Today's Post Flood Vagaries

I am sitting here typing away on my husband's laptop, with my soon-to-be-13yo on the lounge beside me. A British show is on.  It's called 'Embarrassing Bodies'.  Tonight's ep is focusing on teenage sexuality.  The doctor has just rolled a condom over a dildo at a contraception expo type event.  I am not embarrassed.  I am pleased my son is comfortable enough to sit here and watch this with me, and by God I hope he's taking notice.  Maybe he's not comfortable. Maybe he's burning like phosphorus on the inside.  I do not want to give him the 'icks' by asking, and I would rather he take some notice of the issues raised on this show. 

He will soon go to bed and I will give a look to 'Q&A'.  Will I be impressed by the guests, or understand why Elvis Presley shot the television?  We will see; we will see.

So much to do this week. Tomorrow I am conducting an interview with the local rag about the upcoming official launch of 'Silver Studs and Sabre Teeth'.  I have washed my hair in an attempt to make it look nice for the photograph they will undoubtedly take, your not-so-humble author posing decorously with the book held up, probably close to her face.  I am to conduct a radio interview at some time, too.  I have not forwarded a list of conditions such as 'Ms Bailey not being drawn in to conversation about the time she squeezed between the turnstile of the local pool one night when aged 17, accompanied by a few friends, and some vigilant Neighbourhood Watch type telephoned the police.  This was so not good.  It scared the living snot out of me.  I am sure one of the guys who was in on this silly prank still wakes up screaming remember the floodlights coming on when he was outside the Ladies change room urinating against the wall.

Getting back on with it, moving back in to our house post-flooding incident.  The mayor told us he would send an engineer to inspect the drainage system in this street.  As well as doing something about the drains, we might want to consider something about the brain-dead retards that infest this town.  This goes out to the cock head who came screaming down the hill just after that phenomenal flood on Anzac Day.  I don't know if I mentioned before, but I live at the bottom of a hill that T-intersects with a street that has quite a prounounced camber, and of course the water probably didn't have much choice but to do what it did.  I am not an expert in hydro-dynamics, but I kind of get what happened.  What I do not get is why the deadshit in the Pajero (or similar vehicle) came screaming down the hill just after the rain with the sole intention of creating an almighty splash akin to a Red Sea parting either side of his vehicle.  Doing this created an almighty wash that sent water rippling, guess where?  My normally civilised, mild-mannered husband made several large, splashy strides through the lagoon and shouted after the idiot, 'DON'T SEND MORE WATER INTO OUR HOUSE, YOU FUCKING IDIOT!'  I don't know if this imbecile is reading this.  More likely having it read to him, when you think about it, but here's a message: Can you not breed?  That would be good.