Yay! The Bakery Is Open Again

7am. I was up. It was raining.

I ran across to the bakery, early, in the not inconsequential rain, it is a skill in crocs. Bloody rain. I’m sick of the rain already. What’s it been? 2 days. This is the first week the bakery has been open since its Xmas/New Year shut down.

8am. Charlie was up, made breakfast and went to work. He’s doing a double shift, what is that, leaving the house at 9am getting home at midnight. The things you can do when you are 19.

8.30am. Sam gets up.

I made coffee.

9am. I made toast and more coffee. One of the problems we have is that I eat breakfast and on my own I would only eat a small lunch, where Sam doesn’t eat breakfast and always wants to eat a big lunch. It's kind of why I end up eating more.

Then it was screens all morning, me on my laptop, Sam on his iPad. JunkYardDigs and the one about Reviving Nolan's 1952 Imperial – On Road After 40 YEARS! Nolan is kind of cute, ugly, cute, glasses and a great smile.

And the morning slipped away. I remember wondering if we were being too boring for our own good? Or are we chilled out in such a way that we simply enjoy our own company? Which we do.

12.30pm. We ate oyakodon for lunch.

I watch the 1954 plan for Melbourne. You know the one when the boffins set in motion the destruction of Melbourne. This is the plan from which the commission towers come. It was great footage of Melbourne for 1952, but too quick to recognise the parts of the CBD that don’t exist any longer, which is really what I want to see, the streetscapes that have been demolished.

2pm. I have a shower.

2.35pm. We walk Bruno to Bunnings. I want White Oil and terracotta sealer, the pump pack type, not the aerosol. The pump pack type goes twice as far and cover twice as many pots, but it has been out of stock for months. Sam wants an outdoor power board.

It’s warm as we step out on to [our] Street and I take my hoodie off and take it back inside. Then, as soon as we get walking down Gertrude Street the wind picks up and it is cool enough for a hoodie all over again, but I presume, through walking, we will warm up, be warm, you know what I mean.

Langridge Street > Cromwell Street > Victoria Parade.

2.55pm. Sam, Bruno and I are at Bunnings. Sam heads upstairs to look for his power board. Bruno is scared of the escalator, so he and I go look for white oil, for the mealy bugs on my maidenhair ferns and terracotta pot sealer. People gaze at him and smile all the way. I get the white oil pretty quickly, but they still only have the aerosol terracotta sealer. The pump pack was still out of stock. Grr!

I line up to pay for our goods, but it is only the self service machines and therefore card payment that is on offer. I want to pay cash. When I see a Bunnings worker walk to the ‘cash’ cash register, I start walking towards him, but he keeps walking, so I back track back to where I was in the line. There is this old guy who was standing behind me who moved forward when I vacated my spot for, oh I don’t know, 10 seconds and was now, clearly, not going to relinquish his newly gained position in the queue for me. He has balding red hair, an overbite, a weak chin, and a jumper which looked like his long suffering wife of 50 years may have knitted for him in the last century. So, I stand next to him. And as soon as we get to the front of the line, when one of the machines becomes vacant, he makes a point of pushing past me to use it before me. Small, little minds, I think. I looked on the bright side, he’d be dead soon

We walk back up Victoria Parade. It’s a nice walk, passed the Porsche dealership.  “We should do some shopping in Coles,” Sam says. I was hoping he'd say the Porsche show room. We turn down Smith Street.

3.30pm. Bruno and I are waiting out the front of Coles on Smith Street while Sam shops.

The posh-talking, who I always think is talking elegantly pissed, woman, of less than posh means, shall we say, who always wants to talk endlessly about Bruno, comes out the door with her trolley and starts saying, with a dramatic flair, “Oh… how… beautiful… is… he…” She clearly wants to engage, but I am writing ‘this’ so it is easy to ignore her today. Usually I talk to her, despite her going on, and on, but today I just wasn’t in the mood. She hangs around the have-you-got-any-change chick, the one who sits on her own stool which she provides for herself.

Bruno, of course, continually lies right in the door way of Coles, as he likes doing that. I don’t know if it is the aircon, or the view, or just habit. But generally, people are charmed by it.

3.42pm. Sam reappears. The posh-talking chick is still yapping on to the have-you-got-any-change chick.

We head across Smith Street. We head home with Sam leading the way.

3.48pm. We’re home again.

I called the chick who backed into the front of my car, the one the police have chased up for two weeks, but she didn’t answer. I left a message.

We ate chicken schnitzel and salad for dinner. It was really nice.

We watched Big Red Dog. It is one of the stupidest movies I have ever seen, but despite this when David makes his daily call during the climax, I have to get rid of him. Jack Whitehall’s American accent is abysmal. 

We watched OddBall. The film set in Warrnambool where the Maremma Sheepdogs guards a colony of penguins and saves the penguin colony.

11.15pm. We went to bed.

I watched The Craig and his Lexus. He cleaned the inside of it and it was unbelievable how dirty it was.

12.20am. Lights out. Sam ordered me to stop watching TheCraig and turn out the light and go to sleep. Charlie came home at that moment from his double shift at [name of restaurant in which Charlie works]. Thats a long day, I think.