The gang caught up Sunday night at the Balaclava Hotel. What a weird collection of folk. Our oldest friends were there, that is the Box Hill bitches, our dyke friend and her newest (we are used to her newest, whoever they are) friend, along with her 17 year old nephew from Lonnie in Tassie. Dame M and her boarder were there. The Brighton antique dealer was there with her toy boy.
The boarder had been conducting interviews that day and referred to some as just rooters. Rooters, rooting, roots became the words of the night and were slipped into conversations at every opportunity. Vulgar lot we are.
The Brighton antique dealer has been busy with her ink, quill and abacus and has compared her outgoings on her shop/house to how much money she would have if she sold up and has calculated that she can live in the Grand Hyatt until she is 92. Her little yappers won't last forever I guess.