Can you hear Billy Thorpe singing from the great amplifier in the sky? I can, and passing confirmation/spending a weekend away with my family and my lovely friend Claire helps too. We went to Queenscliff. We all got a little sun:

and read trashy memoirs of Regency courtesans, and ate cake. We tried to persuade Tigger that cats don’t like cream, that’s an old housewives’ tale, but I don’t think he was listening:

Claire consoled poor cakeless Tiggs with love:

I think he was OK in the end. Tigger is such a cuddle guts that he adopted Mitzi when she arrived as a hyperactive twelve week old puppy. He was about eight years old at the time, and he’s a big tom cat.

We admired the flowers. I haven’t even planted my sweet peas yet! Coming from cold Ballarat, something in my blood tells me no planting until September, but I’m going to have to go back to garden school, because:

And then, after walking the beach, we watched the sun go down over Swan Bay, all pinks and oranges.

I’m not quite ready to think about doing anything productive yet. This afternoon I’m off to Croydon to pick up my birthday present. It’s for the garden. It’s big and it’s in need of some crafty repairs. Oooh, mysterious!

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