A Storage Binning We Will Go.

Julian was scrolling through the storage bins on offer at this particular web site and not coming up with anything suitable. She didn't need a 36" wide all-welded storage bin cabinet which provided endless possibilities in securely storing her valuable parts.
This put her in mind of an email that came to Mac of MacJewelleryStudio from an ex-girlfriend of the owner and manager. She had come across the web page and been pretty excited to find him again after all these years. She had loved and adored him, but he had been a touch stand offish. He wasn't ready for marriage or children, but didn't mind being looked after and given a bed in her flat. Many years later, he had lost his brother, who was going to be the propagator of the family, he thought, and thought that perhaps a kid wouldn't be so bad. He bumped into a terribly psychotic, controlling and emotionally manipulative woman who suggested that they had a son. She got him at a time of his life when he was low. He agreed and the boy was born, which is a whole other story.
Meanwhile, this sexy, ex-loving, ex-girlfriend had sent an email about a ring that he had made for her many years ago. Art couldn't quite understand so sent back a reply along the lines of 'oh, that's nice, how can I help you'. She replied rather quickly that surely he could remember her and her parts.
Julian was actually looking for a storage bin for her rather beautiful horse rugs. she didn't need shelving and she didn't need to pay quite so much. They would suit mechanics who had valuable parts that needed shelving, but she would have to look elsewhere.

Mudbilly is Back!

Mudbilly had popped out to buy some cheese and Moroccan spices. She left Sydney International Airport in fine form, with just a little bit of her bum hanging out of a largish hole in her jeans, after munching on Yum Cha in the well known Chinese in Chinatown. She was heading for Dublin, which wasn't particularly famous for its cheese, but she liked the accents and she had the long, red hair and ringlets which meant that she could walk amongst the inhabitants anonymously. She thought wrong. It wasn't long after she arrived that some cheeky little boys bopped her on the head with a two by four and threw a number of oldish eggs at her. Somewhat taken aback, she shook her curls and walked defiantly on as they ran away. She would have held one down and had a good talking to him, but he was quick on his feet and fast with his fists, as the Irish are known to be from a young age. It comes from poverty, cold and not quite enough to eat.
Mudbilly was a little disappointed in Ireland, and yet, she now knew that the Industrial Age had taken over the world and there was going to be similarities in cities all over the world. She vowed to go further afield.
First, she had some people to see. Others, who had also disappeared over the horizon in search of cheeses and spices. Ibrahim Itzac in London, the Gumtree Whizz. Lovely had nodded sagely and told all and sundry how big Gumtree was. Ibrahim welcomed Mudbilly with open arms and showed her London. They drank beer from plastic cups as they walked over London Bridges.
"That's the Thames," she said, proudly, displaying wonderful photographs later to his mother.
"Tems," said the mother.
"Oh." said Mudbilly. Now she knew.
Clothilde was another person on her list. Paris. They kicked up their heels, and Clothilde laughed and smiled like she hadn't for years. Clothilde loved Mudbilly. They ate snails and gathered lavender and drank French wine.
Mudbilly finished her exploration of the world in Morocco on a slightly miserable note. Some foods that hadn't agreed with her left her body with alacrity, without even digesting first, in liquid form. There was a slight problem of being on a train without water at the time. She understood persecution. She met a handsome, striking man who tamed cobras, whose entire family had died of snake bite and he was the last one. He looked into the camera with defiance.
Mudbilly had also met a man on a train in her travels who had pointed to a scripture about modesty and so she vowed that she would shave her legs as soon as she got home. Her mum would help her. Gone would be her lovely red hairs, but she would do anything not to bring reproach on the name.
The took her Moroccan spices from her in customs and she returned empty handed to her brother, Cheese.
"I don't even like cheese," he said. He didn't care. He was going to Viet Nam at the end of the year, and was about to play in the Grand Final. Life was good, and cheese wasn't necessary.

Two Soft Chairs To Be Sat On.

Rose was writing to her new husband who was in jail. She was just 16 years old and was looking after a couple of his kids, as well as expecting one herself. She had a revelation during the writing and said as much. We are people, she declared, not two soft chairs to be sat on. Meanwhile, Julian was composing a letter of her own. She was writing to Mary Hitler about her doings. Mary, she said, life is still fast and furious. Where do I begin, and how do I tell you these things in a surreptitious, lovely, goodness sort of way, without insult or injury? There was too much to tell and to little time to tell it.
There was Ross from Melbourne, and Skirty from Eltona, and the Italian from Darwin, all who come to the meeting with her. There was yum cha and jungle curry and good wine. There was Roger, who had opened the automatic sliding imposing gates after a single buzz on the intercom and told her that he knew the answer to the question, 'Is God responsible for natural disasters', and no, he wasn't. He meekly looked at Deuteronomy 32:4 and took the magazines. Julian handed him over to Sunset, the sister she was working with at the time because it wasn't her territory. Everyone had stories. She listened and listened and finally holed up in room A and decided not even to come out for breakfast.
She had a raw chocolate recipe under her belt to die for. No one would know the difference. And the raw pie crust with banana ice cream was incredibly delicious. She was in for a three day fast and some things just couldn't be spoken.
Experiences in the big, wide world had been interesting, such as shopping for USB at Pacific Fair in Southport on the Gold Coast. Nearby was one of the best Vietnamese restaurants that she had ever come across. She had eaten there with Mary and Edgar in the not too distant past, but they hadn't been particularly impressed. Edgar had ordered a similiar sounding Chinese meal and there had been a bit of a mix up, but, overall, he didn't think that he would go back. Julian had been most appreciative of the meal and had been back twice since then, once with Misty Pink and once alone with her new USB. She had also been ripped off by a lovely, chatty girl at a ritzy hair dressers who had tried to pull the wool over her eyes. Julian came out of the shop feeling dirty and done over and vowing never to go back. She contemplated writing them a letter about return business that they weren't going to get but couldn't be bothered.
These were the last days, after all, and there was a work to be done. As soon as she had got Thailand and Europe out of the way, she was going to knuckle down, she swore it.