legoGive a man a fish, and he’ll have a good dinner for the day, but give a man a huge carton of Lego and all pretence of maturity and adulthood flies out of the window. Particularly if the dogs are playful and steal bits and carry them under the sofa.

Mark found a huge box of his old Lego in the garage today, brought that box into the house, and dumped the contents onto the lounge carpet – after which he started to build.

There must be thousands of pieces. He looks so adorable when he sits there hunched over strange creations, and he keeps blowing the fringe out of his eyes and looks so focused and concentrated. But he’s definitely picking up every piece, or I’ll vacuum them up. 🙂


Stephen brought over The New Girl today, before Mark’s discovery of the Lego, so now we’ve met her. Big boobs, vacant look, and dedicated gum-chewer. She wanted to talk about Lady Gaga with us gay boys. Since we’re gay, we’re obviously into Gaga, because we’re born that way. Right?

One of these days Stephen will hopefully find a nice, bright, and compatible girl. But look at me judging my friends’ girlfriends. I am happy if he’s happy. But he doesn’t read this blog so I can be as shallow as I want. Right?

I humiliated Stephen in any case, and I am the champion of BF3. Fear me. The girl did gather Stephen into her ample bosom for an icky display of heteronormativity, and I still have to wash out possible stains so that it doesn’t spread.


In a week we’ll celebrate one month in this house. In that month I’ve come to love it, because it has so much space. There’s two bedrooms, a lounge, a kitchen, and a room downstairs next to the flat. That’s where Mark keeps his brewing.

But even though we now have an office, I still have to gruff about Mark doing everything on the lounge table. In my former flat, we got him a desk and everything, but he still spread out on the lounge table when he did his homework. It doesn’t look like he’ll change his ways now that we have a whole office for that.

Even though it’s three weeks since she moved in, our tenant hasn’t really talked much to us. We’ve exchanged pleasantries, and quietly shut the blinds when she’s out in the garden to catch some sun. A woman in a bathing suit in our garden… the horror.

Not that this sight is a danger these days, of course. So, one month in, we’re terribly domesticated and proper house “owners”. We even have a schedule to take care of the garden.