I Love Melbourne For That

Ah, cool, fresh air. Yum. I just want to go outside and run naked in it, feel it on every part of my skin. It was such a lovely way to wake up today, after yesterday's wall of heat, with a cool, fresh breeze blowing into greet me this morning.

I've flung open every door and window in the place.

I am now in the lounge room with my laptop, my coffee and my bulldog. I love my bulldog, he is gorgeous, everyone should have a bulldog. Funny, it is almost cold sitting here, 40 degrees one day, 23 degrees the next, almost with a chill.

I love Melbourne for that.

The fresh air blows in through the back doors. I love the cool breezes, I love the wind, it makes me feel alive.

I just gazed out at the day, feeling the earth’s cooling of, well, my little patch. The branches of the tall trees waved majestically in the air, the bushes and shrubs kind of shimmied and rustled.

I took the dog for a walk, the notoriously bad-on-a-lead dog, and he behaved impeccably. Except at the start, he seemed not inclined to walk with me, and he sat and dug in, he becomes a rock at the end of a lead. He loves the freedom of the dog park, so much so that when I fit his harness to him, he immediately heads out the back to the car. If I take too long getting all of my shit together, he comes back into the house, gives me one of those “come on, what are you doing,” kinds of looks and then heads straight back out to the car where he waits by the door. So, taking him out the front door, I am always at a disadvantage, as he knows he is heading in the wrong direction. But, with a little cajoling and the aid of a squeaker in my pocket, he, seemingly, begrudgingly started to put one fat paw in front of the other.

Gertrude Street was thick with people, mostly “tourists” as it the way now a days. People who have been told, or who have read somewhere, that Gertrude Street is now the “in” place to go. Ah, fashion, you have to love it, don’t you. I am waiting for the day when we are out of fashion again and the footpaths are cleared of the vacuous peroxide blondes who step out of black BMW 4WD’s looking to be delighted.

I cleaned up the kitchen, as I seem to be the only one who does that now. Yes, the cleaning gene seems to have escaped my other housemates, oddly. Of course, I have turned into a cranky bastard now a days, so I am always muttering expletives and formulating recriminations silently, as I do it. It is, of course, one of the advantages of being passive aggressive, the rage can all be done silently.

I made jelly. Oh yes, I love jelly, a bit like the DYMO label maker from childhood, jelly is a pure joy. Any kind of jelly, essentially, they are all good, even if Sam has an objection to lime jelly.

“But you are always saying that I need to eat more greens, honey.”

I just don’t make jelly in its standard form, oh no siree Bob, I put fruit in it. Often it is Jack fruit, last time it was mandarin segments (the second bowl of which we forgot to eat and we left it in the fridge while we were in NSW and the mandarin segments set, pretty much, like hard plastic.) Today it was mixed berries, as I made port wine and strawberry jelly. Yum. It is setting in the fridge now, 2 bowls. I always make 2 bowls, I’m not exactly sure why, I guess it is just creature of habit stuff.

I chatted to Jill on the phone. She was reclining on the couch with her feet up. She is another one who has stopped work and really doesn’t want to go back, although, of course, she will. It is just a tease, I'm sure a form of self-loathing, where we tease ourselves with how life could be, as unsustainable as it may be. She wants to buy an investment property in the UK, as they are cheaper than here and you get a better percentage return. She sounded pretty sleepy, actually. She wanted me to go over for lunch – one of my key time fillers now a days, lunch – but my car is still in hospital. I’m still waiting for the surgeon to call with the prognosis. It is open heart surgery, so whatever the prognosis, it is going to be bad, read expensive. Boo Hoo.

I messaged my other mate, Rachel, who is, shall we say, between jobs, she hasn’t worked since she sold her restaurant a few years ago, and when I asked her how the job hunting was going, she replied,

“Fabulously, I have just booked a holiday in Bali and a trip to Thailand for a friend’s wedding.”

“Lovely.”

“Who said job hunting was difficult?”

I have eaten cheese and salami toasted sandwiches all week, just when I have the piece of paper to go and have my annual cholesterol test. My father had cholesterol of 15 when he was first tested, so, of course, us siblings have to have ours checked regularly. I’m not exactly sure why now, as after all the carry on about my dad’s cholesterol over the years, he went and died of cancer.

Mine is 7, at my last test, which is a little on the high side, but my “good” cholesterol is high too, so my 7 is acceptable. I take 6 fish oil tablets a day, which reminds me, I must go and do it, it is so easy to forget.

Hang on a minute.

That was until I went and gorged on cheese and salami all week. (I never eat cheese as a rule, despite liking it very much, for this reason) And that is not to mention all the cheese platters over Xmas, an extraordinary number for some reason.

“Come on people, what are you trying to do, kill me? I can’t eat this.”

Well, I would have said that, if my mouth hadn’t been so full of cheese, you understand.

So, busy, busy, it has been all go here, as you can see. Another day down. Now… what am I going to do with the rest of them?