My partner Debs promised me we could have an Indian meal for lunch if I got my hair cut. I reckon it happens about every 2 months, so i've had 390 hair cuts in my entire life. This is the latest.
The Indian meal was maybe a bad idea, as it was 31 in the shade and there was no shade on the walk home. 🥵
Anyhow, we got back sweaty and repentant, but have managed to get enough plates, table cloths and floaty things for our family's visit this weekend. There'll be Sunday lunch at our favourite eatery, then back to bob like bloated whales in the pool.
Fail to plan, plan to fail.
Adios Amigos,