I don't think I've ever worked as hard as I'm working right now.

Well. Not right now, since right now I'm clearly procrastinating by writing about how hard I'm working instead of actually working hard. But whatever, I never claimed to tell the truth. Nor am I complaining. In fact, there's something inherently satisfying about working this hard, even though some of that work exists for the sole purpose of letting me have high tea with my two most favourite ladies on a Saturday afternoon.

You pay a price though, and I'm paying it right now. Sitting here, delirious on paracetamol and hot totties, swaying to The Smiths (who are growing on me) like a seventy year-old ex-motivational speaker who lost his hearing in his sixties and his sense of decorum not long after.

So Scott and I went to a wee place (this is my attempt to cutesy it up because I've totally forgotten what it was called) just out of Te Puke for his sister's wedding last weekend. We stayed on his uncle's farm, which boasted a lot of cows. This made a lot of sense, actually, because his uncle farms cows. I took some photos of the cows. I was pretty pleased. The cows seemed suitably unimpressed.
Shona's wedding was on the beach and it was beautiful.
I kept getting in the professional photographer's way, and though he was the jolly type I felt a little uncomfortable about trying to elbow my way into the whole 'taking photos' scene so I hid the camera back at the farm, where it didn't emerge again until two am that night when I couldn't find a light and blundered around taking photos so that I could use the flash to find my things.


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