor pads last week, Hmmm lovely, the sort of places you’d only leave on a gurney. The very pretty girl wanted my thoughts so I told her I didn’t think it a good idea to build a whole suburb out of housing commission any more than I thought it a good idea to build them from evangelical Christian McMansions. She seemed to appreciate that I gave her something to write in her report. Yesterday I was invited in my suit as job applicant to an interview with the same institution as some sort of inspector of works. I’m not sure what the job was as I had applied for it back in June last year and whilst I had a record of my application I was still an immature job seeker and had not yet perfected my recording and archiving skills, a fact that unfortunately my interviewees quickly cotton’d to. None the less it was a privilege to be invited to strut my stuff and Alice was extraordinarily helpful tutoring me in the arcane art of the job interview, a skill never taught in mine and poor John Howard’s school days. Perhaps this will be the organisation on which I shall “stand for” or “sit on” (whatever) the board, as was always my ambition. I’m encouraged as one of their questions was “if I discovered tradesmen standing on a plank (that’s like a board don’t you think?) supported at each end by milk crates what would I do” to which I answered of course that I would ask them to sit. Ah ha! I got that right didn’t I?
Last and of course least, why else leave it till last, my car is now registered even if its not roadworthy. Of course I accepted AAMI’s ludicrous half price green slip policy to protect you my fellow road users in the event of a bruising from my baby car but as for third party property or comprehensive insurance, forget it. If my bug finds itself under your BMW and I still have the use of my legs I’ll be making haste to the nearest phone box, no that will be time consuming, I’ll reach for my mobile and one of you will be about to become my alibi, the furthest away will be favored, listen up Kelly.
Meanwhile I note that Ernst and Young (by the way I’ve always wanted to ask are they any relation to Vanda and Young, “I’ve got Friday on my mind” they rock, Ernst and Vanda could easily be brothers and Young, well, young) have taught Kelly, and are indeed endorsing her, the art of begging. Oh yes I know they call it fund raising for charity but Kell I want you to concentrate on the path that leads to board sitting not the one that leads to the tunnel under Stanmore Station where you bring your own board if you wish to sit.
So anyway, I have as I said no blog this week so you’ll just have to make do as best you can
I’m ok
Robert