Eating At The Vic Market

We walked to The Victoria Market and ate Indonesian food. I had beef ribs, Sam had a Bali chicken dish. My beef was oddly sweet, so when Sam asked to swap halfway through our meals, as he always does, I said yes, instead of my usual no. And I had his chicken, which I much preferred. I'm not a good food sharer, as a rule.

Afterwards, we walked into the market and bought jam doughnuts. The queue was long. I stood with a nice girl and we chatted the whole way around the snaking line. We marvelled at how quickly the queue grew behind us and wondered if we'd pushed in somehow, she having joined the queue moments before I did, but we decided that we probably didn't push in.

She grew up in Brunswick, but now lives near the airport. Her kids have grown up and left home. She and her husband have just spent 4 weeks in Sicily. He was waiting off to the side as she queued. She had a Cavoodle which originally had been her son's, but when he moved out of home he left the dog with her.

We both had childhood memories of the doughnut caravan coming to the market as kids. She said it must have been when she was very young, her family used to shop at the market coming from Brunswick. I remember the people in the crowd all being taller than me. My mum used to bribe me, if I came to the market with her, she'd buy me hot jam doughnuts when we were done. I remember getting sugar all over myself in the car.

She reminded me so much of my friend Loli, and it was so easy to chat to her until we got to the caravan window and made our purchases. Dare I say, she made the, kind of, long wait a pleasant experience. I don't always find strangers so easy to talk to. It’s not that I can’t, it is usually because I don’t want to.

Then Sam and I walked home in the sun shine. Up the main road to the gardens, and then through the gardens. It was a nice walk under the blue sky with the sun shining.

And now it's the end of another Sunday – is there a sadder expression in the week – and we're on the verge of Monday again, and I didn't win lotto, nor did I discover that long lost trust account, and I can't write that resignation letter I have all prepared in my head for Boris.

Pity. 

He works from home. He essentially works his own hours. He practically does what he likes, for the most part. And yet he still complains. Sheesh! What will make this guy happy? I ask you?

Ha, ha, there is just no pleasing some people.