This morning, walking to work, big fire station siren went off. Poor bastards. Walking along Raymond st a fire engine screamed past. I could smell smoke. Also checked bank balance, looks like I'll have enough for the Sale Show, plus my used ps2, and then enough to keep saving for textbooks.
Got to work, nice big pile of dishes waiting for me. Highlights included Daft Punk on the radio, and being made to do four things at once. Can't be in the storeroom, taking out the rubbish, finding little bowls AND washing the damn dishes at the same time. I had some chips, forgot my lips were bad. Salt on wounds really does hurt like a bitch.
By about 5, it stopped. James had been helping me a bit, but he got bored, so he buggerised around with Ferg while I slaved away. I managed to get it all done, including the bloody mopping, by quarter to 6. Yay for bonus moneys.
Got home, chilled. Aiden and I discussed the cricket, Alison got sick of people talking to her, Clare and I discussed the rare reverse-weeaboo, who knows english better than we do. Gorram Australians have lost this test, I think. Ryan and I traded links, including a guy trying the Ozymandias multiple-tvs thing, and Guidos. ARIA awards sucked. No good music to come out of Australia this year.
Tomorrow, PE first up, then probably missing out on the best part of the afternoon.