Wearied weekend

Ugh, so tired. Somehow I managed to stay up until 3 a.m. last night. Fig followed me home from the bar so I could at last hand over his bottle of Zirbenz bought for him an age ago (clintswan also got back a pie pan marooned at my house for even longer, but he had the sense to bring a bag and leave it at the coat check) and after finding out in conversation how knowledgeable he was about horticulture I couldn't resist taking him on a tour of the grounds. Afterwards I was so ready to collapse that I actually left the back door wide open. (Fortunately it was only another hour before the Old Man got up.)

Thursday he'd got it into his head to put up the Ikea shelving in the lumber room, so we spent a chunk of Saturday afternoon wrestling with dusty pine planks and scurrying about in search of hardware, leaving him so worn out that he was in bed before 7 p.m. and missd the arrival of Miss Cleveland, Mr Big Bones, Uncle Betty, and Diego. Fig arrived last of all, after clintswan (for whom I broke down and switched on the AC) and not long before the three of us headed out to the bar and the rest of the lads headed home. I found a number of people I knew at Touché, but no one I really wanted to see. At least the debut of my daring new short shorts purloined from my father's bureau was an unqualified success.

Today we had Nuphy over so he could pick our brains about China. He's been fretting about passing on a Groupon so we reassured him that he could do much much better if he only he were willing to put a little time and effort into doing some research. The meal, however, was pure Cuban: pollo al mojo with moros y cristianos (though monshu put in so much bacon I quipped that it was really marranos y cristianos). It also provided me with an excuse to put on Devdas, though he's such a Bollywood piker that he barely watched half of it; only I made it to the end of the film, a dubious distinction to say the least. But it's finally off our queue and soon something I really want to see can takes its place.