Go ahead. Take a look. This is one of those things that you really need to see for yourself. (It should open in a new window.) I'll just wait here, so take your time.

***

See what I mean?

Of course, I'm not sure where I'd put it, as it appears to be half the size of my entire apartment, and my miniature balcony is certainly not up to the task. Up on the roof, maybe? There's lots of space up there no one's using. Of course, you'd have to be very careful staggering home from the "pub."

I'll work something out, though. Trust me.

One quibble: check out those Brand Name Mirrors. You appear to have your choice of (1) Jameson (very good), and (2) Budweiser. Budweiser?!? That stuff is barely beer, and hardly a logo to grace the walls of any proud drinking establishment. I trust their full selection is broader than that. Must cater to the discerning backyard pub owner if you want to get anywhere, and so forth.

Someday, someday. I'll have one, eventually. There's one out there, I know, with my name written all over it.

Or at least one of those twee pub names from their extensive list.

Elvis is back home, and he returned bearing gifts of port.

I know what you're thinking: what else would he bring back from Portugal?

Good question, but I should point out that they went to a Belgian restaurant on Sunday night. For all I know, he could have strolled through that door with a case of kriek or a beret or something. That's all I'm saying.

It's lovely port, in any case. One bottle of 30 year old, which I know will be good, and a bottle of 20 that we sampled last night. Not bad at all. A bit too raisiny, perhaps, but I was finishing up the last of that Sasella when he came in, and after all that tannin, anything is bound to taste a bit sweet.

Calliope was excited. She went to Elvis for lots of petting and a bit of playing, then hopped up on my lap and stretched out for a nap, purring like crazy.

I think she blamed me for his being gone. She probably thought I sent him off to the vet or the kitty hotel or something. When they come to take her to the pensione on Friday, I think I'll let Elvis wrestle her into her carrier. Let him take the blame for a change.

So far, I've had a day brim-filled with commotion.

The bald guy who has the apartment directly below ours showed up at 7:30 this morning, pissed as hell. I wasn't dressed yet. Elvis was, but he can't speak much Italian. So I ended up conversing with him through the door.

Turns out that the Three Plumbers thought it would be a terrific idea to just hang the output tube from the air conditioner off the edge of the balcony. Didn't even tack it to anything or, say, take a look down before letting it dangle there.

So it's been dripping onto this poor guy's patio furniture and so forth. And occasionally on his head, if it's been windy or something and he decides to step out for a breath of air.

When I say he's bald, by the way, banish all thoughts of "male pattern" from your mind. This guy is bald in the sense of "My, that's a lot of skin you've got on your skull, there." It's a high-maintenence type of bald.

Can't say I blame him for being peeved.

So we found a bucket and shoved the end of the hose into it. Now I get to empty it everyday.

Yay me.

Then, it was rush rush through the shower, as I was running late by that time. Flew by the copier place to make copies for the newsletter, then off to the BV meeting. Found Angie and Martha downstairs, shoved the newsletters and some sign-ups I'd made at them, and took off.

I knew if I went upstairs to drop them off, I would never be able to unhook myself from the claws of Our Benevolent Dictator, so I lucked out there. I had plans, you see, and attending the bulk of the meeting just didn't figure into them. Not at all.

I went to yoga instead. No more wimpy sense of misguided responsibility for me. Last month cured me.

And boy did I need the yoga by that point.

Afterwards, I swung back by the BV meeting, which was blessedly over. In fact, I arrived just in time to go to lunch.

I had the sushi boat. Yum. That puppy is huge, too.

Now I'm just waiting for the locksmith. He was supposed to come yesterday, but called and said that he'd been tied up and he would call me this afternoon instead. He did call half an hour before he was actually supposed to show up, which is unheard of in this fair land, so I wasn't too upset.

If he doesn't call by four-thirty or so, I'm going out and pounding the streets until I find one. I really don't have time for this, considering all the other things I need to do to get ready for our trip. Yes, many of them are my own fault for letting them slide, but still... I am in no way to blame for the whole BastardPlumberWithTheKeys scenario.

I just want this whole Plumbing Hell to be over with.

That's the thing with Hell, though.

No escape.