I’m on the Gold Coast this weekend. Last weekend it was Brisbane, the weekend before my sister’s house out of town. It’s always nice to have something a wee bit exciting to do on weekends. It breaks up the monotony of the whole wake up, go to work, finish work, go to the gym, go home and sleep thing. Did you know it takes 3 hours to get from my house to the Gold Coast. That’s not so bad I suppose, but it’s a long boring drive. Looooong and boring. Trust me.

Especially when you get a speeding ticket 20 minutes from home and have to vigilantly use the cruise control from here on out. Which may or may not have happened to me. Those who know me know it absolutely happened to me. I like to drive. Fast mostly. Not in the crazy hoon way but in the fastest possible way without being a danger to society. {Some people would say that’s every km over, I’m less inclined to believe such things}.

Have car, will travel. That’s me.

It is, after all, a pretty darn hot car.

Even the cop who booked me today said so. He had lots of questions. So many questions that it peaked the hope receptacle in my itty bitty hope center that this little lady might maybe, just maybe be let off the ticket. You know, because he was a fan and all. It turns out my hopes were to be dashed and a ticket was mine. By the way, I said as he went to leave, your bike needs a service it sounds terrible. I said it with conviction, like I knew but I didn’t. It was just a little dig at him and his stupid ticket AND the bike did sound a little weird.

And that’s about it. It’s late and I’m hanging around waiting to see if my nephew Ashton is going to wake up to be fed. I’m babysitting tonight you see. In the second of two amazing homes I’ve had the pleasure to be invited into over the past two weeks. And nothing makes me happier than a beautiful home. I am after all a real estate brat. But that, my friends, is a story for another day.