Daily Log

Morning dark, I woke to my own clock, as usual whenever it felt like rousing me. My mind again was me and its full arsenal was back under my control. I rose to my laptop to write.
Emails sent, with approval of the best-friend-firewall, I set about making breakfast. Our goal was to pack and reach Hobart. We made a bet on the number of messages we would have and who would have most. I said he would win with ten. He said I would win with many. I suck at gambling; my phone went off like a psychotic cricket and stopped at 28. I listened to my messages at length and replied to the family.
Messages done, we made the hotel by eleven. Our plan had been to consider a tourist spot, but instead the former fat boys decided on lunch. Having missed out on Morilla the last trip, due to renovations, I suggested we try it. Low and behold, when we arrived, our plans to avoid tourist attractions had been foiled thanks to the new museum on site. The grounds bustled with people, buzzing and snapping like a blowfly cloud. Fortunately for us, the restaurant seemed to be the least on their mind; the wall containing 300 vagina casts was too much for their leering snouts to resist.
Lunch was spectacular. I ventured away from my diet for the first time; just to say thanks again to best friend. My diet needs have hit him hard this holiday. Our joint dining experiences have always been a core element to our friendship. But this too shall pass and we will be back in full form again before long. With food in our bellies, mine a touch unsettled, we made for the vagina wall... Can't say I'll ever understand what anybody sees in those things.
The museum was astounding. Shear walls of rock. Waterfalls writing words through the air. Da Vinci cranes spinning lights. Matrix style tv walls of revolting things, and multiple people singing badly. Wild things and exhibits of all intrigue and wonder. Like a carnival of beauty and horror and sex and shame. I was enwrapped. The dark and light of my imagination had been brought to life. I scrambled through rooms and levels like a three-year-old boy; happy and grossed-out all at once. It was wondrous. There was even a 1000 page hard cover copy of Tom of Finland for sale (rrp $449), but alas, now only one man is incendiary to me, so I left it, and reviewed the pictures in my phone.
Museum ventured and feeling thoroughly violated, we left for the hotel. Once again spending an entire afternoon on nothing. Quite wonderful a bath and a bit of robe time.
Salamanca proved itself the match of any town in the world. Hidden away from the freezing wind, we laughed, drank, ate steak, and revelled in the glorious fragrance of mulled wine. The truth of the blessings in my life were on full display. Thank-full can't even begin to describe the song from my soul.