Saturday

The sun is shining, the sky is blue, it looks like it is going to be a beautiful day. It is a beautiful day. Spring. The plants are growing, the flowers are blooming.

All I have done thus far is screens and coffee, but it's Saturday and what else is Saturday for, I ask you? I've done far too much American politics, this morning, I know far too much about that piece of shit Trump. Now I'm onto car resto vids.

And they say today it is going to be 25 degrees today, and 28 degrees tomorrow, lovely.

Daylight savings starts soon, which is an added benefit. Can't wait.

Soon, we'll head out to lunch, walk the dogs to some eatery. Soon. Until then, I'm fluffing up my pillow on the couch.

Sam just got a new game delivered, so that's shut him up for, oh, hours, maybe.

It was dazzlingly bright out on the front veranda when I went to fetch the new game.

Anyway, where is my pillow? I might as well get comfy while I can.

Midday. We walked the Bulldogs to lunch. The sun is shining it’s lovely and warm, really warm. It’s like a summer’s day. It is gorgeous and really the first day of the year, well, this end of the year, when it is a t-shirt kind of day.

Through the Carlton gardens and up Victoria Parade, crossing over at the Audi dealership, nearly at Elisabeth Street.

Forty minutes later, we’re by the Vic Market eating lunch. All the vibrant places to eat lunch and we choose the most depressing, dull, grey development @ 155 Franklin Street. It is colourless and kind of depressing, and it smells like a public toilet.

I’m not that hungry, maybe my Ozempic is working, I’m going to have Tomato soup. Well, no, I’m not going to have tomato soup because the noodles will take 40 minutes. Freshly made noodles is the claim, but forty fucken minutes? Seriously?

We move on down the depressing walkway to the Honk Kong food place. I have curry Laksa, which was good. Sam bought fired wantons as a starter.

I suggest to Sam that they should hire an artist to paint a huge mural on the big slab of bare concrete grey wall.

“That might help, this place,” I say.

I can see graffiti out in the old laneway next to us and it seems like the only vibrate thing one can see.

Sam seems indifferent to my suggestion.

The whole development seems airless, even if there is no shortage of air. Heavy grey and heavy black colour scheme with enclosed walkways with low ceilings. It smacks of a development built to a budget and not an idea.

Admittedly, Sam only really cares if the food is good.

We sit next to a bunch of youguns who have one of those shrunken Samoyeds. It is very keen to say hello to the bulldogs, but the bulldogs don’t oblige.

An hour later and we’re walking home. We walk up Franklin Street, which is busy with foot traffic. I’m so full after eating that I turn down the opportunity to get fresh jam doughnuts from the market. I guess that speaks volumes about the curry Laska.

We walk through the Carlton Gardens. Brun is only a little uncooperative. He lies down a few times, don’t get me wrong, he does.

He lies down closer to the exit to Gertrude Street and suddenly there is an American accent saying, “That is why we have a pram.”

I see a couple accompanied by a geriatric Jack Russell.

The American guy of the duo says, “Old?”

“Huh?” I say. But before he has a chance to answer I understand what he said and I say, “No. He’s 6.”

They quite comfortably explain to us the stresses of having an old dog, when neither of us asked.

We exit the gardens and walk down Gertrude Street.

The tables are full at Cutler & Co.

At the Morning Market cnr Young Street. The first dog bowl is almost empty by the couple with the gorgeous Golden Retriever.

Brun takes an extended drink from the second water bowl by the couple with what looks like a shrunken Red Setter, not really, but you get the idea.

When Brun takes his time, the guy of the couple says, “You can’t be in a hurry.”

“No, you can’t hurry anywhere with a bulldog.” I think, he probably thinks it’s because of certain physical restraints but it’s not, bulldogs don’t have physical restraints, it is all mental, it is their stubbornness.

Ten minutes, a stop at the optician’s water bowl, and a stop at the dress shop’s water bowl, at both Brun gets pats, and we’re home.

We do screens all afternoon. Yep, you read that right. I move from my addiction to American politics, to car restoration videos, and music. I lounge on the couch without a care. I only have a couple of moments where I look up from my laptop screen to see it is a gorgeous day outside, wonder if this screen business is bad for me? Wonder if I am wasting my life this way. I look over at Sam and he is doing the same thing. Only wonder momentarily what else I could be doing with my life, before going back to my screen.

And really quicky, it is 6pm and Sam is turning the TV on a saying, singing, “Misery!”

We ate pork and noodle soup. It was very nice.

We watched all the misery on offer.

We watched Heretic. Hugh Grant. I enjoyed it more than I thought I would, Sam’s constant digging holes in the plot withstanding.

10.30pm. We go to bed when Brun wants to go out for a wee.

11pm. Lights out.