I had a nightmare that someone stole my credit card details. A proper wake-with-a-start nightmare.

Now I feel like I need to go and buy a pair of three quarter cargo pants and an SUV. I'm not ready for this.

Couch surfing.

I've spent most of the evening on the couch ignoring the fact that my knees and feet are cold (it's under 28 degrees, and it is not humid!). I spent the rest of it listening to my neighbours (Smarmy Nasal Man vs the stoically ever-silent 'Craig') bickering, and a possum screeching gaily outside the bedroom window. 

Don't look at me like that. Grand Designs was on. So was the Brady Bunch. My dance card was full, thank you very much.

Of course I'm being social, Dad. Someone has to keep the plants company.

Friday nights are an inscrutable mystery to me. I'm always slightly surprised I'm not in an hospital somewhere, attached to a drip, weakly recovering from a week of Being an Adult. Honestly, I nearly passed out after a jump in volume between a television program and an advertisement (cynical? what, me?). In the time it took me to rearrange my face out of a frown I heard two groups of youths romp happily up the street. 

Two.

I wonder if those kids were as excited about the party as I was about the prospect of a silent night on the couch with tea and a bowl of cous cous. Probably. And that is so great.