The ancient and noble tradition of the giant flaming cock
Just got back from pinky_thebrain's Diwali party, which I regrettably had to leave early on account of having had two big nights and no small nights this weekend, and having work at eight in the morning. Also regrettable was the fact that, having to drive home, I was limited to one drink that was on fire until shortly before I drank it. It was nice.
Before that, I judged a Theatresports competition. It was definitely the weakest heat of this round of competition: the highest score was (IIRC) a twelve, which effectively means nobody got an A for any of the scenes, and most were around the C mark. Still, there were little flashes of promise; the final in two weeks should be pretty good.
Before that, I sat in the sun for a while and read Anansi Boys, which is something I've been doing quite a bit of this weekend. In fact, yesterday, I walked into town and sat in the shade beside a pond in the Gardens with an ice cream, listening to Fiona Apple and reading. I felt more relaxed than I've been at any other time in the past month, which was lovely.
Before that, as I hinted, I went to a church picnic, and ran around a lot. I actually turned out to be comparatively quite good at the running around, given that my younger brother (nicknamed 'Wheels' during one particularly vigourous game of touch) wasn't there. (He's finishing his degree in Interior Architecture, and his final exhibition opens on Tuesday; sometimes he goes home to sleep.) It was hot and muggy, and I was running around on a full stomach, so I started to not feel so good, but I still maintain that I was not hungover, because I just wasn't.
Also I got to play my guitar, which, as I may have mentioned, is lovely.
Now I'm going to read until I sleep.