Yon, I say!
Today I potted a frangipani branch, scavenged from the footpath (it had a little sign above it saying "Free Frangipani!"), and relocated two little nasturtium seedlings to keep it company. I have no idea if nasturtium & frangipani make good roommates, but all this kindergarten-level gardening prowess (my basil grows! My nasturtiums are tall with pretty leaves!) has got me cocky. Besides, both nasturtium & frangpani are all about the hot, bright, fairly dry conditions, so I assume they have similar interests & plenty to talk about.
I am cheating on my beautician. The new one is significantly cheaper and seems just as competant, and more importantly has an amazing fishtank in the waxing room to stare at while your bits are being ripped hither and yon. I think she assumed I was straight, or at least so it seemed by her patter after she asked me if I was seeing anyone ("No, recently broken up" I said. "All men are bastards", she said). She sent me home with a satchel full of fancy skin-care samples- I rhink I might have to make this an ongoing arrangement. Sorry, Other Beautician, it was good while it lasted!
Then I walked around King St with no knickers on, because my skin hates knickers after the hair has just been ripped out. With a brisk southerly change coming through and a pretty, angle-seamed, fly-away skirt, I am most impressed that I managed to avoid baring all to the ravening hordes of Newtown.