Living in Brisbane during The Ashes is an experience you would be glad to miss. There is a reason for this... well, a few thousand reasons actually, who collectively go by the name of The Barmy Army. Cue the mental imagery of masses of loud British men, singing incomprehensible songs at the same time as guzzling beer, grabbing girls' arses, slobbering, tripping, falling, and acting like absolute tits in general.

John is trying his best to cover up his British accent, and it amuses me no end. The most recent incident to make me giggle:

[In a pub just after lunch for a Booze Break, mid-shopping.]

John: I'll have a pint of cider. Oh, and a glass of water.

[John has been on a health kick lately and is drinking so much water that I suspect he is solely responsible for the Level Four Water Restrictions.]

Randoms at the bar: WOAH! WA-HAY! Water, 'ey?! The Pom's PISSED already! HAWHAWHAWHAW!

He looked sheepish, took his drinks and left. I mean, what sort of comeback can he give? "Actually, I don't even like cricket that much. So there."

We have been gallavanting about the city today thanks to a handy-dandy Myer sale voucher which offers massive discounts on just about everything (thanks to my best mate). And, quite typically, I could not find one thing that I wanted to buy. I managed to get a strapless bra that fits me properly, which I have been meaning to get for ages, but which is largely useless because my ridiculous tan means that I look like I have straps regardless of what I'm wearing.

John, on the other hand, strolled up to me looking very pleased with himself and informed me that he had purchased NINE Christmas presents. Punk! With my encouragement, he bought a new business shirt and HELLO. Boys in tailored business shirts who smell nice could in fact be the best boys in the world.

I hope your weekend was mucho enjoyable, lovely people.