Right, it's been a while between drinks, er, blogs. Definitely not between drinks, not with the combined, beer pressure forces of Charlie and Ben on the case. Even almost fatal beatings from Em didn't prevent the Tui from getting through. And the export. Oh, and the tequila... hmmm... Still, a good night was had by all, and I feel that the new flat on Rhodes Street has been warmed to an acceptable level - complete with some quintessential 80s music videos on in the background (if you can't remember, or haven't seen, the "Oh My God I'm Glad I Didn't Live In The 80s" work that is Van Halen's "Jump", then you need to find it and watch it.)
A lot's happened in the last week or two, no really. Some of it has even involved working on the dreaded "T" word, but not much. Not enough by any stretch. Instead, the weeks have been filled with moving out of and cleaning Picton, settling into my new flat, and trying out my new job.
The move went smothly, thanks to Sara an her everpresent Ute-itlity o' Doom (plus additional trailer), and now I find myself living in a large, but somewhat empty, flat on Otara Street - complete with two new flatmates, my own driveway and my own entrance way and porch. It's everything I always wanted *sniff*. It's not so cool to say good bye to the Picton crew, who otherwise have moved into Sara's funky new Bounty Street house, along with Sam, Sara's sister, and her leedle dog Honey, but I suspect I might get much more work done without the constant temptation of late night DVDs and brickshooter...
The cleaning, similarly, went well. Although full credit here has to go to Sara for making the supreme effort and getting everything done practically on her own. Even with the nimble fingers provided by Pam's Silver Lined Rubber Gloves ("...durable and strong, yet comfortable and so easy on and off. The textured, non-slip grip adds ease to any task..." Dan, you definitely need to invest...) I was of little use, having to run off to dinner at Moroccan restaurants and all.
< advertisement > Speaking of which, all (who feel they can afford it) must go to the new Moroccan restaurant - Simo's, which is halfway down Cashel Mall, upstairs on your right as you walk away from the Bridge of Remembrance - and try it out. The service was fantastic, the wine list amazing, and the food awesome... and not hugely expensive.
Then there was the eleven hour sift of selling alcohol to drunkards. Beer? Sure sir, no worries. Bourbon? Not a problem. Gin and tonic? Sure thing. Bourbon? Bourbon? Bourbon? Bourbon? Bourbon? Bourbon? Bourbon? Bourbon? Bourbon? Bourbon? Bourbon? Bourbon? Bourbon? Bourbon? Bourbon?... and I'm not even really exaggerrating all that much. Was good to see a whole heapo people out offering moral support (and drinking, to be fair) on Saturday night... even if one of the group was in fact kicked out for being my first ever gay stalker by one of the other bar staff who was getting quite worried about him hanging around. Good work James - made me laugh, Jess soooo embarrassed when she figured out what was going on, and he ended up walking home rather than getting a ride with Clinton and I. So did I enjoy it? Some, and I suspect as I get more comfortable in the role I'll enjoy it more and more (relax, you know). Plus there's always the added bonus of this...
In entertainment news, I reckon I should put a plug in for Love Actually. It's cheesey, it has some, frankly, stupid "political" bits, and some critics complain that ten love stories is really just too many to effectively tell them all. But... it's cast kicks arse, the story is very well done (ptooey to those critics, I say), and it will make you laugh and bring to the verge of tears (Emma Thompson is amazing). Go. See. Enjoy. Don't expect anything terribly deep, sit back and laugh at the very concept of Hugh Grant as a British Prime Minister (to him goes the funniest line of the film...).
Oh, and there's weirdness in the world now. I'll explain some other time, must run now.