Good, Clean Fun

Saturday night we dined Chez Burp et Rooster. We had a delicious lasagna and a lovely salad, but Grumpy shamed me by not eating his cucumber. Later on we enjoyed some banana and choc-chip muffins that Bay Leaf had made (with some help from his mother but without the intervention of his little brother).

Later we sat around and talked about how we were tired at 10.30 and I didn't think I'd be this feeble at thirty-five.

The cat tried to bite me. But, still, I love her.

The Burp & Rooster have a sunken lounge. Tragically, it doesn't come complete with a bar and shag-pile carpet; nevertheless it has that air of 1970s decadence about it. In honour of that debauched era, The Burp brought out a massage tool that she got at an expo (though hotly denied, we were convinced she must be leaving a letter off there) for us all to try. Part of its name was The Trembler. I dare not write the rest here, but you can explore for yourself on the web site. At first it was a bit creepy having this thing on your head - like the spiders from Doctor Who - but after a while it was kind of relaxing.

It didn't take long for us to get bored with it so we called the animals - and I am referring to the family pets, not the children - into the lounge room and set to work on them. The cat froze and got a glazed look on her face; the dog went nuts. Every time the Rooster stopped massaging her she'd leap forward for more and her face was a picture of slavish devotion and love.

It all seemed so wrong and I was waiting for the vice squad to start hammering down the door. They didn't. I guess they were too busy busting kids in the adult aisle at the newsagent.