Abra Cadabra Alakazam! DeT is BAAAAAACK! Snacktastic!

Good news! I'm back.

Bad news...I've forgotten how to blog.

So how are we all? Getting laid? Enjoying new perfumes? 
Watching My Family? Actually, on that note who currently has my My Family DVDs??

Carlo?
Antipop?

Uganda is lovely but I want to go shopping at David Jones!!
I want a Vogue subscription.
And sushi!

AND! Good pavement so I don't ruin my heels. Where's the pavement?
I wore my heels once and they got all dirty. *sniffles*
Shoes aren't meant to get dirty! Dear God! Never again!
They shall be resigned to my closet until M7 either paves the roads or hell freezes over.

Now, story time, I'm supposed to write something interesting if I remember right...which I probably don't.
I'm pretty sure blog posts aren't just supposed to be whinging about pavement.

Last month the Landlady's fifteen year old relative of some sort came-a-knocking.
It went something like this:

DeT: Hello.
Boy: Hello.
DeT: (wising he'd bugger off).
Boy: Do you want to be saved by Jesus.
DeT: (didn't realise I needed saving, I'm not on death row, no need to go around petitioning Jesus to save me) Erm...
Boy: What country are you from?
DeT: Australia.
Boy: What religion is Australia?
DeT: (avoids giving Boy long lecture on Australia's immigration and religious standing) Muslim (lying through teeth).
Boy: (completely falls for it)
DeT: But actually I'm Catholic (still lying through teeth, most likely Protestant if was anything, CoE.)
Boy: You want Jesus to save your soul so you can go to Heaven! Yes?
DeT: (Of course not, are you completely insane?!?!?! I'm not going to Heaven if you're going to be there!!!!) Erm...possibly.
Boy: (frowns) Possibly?
DeT: (shrugs)
Boy: Can I pray for you?
DeT: (Not one to turn down a free prayer for self) Sure, if it makes you happy.
Boy: (waltzes into house, places hands either side of my head) You have to close your eyes.
DeT: (closes eyes)
Boy: (prays very loudly in Luganda and clicking his fingers next to my ear every few seconds)
DeT: (opens eyes slightly)
Boy: (prays loudly)
DeT: (watches boy, shoulders start shaking, tries not to giggle)
Boy: (opens eyes, pauses) You have to keep your eyes closed.
DeT: (closes eyes, though Boy shouldn't have had his eyes open to notice my eyes open. Bad Boy)
Boy: (finishes prayer) Sorry for not praying in English.
DeT: No problem. I can't pray in Russian.
Boy: (stares, looks confused) Tonight you will have a dream and Jesus will come to you and he will tell you how to solve all your problems.
DeT: (bites lip, nods with serious expression)
Boy: Write down your dream and I'll come back and help you understand it.
DeT: (nods) Yes, absolutely! Thank you. Great praying.
Boy: (nods, smiles) I'll see you soon, bye. (buggers off)

I did have a dream.
My dead cat Fluffy was at the Fairfield RSPCA and my Mum found her there and brought her home.
Which I think means that Jesus is trying to contact me to say he's been born again and is trapped as a cat in a pound.

Bummer.