Slap! Reality Check.

Firstly, who said Australia was homophobic? Gays may not be able to marry but there’s a long weekend to celebrate the Queens. I love Kate and Will as much as anyone but I’m a Republican at heart so I’m ignoring any Queen other than my people. Thanks for the long weekend to celebrate us!

It may seem like three random stories today but I promise it will all make sense in the end. Stick with me, have faith...

Couch.

I sat down on my beloved couch at approx 9pm on Friday night and got off again at approx 12noon on Sunday. Yes, I rolled myself into bed both nights but that was at the very last moment before my eyes shut only to quickly return upon waking. Had a fridge full of gourmet snacks, Belvedere vodka and some B&H on the outdoor table. There is nothing either Little Sammy or I could want for. Had both heaters going all weekend creating a very cozy Man Pit. Jeez I watched some brilliant television and ate myself up two sizes.

First night/day/night was all Law & Order, no shock there. Then the absolute highlight! My new friend Arrjaydub brought over the entire first series of Downton Abbey. Heaven, so brilliant, this is one of the best TV series ever made. I can not recommend enough. Shame my allegedly gourmet quiche and pork pies were shit otherwise it was a perfect sensory experience. Then I introduced Arrjaydub to another of the all-time greats - West Wing! So much television, so much food. Completely self-indulgent, lazy, luxurious few days.

Third all-time greatest television series.

Potts Point.

I am so confused by Potts Point! I like neat little descriptions for things so that I can easily sort in my head. Potts Point confuses the hell out of me. It is such a weird mix of just about everything. Gorgeous gourmet deli’s next door to a shop where you can buy a 12 inch dildo. Beautiful homewares stores half a block down from a sordid strip bar. And the people on the streets reflect this. Mostly it’s your standard Eastern Suburbs glamour-set with their fur collars, designer denim and giant sunglasses. But then around the corner you have the complete contrast of anorexic strippers and giant scary bouncers. I also smell the whiff of a methadone clinic. So confused.

Mark David Jones took me exploring yesterday, and of course we were exploring for food and drinks – it’s what we do best. Mr MDJ took me for my first experience of Fratelli Paradiso. I whinged my way through a 15minute wait for a table before we had a gorgeous, generous lunch of calamari, pasta and steak. The food was divine, so were our vodka’s and wine. We didn’t bat an eyelid at our Monday lunch bill before heading to Green Park Hotel for a quiet afternoon drink. Just a lovely, lovely afternoon. Thanks Mr MDJ.

Fratelli Paradiso

Monday Night.

Reality check. Some nights when Little Sammy and I go for our evening walk we pass the line-up of disadvantaged men and women who are waiting for the kind and compassionate people who deliver their evening meal. This is embarrassing to admit but I always have a brief moment where I check where my phone and wallet are. Normally there are about 30+ people lining up. Last night there were about 60-70, possibly more. We can walk around with blinkers on sometimes, claim ignorance and pretend not to see what un-nerves us; last night was different. It was a sobering wake-up call. At the risk of sounding patronising, it really broke my heart.

It has been so cold and so wet all weekend. Where have these guys been, how have they stayed warm? You can imagine after a weekend like that they would be aching for a hot meal. No wonder numbers were so high last night. No wonder there were so many men and women politely lined up with their possessions - first in, first served – for the chance at some comfort. I was feeling like a fat, lazy pig after a weekend of pure indulgence, excess and comfort. All while there were at least 70 men and women in my neighbourhood who were struggling to find any sort of comfort. Slap, huge reality check.

For all my whinging and moaning here at St. Murphy I am one of the incredibly lucky and fortunate ones who really has not a care in the world.

Signing up for volunteer work with Father Chris Riley's first thing today.

Father Chris Riley's Youth Off The Streets food van (Google Image pic)

Strangely not lonely being alone.

Pretty dumb headline now I think about it. What I’m trying to say is that even though I am now alone and spend a lot of time on my own, I’m liking that I don’t feel lonely. A couple of months ago I really thought that I would.

But of course that is too long for a headline.

It’s one of those realisations that just crept up and SLAP. I’m quietly pleased. When I first moved in to Man Pit in March it was the first time since ’98 that I had lived on my own. Also, it was the end of a 6 year relationship so of course I was nervous about how I would handle it. Now a few months in its time to reflect and analyse, see how what’s gone on with the benefit of hindsight. And I think my apartment tells the story…

I think for the first few weeks I was obsessive about my new place, Man Pit. Obsessive! Every detail. I went to Moore Park Supa Centre about 12 times, as well as heaps of other furniture places, as I fitted it out in a finely tuned dance of seek-assess-plan-compare-purchase. So happy with everything I got that I treated my new home like a museum. And rarely left it. For those first few weeks I was very busy keeping it pristine and getting to know myself within it. Seems a little bit psychotic now, but I guess getting to know Man Pit and my new stuff was like therapeutically getting to know my new bachelor-self.

I got to know the local area a little bit but on the whole I stayed within these four walls. Subsequently I developed a pizza and oven-food addiction. Then the pendulum swung completely the other way, it was a full 180 degree turn-around. I started to show off Man Pit to anyone who’d come over and I madly filled my diary. I wanted to be out & about and fabulously single. Booked in dinners, drinks and catch-ups so many nights. I’d got my confidence up and wanted to be a part of everything and anything. Now I had my new home sorted I could explore.

This lasted a while as I reconnected with the outside world. I stopped treating my home like a museum and it started to feel lived in. Dirty clothes piled up and dust gathered. Then without even realizing I slipped into the third and current phase. It’s home now! Man Pit feels lived in. I am so unbelievably comfortable here, with my own little routines, that I am actually completely contented. It can have shit everywhere, or be as clean as a whistle. I know the lights so well I change their effect depending on my mood. It’s a place that I can change the function of with a simple sliding of a door and depending what time of day it is. I love it. It has everything I want.

So in this current phase I’ve become a lazy, boring home-body. Given a choice I’ll always stay on my couch with my laptop and Foxtel remote, Little Sammy beside me. I’m especially bad on weeknights. Just realized I’ve spent every night at home this week. Weekends I’m a little more active but having said that I’m going into the long weekend with very little planned. Actually need to fix that so will get on the bat-phone. Still haven’t quite got the balance right obviously, even in phase three. Finding the right balance will be the goal of the upcoming fourth and I think possibly final phase.

To quote all great reality shows, it’s been a ‘journey’. Slowly getting my shit together. But very happy with where I am. The good news is that I am contented and happy to be on my own and living on my own. It’s not as scary as I thought it would be to be stuck in my own head so much. It’s been kinda cool actually. I’ve always known that ‘home’ is important to me, that I need an anchor. I need my stuff around me. Now I realise I’ve come to think of Man Pit as home.

Now if I can only get the balance right between home-body and society princess…

I love you purple nail polish! I love you Belvedere!

This story begins and ends with Belvedere Vodka. Why, because it’s the best. Fact!

I don’t know if I’ve shared this before but I love getting my nails done. It’s a real treat. It’s a special occasion thing that I like to do and always with a splash of colour. For events such as birthdays, Xmas parties, etc, I always have a manicure and theme the colour with my outfit. Is that the gayest thing you’ve ever heard? I hope so.

I have the divine Miss Melbourne staying at Man Pit this weekend and whenever she’s in town we pop ourselves off for mani/pedi’s cause that’s how the glamour-set role. We normally go to Lily’s but again today they couldn’t fit us in – and to think we made that place! – so instead we hit Deluxe Nails on Crown. Their chairs aren’t as comfy but they do have a quality OPI selection. And they do a decent nail.

This time I’ve decided on a vibrant purple as it’s my current ‘it’ colour. And I’d already planned my Saturday night wardrobe around it. Miss M has taught me that we only do OPI polish, it’s the best, and my shade of purple is called Can You Dig It?.  Oh yes I can, its heaven.

I did feel sorry for the poor woman when she whipped out the scraper-thing that cleans under your nails. Had a brief moment when I was shit scared what she’d find or what smell she’d trigger but no need for concern, my hygiene appears to be better than I’d suspected. The best part about a manicure is the hand massage. At Lily’s they go right up your arm but today I only got a token finger pull. Lucky I didn’t fart.

Now this is a very polished polish application! You can see my eagerness from fingertip to wrist. Purple is a truly brilliant colour and I swear it brings out the chocolate brown of my eyes. I’m practically a supermodel in purple nail polish. Such a shame it’s not more socially and professionally accepted for men to wear nail polish, such a shame. If it was I’d have a different colour every week. Instead I’ll be off to Coles for some nail polish remover later today so that I am back to my corporatish yuppie-wannabe self by Monday 9am to re-enter the work environment.

Miss Melbourne is very happy with her shellacking. And no it’s not the shellacking your dirty mind is thinking. It’s a new polish technique that lasts longer. Miss M has gone with a dramatic dark deep greyish colour. I’m calling it Midnight On A Winters Eclipse for the sake of this blog. Now I don’t want to alarm you but my purple obsession is getting a little ridiculous. Not long ago I found myself on a plane with purple shoes, purple watch and purple T’shirt. Look at my combination yesterday after Deluxe had worked there magic…

To celebrate our new nail colour we bought some of our favourite vodka, Belvedere, to toast our glamorousness! We are quite the vodka connoisseurs Miss M and I and there is no question that Belvedere is our best friend. Yes it may coast a little extra but the smoothness is so worth it. To say nothing of the fact it DOES NOT GIVE YOU A HANGOVER! That’s how smooth my dear Belvedere is. Worth every cent! Plus, we we're having people over last night and I wanted them to think I'm posh.

Nothing makes me happier than sipping Belvedere on the balcony of Man pit with its gorgeous city views and admiring my beautiful purple nail polish with Miss Melbourne beside me. Gay much?

I love you purple nail polish!

I love you Belvedere!

I've had me some Rogan Joshua at Man Pit!

What the hell is this???

Lucky Paulie said he was coming over to Man Pit to cook me dinner and he brought this! Now even I know you can’t put plastic in the oven. “Lucky Paulie what the hell were you thinking…” as I reached for my phone to dial the downstairs pizza place.

Turns out these are the ingredients in a Rogan Joshua. I thought Rogan Joshua just came in a bain marie at a cheap and easy Indian diner – Lucky Paulie assures you mix all of these in a pot and out comes some Joshua. Go figure!

You may know, I hate cooking. Hate it in the same way you hate planter warts. Since being at Man Pit and setting off the fire alarm in the first week I have relied solely on the generosity of friends, oven food and the pizza place downstairs. This is what has spurred Lucky Paulie into action – he saw my Sunday night Tweet of 5 empty pizza boxes. Now he wants to teach me to cook. He’s one of my oldest friends but I fear he may not know me at all.

“What do you know how to do?” Paulie asks. “Chop.” And that is literally all I know in the kitchen. I am subsequently in charge of onions. Paulie attends to the more delicate tasks of garlic and ginger.

Paulie asks “Do you have a garlic crusher?”

“No, why would I have one of those?

“Do you have a grater?”

“No. Again I ask, why would I need one of those?”

Seriously only the MasterChef Kitchen would have these surely? Why would an inner-city bachelor pad rented by someone who’s favourite chef is Colonel Sanders have them? I passed Paulie my only big knife and he improvised. He’s very clever Paulie, not just a pretty face who puts the news to air each night. Check it out – I think we did pretty darn good considering the ‘alleged’ limited resources of Man Pit.

Paulie looked very dashing in the Man Pit kitchen. He was throwing ingredients around like he was the Swedish chef on the Muppets. I was so confused as to what was what that I had to pour myself another vodka and check out Twitter. I was supporting him emotionally and spiritually. I did warn Paulie that I was considerably less interested in learning as he was in teaching.

Check out Little Sammy watching on... ADORABLE!

Man Pit hasn’t smelt this good since the first time I walked in the door just after the industrial cleaners had left. Little Sammy was beside himself, the smell of slow-cooked fresh food is completely foreign to him. Paulie didn’t even let me boil the rice. Told you he was clever! My contribution at this point was to set the timer on my iPhone so we knew when rice was ready. BINGO! Dinner is served!

You can see the joy on my face (and the jealousy on Sam's!).

And if you can look past the beautiful Rogan Joshua, yes I am wearing a headband, as I often do once I slip into my After-5’s at Man Pit.

Thank you Lucky Paulie for giving it your very best attempt to teach me a new skill. Thank you Lucky Paulie for recognizing that I possibly wasn’t eating a very balanced diet. But most of all thank you Lucky Paulie for serving up a Rogan Joshua that tasted even better than any take-away Indian Diner on Oxford St.

Love you!

Lucky Paulie

A night out in the Inner West has left me scarred!

Yesterday’s post is probably my all-time favourite, today’s is a dog's breakfast!

How can I go from such a high to such a low? Well in between these two posts was JoThornely’s 40^th Party and it has left me a shell of my former self.

But oh so much fun! Brilliant fun! Makes it all worth it (I think?). Including my new scar. But more about that later…

The night started with a world-first. Man Pit had its first actual man as a guest. A man’s man, a straight man. Mr and Mrs Woog came over for a pre-drink. Mr Woog is the absolute coolest straight man ever! Mrs Woog has done very well for herself landing that one. Had to bite my tongue though from asking him to carry out some manly tasks while at Man Pit like hanging some pictures and fixing the shower head. And as is the case whenever I have guests at Man Pit we ordered pizza’s – this time it was Pork Belly and Puttanesca. Slowly working my way through entire menu.

Mrs Woog enjoying The Bed of Man Pit 

So then we got out our passports and trekked all the way out to the Inner West for the par-tay!

It was just so lovely. Lovely to meet some of JoThornely’s friends who I’d heard so much about. So lovely to catch up with some workmates outside of the office. So lovely to finally meet Shellity. Strangely, JoThornely shares her birthday with her twin sister Shellity – go figure! So lovely to spend some time with the gorgeous MsCharlotteD and Arrjaydub, they 100% lead Mrs Woog and I astray. I’m sure they spiked our drinks with a Rohypnol or two.

MsCharlotteD and Mrs Woog

Now JoThornely and Shellity gave the most brilliant of 40^th Birthday speeches. It was genius. They did it together and because they are both absolute masters of the English language it was a beautifully constructed, hilarious poem. As you do. They are very clever ladies, the audience loved it. Congrats guys, made the night.

Strangely I have no photos of the birthday girl, well that was a bit of an oversight! Such a shame cause she looked SMOKIN’ HOT!!! Smokin’! So instead you get me and MsD…

It soon came to that messy point in the night where we had to either stumble to a new venue or beg and whore ourselves on the street for a cab. Mrs Woog’s advice is always to leave when you’re having fun and never change venues. She took her own advice and after swaying our way up the street we bundled her in a cab, hiccupping. I was then taken under the wing of MsCharlotteD and Arrjaydub for some fun and frivolity at the Inner West’s finest gay establishment, The Imperial!

For some reason I always feel tall, young and attractive whenever I go to the Impie. They definitely breed them smaller out that way. MsCharlotteD towered over 90% of patrons, Arrjaydub not so much. And now a sentence I think I’ve only ever used twice before in my life… The drag shows were really good! It also helped that we almost won the meat raffle but instead scored some free passes. It’s the small things in life that give the greatest joy.

Arrjaydub and MsD

Then there was a dramatic turn of events. As I stumbled my way to the bathroom I took a headfirst fall into the wall and splayed myself on the bathroom floor. So dramatic! Thank god no one saw cause it was mortifying enough without anyone seeing. And thank god I was suitably lubricated or I would have burst into tears. Cracked my head open and at first I thought I was going to die from blood loss. After much pressed toilet paper it calmed right down. Thank god for the life saving MsCharlotteD and Arrjaydub who escorted me from the building with toilet paper stuck to my head and ensured I arrived home safely. Can not thank you guys enough! Loves you!

Woke up this morning, and I can confirm my modeling carrer is over due to my new hairline scar and my sporting career is over cause my knee is swollen like a rockmelon. Don’t you just love drunken injuries.

So to make myself feel better I ordered all this and layed on the couch for the ENTIRE day.

I love you Pizza Hut!

Thank you JoThornely, you are the hottest 40yo on the planet! Could bounce a coin on your arse and those guns rival Schwarzenegger.

Mid-Life Crisis hits early!

You may find what I'm about to say shocking and disturbing.

I’ve got a horrible, horrible feeling that I am in the early stages of a mid-life crisis. I don’t want to prematurely inflame the situation but I really get the sense I am only a few years off the stereotypically tragic midlife crisis with all the clichéd trappings.

Now we’ve all mocked and laughed at celebs who’ve so obviously gone through it, and we’ve whispered and gossiped about our friend’s dads and workmates who go all MLC. I’ve enjoyed this as much as anyone. But now I think I get it, I understand it, and this is not something to be laughed at. It is a deep-seeded, psychological issue that I can’t seem to control.

Classic MLC

Let me take you through a few of the early warning signs that I am currently experiencing…

Now that I’ve grown my hair into a quiff that resembles Andrew McCarthy in the 80’s I am desperate to get some frosted tips! I would just kill for some beautiful honey highlights. Even if it was just through my newly acquired floppy fringe. Now I know that a man of a certain age should never ever get foils, but that doesn’t change the fact that I really, really want to.

Fabio I adore your frosted tips.

I’ve started dancing again! I actually believe I’m a real groover on the dance floor – I’ve got my mojo back. I haven’t danced, like in a nightclub, for years and of late I am literally pushing people off the podium. Just this weekend I was whipping out some of my very best moves. The harsh reality is they look more like a Young Talent Time performance than booty shakin’ the young folk are bustin’ out. I think at one point I even did a grapevine. The moment I do the ‘wave’ I will be kicked out for sure. My MLC has made me think I am a young hip, cool kid who can boogie-woogie.

Disco dancing like its YTT at The Beat

Speaking of going out… I am playing in bars and clubs like I am 19 again. And what I mean by that is that I have been going to bars that serve drinks in plastic cups rather than a gorgeous crystal martini glasses. Their fridges are stacked with Bacardi Breezers and not boutique beers. This is just goddamn inappropriate for a man of my age. And the fundamental difference is that when I was a young fella I used to laugh at the seedy old men standing at the bar with their floppy, frosted tipped fringes  - now I am that man! It kills me to think that now I am being laughed at, especially without even delivering a pithy one-liner.

My next car will be a convertible, I guarantee you that. I have never been a car person, ever! I only just learnt how to put oil in the one I have. But I am completed fixated on having a convertible by my 40^th. And I have no idea why. I just really, really want one. A BMW 1 series, Audi A3 or a Volkswagen Eos (in that order, depending on budget). I reckon I’d even be one of those losers who drives across the Harbour Bridge on an overcast winter’s day with the top down wearing Ferrari aviator shades. You know exactly the man I am talking about. Wonder who will finance me? Is there a fund somewhere for MLC men that I can access???

I love you!

I’m loving my personal trainer. Now I could try and kid myself and say that I am getting up at sparrow’s fart a couple of mornings a week so that I can stay fit and healthy and live a better life. NO WAY!!! This would be a blatant lie. I do it because I am incredibly vain and have a massive ego. I wanna be thin and have muscles, a body that looks good in swimmers and shirtless on a podium (such an MLC thing to say!). I want a body that is more Olympic swimmer than marshmallow man. Progress is slow on this front, primarily because of the aforementioned bar-hopping.

I’ve realised that in my mad frenzy to furnish Man Pit with butch, masculine furniture that I’ve actually gone quite porn star. I’ve got a black leather arm chair at its very heart. Now that would never have been part of my décor before my early on-set MLC. I have lots of heavy dark wood furniture with silver accessories. I also have a giant mirror above my bed. There was a practical reason for this – it’s this huge gold ornate mirror that is too heavy to hang but sits beautiful on the ledge behind my bed. But now I am wondering if it was my subliminal MLC that lead me to placing it there. Man Pit has the strong hint of ‘aging porn star’.

And finally, and this will be no surprise to anyone who knows me, I dress far too young for my age. Skinny jeans with a baggy arse do not work on portly middle-aged men with a saggy arse. Low cut V t’shirts exposing grey chest hair should be binned. Purple accessories, such as shoes and watches, are far to try-hard on a 38yo, especially when worn in combination. Hair bands look good on funky 22yo’s, not semi-professionals. St. Murphy, do not buy clothes from the Zara Youth collection! My MLC is preventing me from realising I can not buy the same clothes I did when I was 24, and that at some stage I need to ‘mature’ my wardrobe.

Hot on him, not so good on me...

Yes, yes, I admit, you’ve caught me on a bad day. While I do not 100% believe it is in fact a mid-life crisis I am going through, I was more than slightly alarmed when I started thinking about this list. It actually started to make me think there is more truth in it than I originally thought. I am on high alert now for further signs. If I start dating a 21 year old or buy tickets to a Short Stack concert you all have permission to slap me. If you see me wearing gold jewellery, especially an earring, or I ask you to come with me to Home Nightclub you can cull me without question.

Let me assure though I will do my very best not to become a clichéd MLC. I want you laughing at my witty story-telling not my frosted tips.

Just stick it in the oven!

So have you ever noticed how bad habits can grip you very quickly?

Happens to me all the time!

The latest bad habit to take control at Man Pit is OVEN FOOD! Oven food of any high-caloried description, as long as all I have to do is stick it in and set a timer.

My oven has an angelic glow!

Some back-story first! For the past six years my delightful partner Aschapelle (artist formerly known as Boyfriend than exBoyfriend now Aschapelle) did all the cooking of the evening meals. Now I am living in the city’s most glamorous of bachelor pads, Man Pit, I am having to fend for myself. It ain’t going so well. I hate cooking, I have no skill at it, and I certainly have no flair for it. Colonel Sanders is my all-time favourite chef. That says it all really.

Also, the first time I cooked at Man Pit I embarrassingly set off the fire alarm. It's left me scared to use the fry pan. So much safer to stick things in the oven.  So simple – set the temp, set the timer on the iPhone – dinner is ready! Let me take you through a few of my favourite things, or 80% of my evening meals this past few months…

My personal favourite is the Sargent’s Angus Beef pies – the absolute best $4 you can ever spend.

Second most regular go-to item in my freezer is the Birdseye fish fillets which I have loved for a very, very long time. Especially the herb & garlic.

A recent addition to my scintillating oven repertoire is the mini Chicken Kiev’s, so much joy in such a little bundle.

And the piece–de-resistance is my Party favourite – the Puffy Dogs! Mini frankfurters wrapped in pastry. Delightful!

But after a lovely, lovely dinner with a group of friends this week I’ve learnt the error of my ways. Apparently it is quite easy to cook healthy, easy meals for one – who would’ve thought! Julie McCoy was particularly helpful, she is a genius in many capacities. She gave me two brilliant recipes. One is a simple as mixed salad greens, olive oil, lemon juice, salt and pepper. Even I can’t go wrong with that surely. So I gave it a shot, judge for yourself…

The bowl of fruit is purely decorative.

I even tossed it with my own hands. An absolute first for me!

And yes, I did the steak under the grill cause I am still too scared to use the fry pan. Hey, you don’t become Jamie Oliver overnight. Working myself up to that.

Little Sammy likes to watch me eat steak.

But I’m feeling just a little proud tonight that I’ve at least mastered a salad – it was DELICIOUS! That’s a big step forward for me and huge inroads to Bachelorhood.

This is certainly going to make more room in my freezer for vodka and ice-cream.

Special thank you to my all-time favourite travel agent Julie McCoy for sharing her knowledge of food!

Blonde Bombshell Has Sleep-Over At Man Pit!

So I’ve been at Man Pit just over a month now – loving it! The best news was about two weeks ago when I finally got permission for my oldest (but smallest) son, Sam, to come live with me. He has taken to Man Pit like a lifeguard to Speedo's. The two of us are very happy.

As exciting as it is to have one of my sons come and live with me, my other son, the blonde bombshell Jackson, stayed with his biological Daddy in the far south suburbs. We don’t get to see him very often, he’s got his paws full keeping Aschapelle (artist formerly know as exBoyfriend) on the straight and narrow.

But last night we had a house-guest! Sammy and I were so excited, well, me a lot more so than Sam. Jackson was coming to the inner-city for a sleep-over and it was Jackson’s first visit to Man Pit.

After doing a frantic lap of the carpark I finally coaxed him into the elevator. He then went nuts in the corridor and did a quick reverse-catwalk up to Man Pit. Upon entry it was like he was on some bad speed at a rave. CRAZY!!! Sniffing everything, manicly running from one corner to another, getting the lay of the land. All the time with Little Sammy chasing him just a few steps behind (Sam has always had trouble keeping up, he’s got short legs just like Daddy-St.Murphy).

Jackson quickly found his old favourite spot - my bed! I’m sure that’s because he could smell me there, well so my maternal instinct tells me.

So eventually to calm them both down I whipped out some My Dog. Both sons are dirty pigs when it comes to their food – no chance either of them will ever have an eating disorder – just like their dads! How cute are they munching down together at Man Pit.

Then it came to lounge time. Now Jackson is incredibly territorial and has always growled if Sam has been presumptuous enough to try for some love from Daddy-St.Murphy. Nothing has changed since we’d all last been together, even though this is Sammy’s home. Jackson got the lounge and Sammy got the floor.

Took some convincing but finally got them both up on the lounge so that we could all be contented together – Sam and Jackson watching some Law & Order SVU’s while I tapped-tapped-tapped away on this ol’ blog.

I love Man Pit but jeez I don’t know if its gonna be big enough for the three of us! Especially when Jackson dribbles on my new cushions like this...

Very, very happy my little family is back together, very happy indeed!