Peter Seaman's Life And Thoughts

Peter Seaman perodically blogs here. His interests include history, politics, cocktails and telling people he is Batman. Also, he has never actually reblogged anything, though that picture of Olivia Wilde with the pancakes almost made it through.
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In my opinion, the best thing about the parents’ house is the laundry chute. Through the magic of the mysterious force known as gravity, it conveys dirty clothes from the upstairs bathroom to the laundry. Also, I’m not wearing anything at the moment. #BeholdSeamanInHisMajesty

Hay has a bridge. Take note.

Out on my evening constitutional, and I come across my old Primary School. Such fun afternoons of Sim Farm, though the whole ‘Jesus loves you’ thing got a bit tiring after six years.

Last night there were a bunch of cats in my yard making noises.

Sometimes cats wander through my yard, and much like shipping through the Suez Canal, I allow this.

This morning there were three dead mice outside the laundry.

I assume these were a misguided gift from the cats, who have decided to make me their Emperor.

Last night, at Brendo’s Games Night, we played no games.

We just sort of sat and drank and yelled at each other a bit.

Kirsty actually arrived here early to pick me up, and with Tom, we proceeded to Kelly’s to pick up Jeremy. Then we drove to Brendo’s house at Randwick.

We got lost.

Apparently, the streets made no sense.

"HOW IS NUMBER 270 ON ONE SIDE, AND NUMBER 108 ON THE OTHER?" shouted Kirsty as she drive.

Eventually, we arrived, and were led into a home by Brendo. There were columns on the porch, and wooden floors. One of his housemates was making Russian food with her boyfriend, and they joined us for Tequila. Which Jeremy provided.

He found it on Hamer’s desk.

Hamer is in Europe, so it’s all good.

Then we wandered off for KFC. It was neither as good or as large as I remember from my childhood, I haven’t had it in years.

Seb arrived, we sat and talked and drank Scotch. Plans were made for the future.

Then I came home. In the early hours of the morning, some youths were across the street near the graffiti wall behind the shop that sells (sexy) latex clothes. Several of them held lights, one a camcorder, and one stood on the steps rapping. 

Today I edited my literature review, and Skyped a friend. As we chatted, I heard a strange noise from below my window.

I clutched my laptop, and moved to the door.

Which began opening as if by some unseen and occult magic.

A dark specter stood on my threshold.

And it was Jeremy, who had dropped by unexpectedly with Kirsty and Chet. 

We had pizza, they left, I mopped. It rained.

And here I sit.

Both Jeremy and my sister Cassandra had birthdays yesterday - Cassandra is back in Hay, and Jeremy is having a do at Brendo’s place tonight. This is most momentous, as we never get invited there. I’ll be taking Vodka and assorted beverages, and I was told to bring along the ‘Risk’ board. I noticed it has several rings on it from spilled Scotch.

I was also asked to bring candles, but I don’t have any. The chance for a romantic evening is lost!

I need more people to go on dinner dates with.

If you wanted to bring me a cheesecake now, I wouldn’t say no.

Texting with the parents.

Sitting at my desk, not wearing pants.

How can you stock sizes 15 and 16 and not 14? Ugh.