Scrolls

The workshop output. All those post-its placed along the timeline, now going to be written up and passed off as all my own work at some point. Later on, out to see mum and slap some yacht varnish on the floor panels of the cockpit before jumping on the bus straight to the Diggers. The beer flowed. The drinkers frothed. And at the end, we five who were left caught a cab back to our homesteads, as poor old Mr M is still on his crutches. This meant getting the cab right to his door. And leaving the cab, this obviously led to an invite to come indoors and continue socialising. And at some point I realised none of my fellow socialites had work in the morning. But I had. Gagh!