Monday Morning, Warts and All

We take time out of a suprisingly productive Monday morning to make a few notes:

• The weekend was a complete success. I've been told I'm guest blogging at Derek's site while he's away, so I'll post the wedding recaps there as soon as I'm given the keys to the kingdom. Suffice to say, we had so much fun that we didn't even think of going llama treking.
• "Gee Francine! You're the most drinkin'est girl I know." Gee, there were a lot of Francines in Midhurst this weekend.
• Larry using a wine bottle for a spontaneous I-think-I'll-lip synch microphone is a site to behold.
• Midhurst is not unlike being in a tiny Hamptons village. That's the first thing I wrote in my journal on Saturday morning, and one of the first things Larry said to me when he arrived Saturday afternoon … long before the lip synching began.
• The shirtless guys tending to the square across the street could be so much cuter.
• I woke up this morning from a dream nightmare that I was living with Richard and Grace. It's enough to put anybody off for the day.
• Given the above, I felt like doing absolutely fuck all this morning. So I made a list of 15 things I dididn't feel like doing and have gotten half of them done already. Yay me.
• Another one has bitten the dust at Brand This! (his choice, not theirs) so I'm going to Dublin for his going away do next week. One night only. It's all I have to give.
• Need to get Edinburgh sorted out for mid-August ... it's on the second half of the list.
• Connie and Christopher are coming to play (different weekends over the next month). The the media has been alerted and is most excited.
• Logged on to IM for the first time in months and nobody wants to chat with me. Rude.
• Bette Davis festival at the National Film Institute. Smoke 'em if you got 'em.
• It's supposed to hit 35° this week. I think I might have to give the Oasis a go. Eduardo tells me it's chock full of rent boys, rich men and enemployed. I'll take a camera, a CV and maybe some cash.

And now, I'm off to get my verruca bazooka'd. And that's not a euphemism.