Tuesday Jazz

I've been listening to John Coltrane, me and Bud, cuddled up in a woollen blanket. It is cold outside. I feel cold. Buddy is warm. He snores and he really stinks when he farts, but he is like a hot water bottle.

I read the news (today, oh boy) nothing much. I try not to read too much, just the highlights, something interesting. I avoid anything on the anticipation of a war between two mad men, so that I don't live through it before it has happened.

Sam comes home for lunch. We had Puttanesca Pasta for lunch, Sam and I. It was the best Puttanesca, I reckon, Sam has made.

I cleaned the house. Well, the kitchen. And folded some washing. Towels and undies.

I bought butter and bread, sourdough, from the bakery, it is expensive, but worth it, it's got body and soul. It is covered in seeds, which scatter across my kitchen bench every time I cut the bread.

There are now two homeless people in front of Coles asking for money. Can you imagine being homeless, it gives me a shiver to think about it. I don't give them money, though. I give money to The Smith Family. 

Sam and I walked into town on Saturday to eat Laksa, in Little Lonsdale Street. I saw a homeless woman who I used to see when I used to walk into town to the awful law firm, that was getting onto ten years ago. She's been homeless for at least 10 years. Can you imagine? How has she filled her days for 10 years?

I must give the Smith Family another donation.

I wonder how the Liberal Governments war on poverty turned into an assault on the poor?