I woke up late, had toast for breakfast and enjoyed a bit of rain falling. Mum didn't go to church on account of the noisy happy clappy band those exotic Sevvies have these days, so I went for a walk down Queen Street to see what was happening in the old town. Lots, as it turned out. The place was fairly buzzing with Saturday morning shopping and I soaked up the mixture of familiar old sights and the many, many changes that occur every time I come back. I had a good wander around the mall and brought the mandatory copies of The Listener, the Weekend Press, a couple of postcards and a calendar, by which time it was noon and I returned to Mum's place for lunch. I called home to assure them I was still alive and well and then wandered up to the Sprig and Fern for a Pale Ale with Ivor and Chris and Dangerous Dan, the brother they couldn't lock up.
Chris, Dan and Ivor
Chris, Ivor and I went back to Chris's for a blissful night of watching rugby (Crusaders v Highlanders, Reds v Waratahs), eating pizza and talking shit. It doesn't get any better than that. I staggered home at 11.30pm, drank a litre of water and collapsed into bed.
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