Saturday Morning

It’s a beautiful sunny morning, so much so that I have already been out into my garden with my secateurs to chop back on the creeper which is growing through the fence from the other side, smothering my lavender. Ah the fragrant scent of the mauve herb wafting into my nostrils as I chop is just lovely. I’m sure, if money was no problem, I’d be surrounded by lavender, as far as the eye can see.

The air is glorious, thick with the hints of summer, imbued with the tantalising warmth of the golden sun. 

When I retreat from my twenty year sojourn in the heart of Fitzroy, my main criteria for a new house will be sunshine and light.

Ah, the lovely summery morning… and buzzing with flies, so soon. Already? Where do they come from? Do they lay low in a state of hibernation until the first hint of sun touches them, causing them to break free of their slime, or eggs, or mucous? Actually, from my very limited biology, I think that is exactly what they do.

All the while, Sam is glued to his iPhone, his eyes seldom waiver from the small screen streaming “nerd boy” news. He’s my very own geek boy and I love him anyway. So, when I am done, I go and fetch my lap-top and bring it down to the coffee table to read the news. You know, if you can’t beat them join them. It has the effect of making him laughed at my old silver machine. He approaches it as if it is some rare thing that he hasn’t encountered before, much like I may have approached my father’s gramophone. He touches at it with outstretched fingers tentatively, as if he is really not quite sure what the effect of contact will really have. He tilts his head and looks at the side features with that highly self amused grin plastered right across his face. He mumbles something about many features and I’m not quite sure if he is being sarcastic or not.

Then he pulls out his sleek Apple lap-top and sets up next to me. I make some comment about them being the same silvery colour and he replies that that is where the similarities start and finish.

“Yours is plastic,” he says with mock disgust, as he reaches out and touches it again with his tentacle-like fingers. There is repulsion dripping from his spidery touch, I can see it clearly. “So different, fake aluminium.”

I kind of like sitting together behind our respective lap-tops doing our thing, as the sun shines in the window and the birds tweet in the garden. I guess it makes a change from the hours I spend at my computer alone. It’s a kind of 21st century boyish togetherness.

The clock strikes midday and he asks again, what are we going to do for the day? He likes to head out and do stuff and I kind of like doing exactly what we are doing now. We’ll see who is triumphant in the fill-in-the-day stakes.

I’m kind of enjoying sneaking in an entry into my blog as he is completely oblivious. Although, I did kind of just give it away when he asked again what are we going to do for the day, replying to his own question. “You are too busy with ninemsn.”

“No,” I said. “I’m too busy writing about you.” Then I waited for his reaction.

He looked up and smiled. “Really?” he said. Then his eyes were straight back to his screen.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“Buying software,” he replied. “Have you made up your mind what you want to do today?”

“Have you?”