Wall Struck in Supermarket

A winning weekend. Friday night's party was cool, although I didn't get there until after the Savages had played. Somehow spent my evening at the 'ho: that never happens so it was great fun in its novelty. Met some lovely people too, thanks o facilitator Tara.

Saturday was exhausting so my night began with a nap. Normally I have misgivings about day time sleeping as it seems particularly difficult to pick up one's game in the aftermath. It still took me four tracks of SJD to wake up. The evening, like the day, was cold, rainy and generally uninviting. That's why it was such an achievement for me to get dressed, sort my shit out and catch a bus on my own out to Island Bay. I knew it would be an adventure. It so was. There was much fun to be had, many friends to meet and much stimulating conversation to be made. The Inkling were excellent, as was 50Hz. G and M had the dancefloor APPLAUDING at their tracks; now that's impressive! (Especially that Sal Dub track, and Fat Freddy's Midnight Marauders, mmmm.) We stopped by the dress-up party at the factory on the way into town and then hit the boards at Indigo where Knixx was dropping the killer tracks and everyone was happy.

Ohhh, late night. Sunday was fairly non-existent as far as my head being out of the clouds goes. I managed to leave the house while the sun was still shining, with vague ideas of being in it, but I only got as far as Georgie's for a post-evening debrief. The sun was still up when I left, and I had further vague ideas of ascending Mt Victoria if only to bask in its dying rays, but common sense prevailed and instead I went and had a coffee. Cher Stacey. Thanks for listening to my ranting of good times without your eyes visibly glazing over. I think an exposé on the Politics of Attraction is in order...

I had my biggest test still ahead of me. Supermarket shopping. My flat operates on a five week turnaround of duties, some of which are better observed than others, with easily measurable tasks like putting out the rubbish and doing the flat shopping ahead of the list. When I arrived at the Wakefield St New World I was still coping with concepts of being alive and upright. In fact, at first, it felt like a party. Unfortunately as I got to aisle number two the picture began to fade. Sepia tones were creeping into my reality and black and white threatened to switch to black. I hit the wall. Knuckles whitening as I gripped the trolley, I grimly endured the circuit, inwardly groaning at the congestion down the canned-food-and-pasta aisle, stunned at the crowd gathered beside the pre-sliced deli meats. The worst came when I was safely ensconced beside the magazines, a pocket of calm where usually I would while away a good half hour browsing the stand. Not today; reading was beyond my capability. Instead I took the opportunity to check the list. Now, some people refer to their shopping lists as they shop. I'm not a believer. Instead I prefer to go by my instinct and then check how I've done after the fact. The news was not good; I had forgotten bananas. It was like having to go back to the first row in a game of snakes and ladders. I weighed it up: the wrath of my flatmates over my legitmate excuse of being close to death - death in a supermarket, reminds me of Noah's Toilet by Coldcut - better just to get the bananas and make it out alive. The taxi took ages, when I finally got home it was all I could do to climb the stairs. I crashed out as soon as I had located some panadol (only took two calls to flatmates). Cher guys. Supermarkets, huh. Which brings me to this. So true.

Like Tam, I'm unsure about the new blogger editor. No doubt having the text colour chart will lead to some oh so pretty! entries though... stand by.