People sometimes ask me if everything I write on this blog is true.
A fiction writer I may be, but I just don't have the capacity to make this crap up.
Take today for example. Its been an extremely pleasant day. I spent a lot of it having coffee with friends and ambling around Chatswood Chase. Most days I'm at home doing the housework (do you hear that hysterical laughing, yes? that's my husband), writing and discussing life with the chooks. But today I had a day-off, and got out amongst it.
Blogging wise there wasn't much to report; no dramas, no loss of dignity (yes, actually, I do have some left), no cause for Capital Letters.
Until (and OH, you knew that was coming) it was time to pick up the kids.
You see, I'd just parked in a quiet cul-de-sac deep in the heart of North Shore suburbia, and ALL OF A SUDDEN I nearly ran over a goat.
But there I was, sitting in the car and a man wanders past with the biggest, most snowy white goat I've ever seen. He didn't have it on a lead or anything, and if it decided to dawdle or wander off in the wrong direction, he'd grab one of its horns and gently urge it along.
Goats. I ask you.
In other exciting news, check out the salad we had for dinner.
Just had to have a boast.