Saturday, April 29, 2017

The Games Shop

Sam takes me to EB Games. It's like going to Mars. There is nothing in there that makes any sense to me, there is nothing that takes my interest. It is like a space where the walls are covered in land fill, a perplexing array of cheap art work and plastic packaging. I don't get it at all. My head spins at my inability to find something to peruse. 

Apparently, Super Mario is saving Princess Peach from a turtle? From a turtle? Who knew.
Sam just looks at me as if I have missed something important in life.
Me, "I thought he just jumped along a wall?"
Sam, rolls his eyes.

Clearly games are not my thing. We look at the shelves of merchandise. Sam says, "Oh, look, at this."

Me, blank. It looks like every other thing at which you have pointed.

People seem to be keen on the stuff. There are queues at the register, people are clearly keen on what they are selling.

I find a seat and start writing this hoping that I can... oh, I don't know what, not look too out of place. I just hope we can leave soon.

Friday, April 28, 2017

Bourke Street Melbourne, I'd say the 1930s

Thursday, April 27, 2017

AIDS Memorial

When I read the AIDS Memorial on Instagram, which I do regularly, I find it is my way of remembering those people who might otherwise be forgotten, I tend to skip over the girl's stories. (I just caught myself doing it) I guess that is sexist?

I guess, not so much?

Looking at the AIDS memorial is, in part, sentimental, but it is also a dream, a dream of what may have been. Imagining, for me, how life could have been if all of those men were still in our lives. I find it fascinating to see their faces and read their stories.

Not that I am complaining about my life, my life is good, but it would have been different if Fergus and Robin and Ross and Blue and Steve and Doctor Bob were still alive.

And I'm lucky, I only had one really close mate, Fergus, and just a few other friends, who died. Some friendship groups were completely wiped from the face of the earth. Imagine that, all of your friends, and you, gone. It boggles my mind. The empty space, the void, and what it could have been.

So, I read through the names and look at the pictures and think about their lives and, quite often, feel quite sad. It's not a bad sad, I didn't know them, it is a warm, kind of positive, sad because just for that infinitesimal moment I remember them, for a fleeting moment they are alive again. I'm not sure if that really makes sense, but it makes sense to me.

Wednesday, April 26, 2017

Scruncher, or Folder?

I really don't know why I am telling you this, but I am a folder. The age old question. 

Something came up about it the other day at dinner - I know, pooh talk at the table, inexcusable Mark would say - and everyone present gave their answer, as people tend to do. I gave my answer with my customary chuckle to myself and said nothing more.

However, I am a folder of OCD proportions. The only person who really knows this, is my ex-boyfriend Mark. Sam is not one to share a toilet when the act that necessitates folding is involved. But, Mark and I were much more free about such things. In fact, back in the day when I shared my house with my best friends, we were all much more free with such things. I remember once, when my mate Fergus came into the bathroom when I was taking a dump, he caught me sitting there with a cup of tea in one hand and a joint in the other. He found it so amusing that the next thing the whole household was standing at the open door making comment on my behaviour. And nobody thought anything about it. Ah, for those days.

But it was Mark, before that, who questioned me on my practise. I tear off two sheets of paper and place it on my knee, repeating the process until I have, what I consider, to be the required number of sheets.

"What the hell are you doing?" asked Mark.
"What?" I replied.
"What are you doing with the paper?"
"What do you think I am doing?"
"That is what I am asking you," he replied.

You see, I had never been questioned about it before that, as before Mark it had been a rather private matter, and I had never considered what I was doing to be unusual, in fact, I had never thought about the practise at all. It hadn't occurred to me to question it. I guess, I must have done it since I was a kid, never realising what I was doing.

So, at dinner the other night, I simply replied, "Folder," chuckled to myself and the conversation moved on.

Tuesday, April 25, 2017

Dominic Thiem is an Austrian tennis player

Monday, April 24, 2017

Inverness to Applecross

Inverness to Applecross, is than an old nursery rhyme? It sounded like it to me, I'm sure, somewhere in the back of my head. Ride a cock horse and all that... I guess not.

Inverness to Applecross, Scotland. Picturesque, but apparently, it is the most dangerous road in the United Kingdom? I watched a show on the internet. It looked spectacular, but we won't have time to drive the road, but I want to. A week in London and then off to Amsterdam, won't allow us the time to go to Scotland.

And there is a great seafood restaraunt is in Applecross.

Ah the dreams of travelling. You just can't do everything, hey?

Sunday, April 23, 2017

Heading Overseas

When I was a kid, our family home had a sunroom, which I filled with indoor plants, it was my thing, my hobby. I loved nothing more than getting some cuttings from wherever and disappearing up the side of the house, where I kept my pots and potting mix and such things, potting them up and then taking them to join my sunroom collection. Every surface of that sunroom was covered in pots of green leaves and occasionally flowers.

I loved it. And I, seemed, to have green fingers as everything I planted grew. I found a lot of joy in those ever changing plants.

So, I guess, it comes as no surprise that my house now is filled with indoor plants. I even have one, I call it my first ever plant, a begonia, which now towers over our heads. I'd forgotten about it when I headed out into the world and discovered boys and dancing and a new life. However, some time ago now, mum and I were out in her garden looking around when I spotted a pot up the side of the house amongst the plants.

"What's that?"

"Oh, that is that old begonia," said mum. "I think it was one of your plants. Take it."

So, I did. It was worse for wear, with weeds growing out of it, but a repot and some attention and it grew easily. Now a days it is six feet tall, actually, probably taller. It is the plants which sometimes hangs down and scratches our heads as we walk under it, which Sam is always, "Cut this! Cut this!"

I have a glass roofed walkway between the front of the house and the back of the house, which is filled with indoor plants, which I call the lungs of the house.

So, going overseas I wonder how they are all going to fare? Will they all be all right? I give the big plants a litre of water a week, so over six weeks.... The maidenhair ferns are going to struggle. The big begonias, the big ficus, the fiddle leaf figs, the palms, the rubber plants, the devils ivy, the Red Dracaena will survive. The succulents and the aspidistras won't care. I wonder what state they will be in by the time we get home, though?

It will be winter here, though, so they need a lot less attention in their dormant period. I am guessing they will all be just fine. I hope so. 

I'm just going to have to find someone to look after my maidenhair ferns. (It belonged to a good friend of mine who killed himself 10 years ago, so it has a lot of sentimental value. And recently, I have divide off two smaller plants)
Funny, I tentatively suggested a friend of mine look after the maidenhair ferns, and he said, "No, I'd rather not, I don't want to be responsible for killing them.'
"You won't, and I wouldn't hold it against you even if you did," I said. "You're a better chance than leaving them here."
He looked nervous at the thought.
"All you have to do is water them," I said. "That is it. I promise."
I'll work on that.
Or, I just put them out in the garden, as I said, it will be winter after all. There would probably be enough rain to get them through alive, I suppose. I hope.