NOT Kicking the Bucket

Hello Saturday! So, I was up first and gradually the dyno-sores re-animated and complained about tired bones and stuff.

Nowadays there is a distinct gap between getting up and actually having to do anything and I took full advantage. Now that I am a Full-Blown Scout Scout, I have wide-ranging responsibilities including helping the Scout Group Quartermaster get wood. Every Scout meet needs a bonfire and we have special skills in getting wood: in the past we have obtained pallets, cot beds, logs, chairs and many other cast-off furniture items from the tip. This time it was pallets aforethought and the garage is a splendid dismantling charnel-house with the lump hammer and the pickaxe and radio. I may not have helped in any physical way but it was done in my name, practically royalty.

Also we have a good line in cardboard boxes which wrap up the destroyed wood in neat packaging for easy distribution from stores. Here is the proceeds of 2 pallets and the kindling we scored from the park, with 2 pallets left to go.

Jof was invited out with the entire massed ranks of the PuddleMummies to drink Prosecco in the historic ale-houses of the Auld Whore-house District and so we dropped her off when I went to Acting. Last time I mentioned that I have so many hats and wigs and props that I should have some kind of giant bucket with my name on, to keep all of my stuff separate for the Under Milk Wood play. So, as per the unwritten laws of parenting, Bud bought me a giant bucket and named it 7th time lucky (beer) in permanent pen and took it into the theatre. I got mightily embarrassed by this and said do not even, but the nice kind Theatre Manager said gosh, that's a bodacious idea, well done that boy.

So now my named bucket will appear on stage (behind a prop) for Sydney and I to grab our many wigs and hats from. The car park was full of big expensive cars because a group of men from the RMT Union were having a meeting and telling jokes about women are only cleaners and should stay in the kitchen. On the way home we laughed lots because she has a sound-effects app on her phone and we made up stories about the chicken on the lawnmower who punched the crying baby and went boing and the audience clapped etc.

We had an all-too-brief period of quiet while Jof was out with the Prosecco and the cobblestones and the babbling and we saw 'The Matrix' which was really funny with the bullets and the Kung Fu and the gucky human-pods and the Terminator-style leather coats and then Jof came back still talking and I had to go to bed.