A bit of Fitzroy style

Bruno and I went for a walk early. It was forecast to be 35 degrees today, so we wanted to go before it got to that. I don't think it’s going to, but we had a nice walk the 2 of us. 

Man and dog. The morning was pleasantly warm, still enough shade on at least one side of the street in which to walk.

The sun is shining and is quite hot when you are in it.

A handsome boy with a beefy arse in soft cotton shorts is moving stuff out of the flats on the corner.

We head down to Smith Street and walk to Johnston Street

Bruno turns into My Pet Warehouse automatically, as he always does. He knows where the doggie treats come from. I get him to drink out of their water bowl, which, I am sure, he thinks is 2nd prize.

When we come out what looks like a mentally disturbed Muslim, all decked out in white, with his hands in the air praying out loud to Allah comes from the other direction. I thought he was talking to me, initially, and I start to engage with him, but he babbles something incoherent, does the twinkle twinkle little star fingers above his head and walks on looking right through me as if I never existed.

As we cross George Street a bike rider crossing Johnston Street doesn’t give way to us, when I tell him to give way to pedestrians he tells me to fuck off. Lovely. Bike riders are the first to whinge if anyone threatens them, but they are the last to stick to the rules that apply to them. (must double check that bike riders must give way to pedestrians)

In Brunswick Street, we stopped to have a coffee, to sit and watch the world go by, but the payment thingy on my watch wouldn't work, so we kept walking. Damn! That’s the first time that hasn’t worked. 

[Later, Sam tells me that email I deleted so confidently as a scam was from the bank which explained why my watch thingy no longer worked, Oh, who can keep up with all that scammer bullshit, I ask you?]

King William Street > we take the walkway up to the dog park. No one is really there. I get pooh bags. Bruno has a drink. Then he starts sniffing for tennis balls, as is his way.

10.35am. We see the cute chow and his owner. We chat about travel and what we are going to do if we get a new puppy. I don’t have an answer for that. If my friend Jill won’t look after them, we’ll just have to put them in a kennel, I guess.

10.40am. We get to Gertrude Street. A guy walks past in pale pink pants, a bright pink crop top and a pale pink shirt open at the front, pink sandals and carrying a pink purse. I really try hard not to think of him as a terrible cliché. I try really hard to embrace his choices.

We see [name] who has [name of dog] and [name of dog]. She asks where Buddy is. She commiserates with me. “I am so sorry.” And that is nice, but it is 5 months later, you know. But, so many people have been genuinely shock about Bud’s death, no matter how long after the fact it is. Everybody loved Buddy.

10.50am. Bruno and I are home, after a bout of lying down at the shops before we got home. He’s funny, he’s always just plopped himself down, even as a puppy. People find it adorable, often when I find it annoying. 

“We’re nearly home, come on.”

“Isn’t he adorable.”

“Oh, so adorable,” often hear myself saying through gritted teeth.

Later, when I was walking back from the shops, I saw a board outside a pharmacy saying 5th Covid shots available, so I went in and asked. Fifteen minutes later, I'd had the shot and was waiting my 15 minutes before it was recommended I leave. 

Apparently, I'm pretty lucky that I have never had covid. Having the vaccinations when they become available might have something to do with it, I suggested to the pharmacist. He laughed, and said yes. It is not really rocket science. I think mostly it was the people who don't listen who got Covid.