PUTTING YOUR C*#K ON THE BLOCK. METAPHORICALLY SPEAKING OF COURSE.

My ghetto bandage, because at $140,
he didn't even offer me a bandaid.

I am typing with a slightly gammy thumb, because I just had an injection in it because I have trigger thumb.

From all the pistols I shoot.

That is honestly what the doctor called it.

Apparently a lot of new mums get it from picking up their children 9000 times a day.

Why wouldn’t you call it new-mum thumb then?

In unrelated news, it’s a day of angsty nerves, worrying and decision tossing here at team Llewellyn/Hart.

We walk through the restaurant space again today with the builder and planning consultant, which is exciting and making it seem real, but we’re also continually trying to shave costs from our friendly little opening budget and that is not exciting but still making it seem real.

Let’s face it.

Starting a small business is always going to be a risk.

At some point the trigger thumb doctor opened his own practice. (Still, at $140 every 15 minutes I’d say he’s doing ok).

The architect we’re planning to use, she’s in small business too.

So is the wine dude, the builder, the coffee supplier, the plumber, the butcher, the baker and the candlestick maker.

They all made the decision to go out on their own.

And thus far, they’ve all survived to tell the tale.

So what’s got us all nervy?

All this talk of a second GFC that’s what.

Will it hit?

Will it miss?

Will Australia cruise through like last time or will people stop their discretionary spending and eat bread and dripping instead?

I dunno, but at some point, as one brother says, you’ve just got to put your cock on the block.

(He’s known around town for his rhetoric and grandiloquence).

So, metaphorically speaking, am I ready for possible castration?

Or will the public embrace my metaphoric manhood with joy, fervour and an extra round of after dinner drinks?

Only time - and a few other key factors - will tell.

Happy Friday folks, have a fabulous weekend.