I've just walked in the front door of the Palace + I'm basking in the scent of freesias, picked from the roadside this afternoon, + the glow of Ferguson Valley shiraz cab. I've had a gorgeous night - starting with a couple of drinks at the brewery across the road + finishing with dinner at the local pub. I'm pretty much in love with Libby + Martin. There's no pretense, no bull... only generosity, warmth, humour, joy. They are both lovely, open people + it's great to spend time with them. It's like we've been friends our whole lives + not just occasional, long-distance, old mates of my folks.
Tonight they told me the most fabulous stories of friendships + adventures + parties. I threw in a few of my own, for good measure, although they weren't the cream of a wild crop. A costume party where everyone came as either Merv Hughes or Dolly Parton. Turning up to a random bar in full bridal party gear + demanding to know where their reception was being held. Libby's visit to the specialist last week...
Lib goes to the doctor + has to fill in a form. She thinks it's important to be honest in this particular area + so she fesses up as a smoker, nominating twice weekly as her frequency of vice. When the doctor questions her on this she takes the admission further + reveals that it's not cigarettes she's talking about: she actually smokes two joints each week.
"Oh good." says the specialist, "Is it for pain?"
"No." says Libby, "It's for sex."
Well, she explains... I'm 61 years old, I've been married for 35 years, gimme a break.
Please let me be this much fun when I'm 61. And ditto on sex twice a week... even if it is "assisted".
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