Our Peculiar Selves

My Dear Princess and Dear Fellows,

It is Monday evening and I have just finished talking to the Princess. Because the clocks in NZ have gone back, it still feels very early here. 

As usual, our chat turned from an analysis of current events ("it's all shit, isn't it?") to highbrow chat about how Murphy could never be in a serious relationship with Bella because - while she's a lovely girl, she does eat poo. 

I told the Princess this was also what was keeping us apart. She seemed to take it remarkably well.

When in conversation together, the Princess and I tend to egg each other on, and our own peculiar brand of madness emerges. The same thing is happening in Paraparaumu, where Caro and the cats and me are adjusting to our new lifestyle. 

For example, as you can see, Punky now has his favourite box on top of the footstool, so that he can:

a) Be in a box and
b) Roll around in crinkly paper and
c) Watch birds
d) Enjoy the heater by the footstool

- all at the same time. 

Meanwhile, my end of the couch serves as my office/recording studio/day bed. It's like this multi-functional space. If only there were toilet facilities and a fridge I wouldn't even need legs. 

Caro meanwhile, is the only one of us even attempting to keep up any sort of standards. She even threatened to VACUUM today. I mean, me and the cats talked her out of it eventually, but it was a close run thing.

S. 

p.s. The Princess and I were discussing cards, and she told me that she and the Mini-Princesses took childish glee in announcing a score of 69. I recommended the game of "Cribbage" to her purely so she could announce "one for his nob" every time she played a Jack. But where does this originate from? Why does the Jack have a nob?

I'm looking at YOU here, Auslaender. You know things like this.