Fine Wine

I’m babysitting with Kate (not babysitting HER though… for a change…) and have just had wine and curry, courtesy of she for whom I am sitting. This is good. What is also good is the money I will be receiving for this service. Well, Kate and I, as I will take care of it. She will only squander it and become bankrupt or something of the sort… Not that I don’t have faith in her budgeting skills… I’m just saying someone with no grip on the purpose of coinage would do a better job of taking care of funds. Me for instance. Kate says she’s a bastard. I haven’t worked out why yet- maybe she doesn’t know her father, though I find that odd as she lived with him for 21 years. She’s a strange and beautiful thing bless her…

She’s also trying to steal the keyboard for her own nefarious purposes- Kate, it’s over to you:

Let it be known that despite the fact that Thomas is currently dying of plague and thus receives my utmost sympathy (well… sort of… or… not), he is an ultimate pooface. Not only does he announce to a table full of housemates that his girlfriend is BANKRUPT (public knowledge on Open Diary; not so public in an Open Bar – though the logic in that escapes me, but then the logic in most things escapes me, so shut up) but he also… actually, I’ve forgotten why he’s a pooface. Never mind. He’s also a darling, of course. Not really. But I have to write that, since this is his diary and whatnot…

I think I should let him write, really. My typing should never be purple.

Anyway, enough woman-type typing. Bloody equal rights. She should stil be in the kitchen cleaning up after me. Except she shouldn’t as I’d miss her. I’m a soppy type when it comes down. I want world peace, an end to all poverty and starvation and a speedboat. I’m sleepy. This is due to wine, work and weasels. Well, Not weasels so much, but I like the word. "More weasels vicar?"… Now there’s a line I’d be proud to say. Preferably not even to a vicar. Iworry about me.

The weather was far too warm today, but we had cake and custard for snack so I was happy. Plus the kids had no interest in talking to me today and carried on playing without us, meaning I got to sit on the grass drinking fine vintage orange juice from the finest in plastic beakers. It gets much better than that but I don’t care. I have few aspirations in life. Apart from the aquisition of huge piles of money, before frittering it all away. Possibly on fritters.

I’m going now as my poor dainty fingers are hurting from overwork. I’m old fashioned and effort effects me badly. Bless me, bless me indeed!

Toodleoo

Tom, Archduke of the Land of Excess