In the nicest possible way, this diary has turned into a massive pile of dishes � at first a couple of bowls and a plate. Ptth, no need to waste time doing the dishes; there are hardly any of them to be done.

Then someone has some juice and a cup of coffee, and some wine with dinner. The dinner dishes go onto the pile and now there are a couple of pots and a pair of tongs with saucy muck congealing on them, and I think: hm, that�s quite a few dishes. I should wash them. Later.

Breakfast looms, and now we have bowls with leftover cereal encrusted on them* and coffee cups with tide marks.

Let it all go for another day or two and suddenly the ever-mounting pile of crockery is peeking over the sink and seeing freedom, and the congealed substance on the tongs has discovered fire and invented the wheel.

And now I am starting to think that maybe I should have done the dishes when there were only a couple of bowls and a plate so that I wouldn�t have to sit down and describe everything that has happened to me in the last SIX BLOODY MONTHS.

* What do they put into Weet-Bix anyway? Over the years it has become increasingly apparent to me that Weet-Bix + milk + drying time = ultra-mega-hold industrial superstrength glue, which leads me to the frightening question of what actually happens to it once it is in my stomach.

Please note that I am not really this slack about my dishes. And even if I were, Pigeon would swoop in and make it all better because he used to work as a cook and therefore any kitchen in which he is present is His Kitchen, and His Kitchen is always presentable. However, I am this slack about the diarising of my life, so here are some notes.

I�ve been to a couple of weddings. The last one was a couple of weeks ago and was unusual in that it featured karaoke. At the ceremony. The bride broke into �even when I dream of yoooouuuu�the sweetest dream will neeeeever dooo, �cos I miss you baby, and I don�t wanna miss a thaaaaaaaang�� This was at first cringeworthy (particularly as the bride simply could not hold a tune, as would later be confirmed when she sang more karaoke with great gusto at the reception), then kind of touching, then long. This was followed by the bridal party and the brother of the bride dancing and shimmying in a cheesy fashion down the grassy �aisle� to some boppy tune; this was neither cringeworthy nor touching nor long, but very, very funny. The bridal waltz at the reception was in fact a dance scene from Dirty Dancing, and much alcohol was consumed. Aside from the fact that ten wedding guests were almost stranded in a valley at the winery where the wedding was held -- because the bus that was supposed to transport us to the reception never showed up* and we therefore had to be rescued by other people in their cars when they realised that we still weren�t at the reception -- it was a good evening.

* �Hello? Bus people? Can you please pick up guests from this place at this time and drop them off at that place? We will pay you money.� �Yes, we can do that. And we will charge you money.� �Great, see you then. Don�t forget: this place, this time, going to that place.� �Got it.� - Am I missing something?

Here is a picture of Pigeon and his cousin (the bride, wearing the black cocktail dress) singing the YMCA for all to enjoy.

Went to Jamberoo the next day. Rode on little metal toboggans and jumped off a high rock into a pool a couple of times. Power went out; power came back. At some point during the day I caught a throat bug and since then I have been hacking up exciting goodies at all hours of the night.

Went to the farm at Taralga over the weekend, and much to my surprise there was not a single huntsman to be seen (there should be pictures of said spider in that linky somewhere). Which I suppose means that they were all lurking somewhere a little more discreet this time, as I am not na�ve enough to believe that all of a sudden an isolated farmhouse surrounded by Australian bushland is spider-free.

My sister is now engaged -- her boyfriend proposed to her at her 22nd birthday party -- and I am ashamed to admit that at first I was jealous (inwardly) and somewhat cranky with Pigeon (as inwardly as I could keep it) for taking his sweet time in deciding to do the same, which as yet he has not. We have been together for more than four years. They had been together for two, and are a couple of years younger than we are. However, I managed to scrape away the black spot on my selfish, withered little heart and actually be happy for my sister and her fianc� within a few days. I have given up with the hinting at the Pigeon, partly because hint + male = go bash your head against a hard surface instead, but also partly because he did mention the day after my sister�s engagement that he had been thinking about getting me a ring, but wanted to wait until The Business was established and making money first.

Which brings me to The Business. The details of how it came about are tedious, but the situation is presently as follows: Pidge and I are co-directors of a company* that prints signs, posters, flyers and the like. He runs it as a full-time job, and I still work where I used to work so that we still have a steady income until the business stabilises. I took advantage of my access to design software at work to make us a logo and to design stationery and business cards, which he received from the People Who Make Business Cards today and apparently look �awesome�. He is slowly picking up customers � not bad as he has only been officially open for two weeks � and has just been added to the Westfield list of Preferred Suppliers (nine out of ten cats prefer Pigeon!). It is the first day of the week and he has already made enough money to pay the business�s bills for the week, so anything he does for the rest of this week is money in his pocket. This is a relief because it means that business is Picking Up and that for the first time in a couple of months he will actually be able to Draw An Income, which will be very handy for Paying The Home Loan and also Paying For Somebody To Tile My Kitchen. Because that really needs to be done.

* A company! Of one person! That is hardly company at all!

I did a course with WIRES a couple of weeks ago to become a volunteer with them, and am still waiting for my licence to show up in the post. I�m also still waiting to perform my first �rescue� of an injured possum or bird.

Oh, speaking of wildlife, here is the park where a kookaburra swooped upon me and tried to steal my sausage roll:

Pigeon and I have taken to translating our farts. It wasn�t really something that came about by any means of planning or indeed by a conscious decision; it just somehow� happened. One morning, one of us let out an impressive zipper of a fart, bright and chirpy, and Pidge said: �mooorrniinng!� as though this was what his bum had been trying to say. Now we do this kind of thing a lot. Tiny little preep slips out; one of us says timidly: �hello�?� I�m not sure how much sense this is making, but if it does make sense to you and you are not averse to the notion of impersonating your own farts, give it a go. You may be surprised at what your bottom is trying to tell you.

OK, I must leave the computer now. In this long entry I have managed to clarify about three things about my life over the past HALF A YEAR, and not with any degree of eloquence either. Now it is time for me to go and cook things in hot oil whilst, with any luck, not setting my kitchen on fire this time.

Joy everybody! Have a lovely evening.