Naggin' bloody women...

My readership is much like a fox-terrier. Small, persistent, intelligent and loyal. Who may or may not have cold, wet noses which they stick up the leg of your shorts at inopportune moments, as well as sniffing your bum and humping your leg. Which is to say that I have had a couple of concerned enquiries about my activities (see title).
I've got bugger-all to tell you. The last three or four weeks I've been working flat out, ninety to a hundred and ten hours a week. You might say that we're shorthanded. We do have a pommy guy working for us. He's done nothing but pub work for about ten or fifteen tears. We had a sweep going on how long it would take before he broke, but he's a fucking machine. One of the hardest working blokes that I have ever met. After the mandatory pub session Friday night ( the owners are on holidays and left the running of the pub to a young barmaid and her boyfriend, a sterling job they're doing, too), the Pom and I went on a bit of a scenic tour and ended up in Dirran to finish off a twelve hour drinking session. There was some middle aged guy playing guitar with a karaoke machine for accompaniment. Pretty ordinary, but when you've had a few lemonades... There was an aboriginal guy there from Melbourne who was having enough fun for about seventeen people. He certainly put paid to the 'black people have natural rhythm' theory. Next to me, he's probably the worst dancer in Oz. He certainly knows how to enjoy himself, though.
Sunday was devoted to... not much, really. Sleeping, laying on the couch listening to the TV with my eyes closed. Just resting, really, before we started irrigating again, last night. Back to the fifteen hour days. Yippee.
God starts this week sometime...