Weekends are often good. Like it's said of pizza and sex, even when it's not great, it's is still not bad (bonus if you get pizza AND sex during your weekend, I guess).

This weekend was a good weekend. Not for anything spectacular or special - although Willo's brother Ian is visiting and that's always nice - but we're not doing anything different, or anything extraordinary. Just hanging out and watching movies, spackling plaster and makin' websites: it's just, good, ordinary, everyday stuff.

Right now I'm at home on my own, bodging together a website for the Newstead Swap Meet, while the boys are out fanging around in country Victoria. The dog is asleep at my left elbow. He smells like he's rolled in three dead things recently. My bare feet are plying the rustic shag rug that keep the cool of the slate floor tiles at bay. John Siricusa is knit-picking his way through the Steve Jobs' biography on my iTunes as I catch up on my favourite 5by5 podcasts.

How's that for a sanctified, certified, glorious Michelle Sunday afternoon? I'm pretty happy with it.

Hope yours was good to you, too.