"Some days are just days with holes in them," a former colleague from my London days used to say at least twice a week. The fact that she was next level insane and a raging alcoholic (she'd decant vodka into a water bottle to sip during the day) doesn't make her any less correct. Some days are just shitty, shitty days.
Today was one of those days. Not only did the axe finally fall on a close friend's job, another friend's mother lost her ugly battle with cancer. These are holes you could drive a Mac truck through.
The day started well enough: there was a walk on Lyall Bay beach with a couple of friends and their woofers, and then we adjourned to the ever excellent Spruce Goose for a coffee.
But by 1.00pm it had all gone tits up.
If I had any vodka in the house I'd be drinking a toast to my friends right now. Gin will have to do.
Today's visuals are of the woofers on Lyall Bay beach this AM.
Today was one of those days. Not only did the axe finally fall on a close friend's job, another friend's mother lost her ugly battle with cancer. These are holes you could drive a Mac truck through.
The day started well enough: there was a walk on Lyall Bay beach with a couple of friends and their woofers, and then we adjourned to the ever excellent Spruce Goose for a coffee.
But by 1.00pm it had all gone tits up.
If I had any vodka in the house I'd be drinking a toast to my friends right now. Gin will have to do.
Today's visuals are of the woofers on Lyall Bay beach this AM.
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