Reasons To Be Cheerful, Or, My Amazing Extended Weekend Adventures Plus Some Waffling

On Thursday night I waited nervously until the Westie arrived, and then had a very nice night indeed. Friday we stuffed ourselves with pancakes and yoghurt and strawberries and coffee and headed up to Spurs for Jesus at the Annandale with Madame, which was utterly magnificent as usual. Of particular merit was the mash-up of the Prisoner theme song with AccaDacca's Jailbreak, and when the lagerphoned and befiddled support started Khe Sahn at one end of the bar and the Spurs finished it at the other. Wooohooooooo! (And I must mention here that the sight of a wobbly-gutted and barefoot man bashing a lagerphone with a child's wooden cricket bat made me wriggle- proving once and for all that I really can get excited over just about anything). Then some food, and a walk to Sly for Women In Uniform, hanging with various crews and jumping about to some sort of bogan band in semi-fetish outfits banging out more ACDC and Skyhooks while the Dykes On Bikes moshed at the front. Saturday bought a lie-in, lazy breakfast and then Jets (who creamed the Bulldogs). Home to change and potter about, then TCM's bon voyage drinks at the Townie, followed by Phoenix for Dog Pound. Music was brilliant, my leather dress was wonderfully short and slutty, and the Westie danced with me until the wee small hours. I have not danced with someone like that for a very long time. Near, sure, but not with. Not bumping grinding snogging groping dancing, not like this... Oh, I did enjoy it very much! Yummy! Sunday was recovering, tofu burgers and coffee at the markets, watching the Westie get her first pointy things from a Dr, and a picnic in the park spent eating too much and creating a sleazy ditty from phrases ripped straight out of possibly the worst novel I have come across in a while. Its called Nighthawk, by an Artemis OakGrove, and is a piece of 'lesbian sexual fiction' from 1987, and features a lesbian warlord, Native American rip-off nonsense, characters called Big Mary, Jesus, Cloud Three Eagles and such, and lines about 'jabbing her insides over and over' and someone's 'finger-like protuberance' (not a finger, trust me). Then coffee with a bear, and home to ad-breaks, the final of that dancing show and guacomole and vodka in bed. Monday was another lazy morning of rolling about, and then a trip to the MCA with Westie and Ali to see Fiona Hall exhibition. YOU MUST SEE THIS EXHIBITION NOW! Its quite amazing, and I am still reeling from it...some lunch by the harbour, a snog or two and some pix next to the Opera House, a wander 'round the Botanical Gardens, then back to the ghetto and onto my German lesson. Beer at the Coopers, home with cheese and crackers and more giggling and cuddles. Then our last day for now spent mostly in bed, trying to keep it together and make the most of every moment... airport, tears, coffee and passionfruit cheesecake, farewell snogs and hugs and... most looking forward to us meeting again.

Inbetween all of this were lots of sunsets, tofu, eggs, vodka, beer, full body contact, lewd behaviour, giggles, moments of marvelling at the Westie (or sometimes just perving on her), hand-holding, moments of realisation, grinning like idiots, dazed expressions, mild hangovers, endorphin overdoses and sheer bliss. Thankyou Westie.