It's a bugs life

I almost ate a bug at lunch. I felt something on my lip which felt like a remnant of toast crumb but, when it hit my tongue it felt more brittle. Then I fished it out with my finger and this poor little insect was dead as it had drowned in my saliva. It got me thinking as to how awful life would be as a bug. One minute, happily cruising through the air with the wind beneath your wings....next squished into a windscreen or meeting your end inside a mouth. Not nice.
On my journey back from lunch, my vision turned to the groups of people that flock to that cheap arse asian gift shop downstairs (our ground floor tenants). These people crowd on our stairs, smoking and hocking up slag. And there are bus loads of them every day. I actually went in there to see what the fascination was about and I am still confused. It's sort of a chinese pharmaceutical store/souveneir shop/chinese giftware & furniture shop. I often think that it must be a facade for some magical shop like in Gremlins....but in reality there is just not that sort of mystery. There are kangaroo and possum pelts, daggy souveneirs, cheap looking furniture, sheepskins and containers full of chinese herbs and potions. It annoys me.

I momentarily amused myself yesterday by purchasing a hanging flower basket for my courtyard and painting my ugly fibreglass urn a glossy black. My dear Brents good intentions of finding me a husband on Saturday night went a little pear shaped. As he had read somewhere that Northcote had a high rate of single men (probably because the greater population of females in the area are lesbians)...we pinpointed a bar to check out in the area. Unfortunately after an indulgent dinner and glasses of Moet and the more attractive lure of Footballers Wives on DVD...the excitement of the hunt became rather lacklustre. As was the talent when we finally got to the sparse pickings after midnight. Aside from some pill popping people exhibiting rather strange dancing moves (who ever thought the scissor legs dance was making a comeback?), I was asked to check out the only decent guy in the corner. On closer inspection he was covered in Tatts and between drags on his cigarette, looked like he was intently planning his next bank robbery with his mate. So alas...the search continues. The one request I asked of the englishman on his holiday was to find me a nice shell...and he tells me that he forgot but could give me something much more useful then a shell. I feel so objectified.........