Neptune’s Yellow Sands

It happened again.  And I'm not talking about Tottenham Hotspur getting battered at home by Chelsea after two red cards.  But the wild eyes, the slurring, the replacement for my love.  This time within the house, so more controlled than the bunk, still arguably worse.  The dropping of the child, asking to call the police, the knife to the breast.  How could I have foreseen that?  Here I was a bit frustrated at not greeting AA on arriving and retreating to the car.  Little did I know.  Full of shit/crap, what do you need, care about everyone but your own children.  The "gladiator" cutting to the bone.  At least it will pass. Bold action required.  She needs support.  Change the priorities.  Fundamentally.  Tomorrow you have a 10AM call with DM, a 3PM with TOA, nothing else required.  The AAR will be filed, which sucks, but the process will run out in time.  The water co may need a CU but but but... ...

A dream Halloween.  From the parade to the weather, the wearing of the hat for the long march and the timing of the rest and toilet business and even a drop-in on Norwood Street before the first trick or treating on the shoulders.  Our Avocado shone.  Halibut and Lobster Club, Mulled Cider and Rum, and the stunning ocean views of the lighthouse and rocks.  Even after all these years, you forget how wondrously scenic it is.  But cold, damn cold. I wonder how many more years I will keep up the drive out there.  10 is a nice round marker, and to think of the changes that have come over the time.  From 2019 to 2022, 40% of the years spent contemplating repeated trips across to Africa.  This year we keep it close to home, awaiting a fresh start in the sun for 2024 in other favourite haunts of old. It was all a bit rushed yesterday, so didn't really sink in.  The drive, the sunshine, the white lighthouse against the blue sky, the waitresses and the...