Not this weekend, anyway...

There's going to be some entertaining going on here at the House at Porter Street on Sunday.  Beloved school friends - I think the last time we were all in a room together was for our ten year school reunion, and that was more than 15 years ago - are coming over with their partners and spring-offs for a barbeque and catch up.


Except.  The barbie is flat-packed and I have it on good advice, there's a possibility that putting the thing together could potentially take somewhere in the vicinity of eight hours.  Eight hours!  And I'm definitely not in the mood.

Not with a funeral to attend today; cooking, shopping, tidying, chatting with Kimbles and moving boxes slated for tomorrow; and then the lunchtime funtime on Sunday.  No time for assembly of and profane utterings at inanimate objects and their conceptionators in the intervening ticks of the clock.


Instead a change of menu is in order.


No pity at all.


And in the great tradition of all procrastinators, I have put off for tomorrow [figuratively] what I could've done today [or tomorrow, literally].