Today I had to wait around for the airconditioner repairman to come and tell me why the airconditioner only makes cold air, rather than also making hot air as it claims it can. So I slept in gratuitously late, and spent most of the day making a new website background patten out of small colourful squares.

Time well spent, I think. Then I listened to the Dirty Three’s untitled album (’Indian Love Song’ would have to be the world’s greatest makeout song, although you’d have to be the world’s greatest maker-outerer to do justice to it) and wrote half a letter to my Dad.

In the evening I went with my Mum to see her friend Alan who was in Freo hospital’s Coronary Care Unit - under the name ‘George’, surprisingly - after having a heart attack, although by the time we got there he had been discharged and was on his way back to Rockingham. He’s going to be OK, it seems. It’s not good when people get life-threateningly sick. A friend’s Dad has recently come down with MS or MD or whatever Stephen Hawking has and I’m a bit pensive, because it seems as though you can be struck down in the middble of life with a major incurable illness, even though you’ve done nothing wrong and you’re in pretty good nick otherwise. I find that fundamentally unfair, in much the same way I find love unfair. Anyway, I’ve made up my mind to start exercising more which, if not actually making me healthier in itself, will probably stop me from stressing.

I had something else to say, but for the moment, that’s all. Love ya.

Oh yeah, the aircon man won’t make it ’till Monday. What a crock.

~~PS:~~

a) Coming soon - Twisted Hamster random slogans!

b) Read the latest from Dirtyboots:

I wish I wasn’t wearing the pink flowery blazer at the time. Nobody seemed to mind vocally about it, but at the time I felt like Liberace wandering around in a Mad Max movie.

c) btw, how huge is the Perthblogs feed becoming? Shit.