I do not need any more t-shirts. I have enough t-shirts.
But why do I want these t-shirts?
Or this one?
Or this one?
Or this one?
Or even this one?
I mean, I have enough t-shirts. But I like these. They would go well with my other dodgy t-shirts that read things like:
In my defence I was left unsupervised
See You Next Tuesday
Hell was Boring
Typical Bloody Leftie
We are the Daughters of the Witches you couldn't kill
And a number of dodgy band t-shirts, including one with a black cat and the Pixies logo.
And after the expensive day I've had today, where the car got repaired, the mailbox paid for, the hot water bill contested then paid (bloody estimated bills), I do not need a new t-shirt.
But my birthday is in August - and the website is https://www.tokyo-tiger.com/ if anybody wants to get me something I'd love to have in my collection.
I'm home from my jaunt around Australia. The cat is back and still talking to me - although I think he's speaking in Dutch now, but we can work on that.
1) How do you show others love? What makes you feel loved?
I'm known for being willing to give the shirt off my back to friends. I am generous and I suppose that is how I give love. I also like cooking for people, not that I do this very often. Acts of generosity are my love language.
Make me dinner and I am yours.
2) Who is someone you admire? Why?
I really admire the Teal parliamentarians over here. They're a lot of whip smart women who are neither Labor or Liberal (think Republican and Democrat in America, or Tory/Labour in the UK). They're true independents and it feels like I've got a voice in parliament.
3) Do you have the qualities you value in a friend?
I think so. I'm kind, loyal, generous, have a sense of humour and I'm mostly reliable if you take my time-keeping out the equation.
4) What is something you enjoyed doing when you were younger but don't do anymore? Why did you stop doing it?
I used to enjoy going to clubs when I was younger. I'm now far too old to do that. But I do still enjoy going to see live music. Clubs and clubbing are a different kettle of worms.
5) What is something other people think is fun but you don't?
Any sport which involves hurting or killing animals. I don't get it at all. I will go fishing, but I can't kill the fish when I reel it in, but I'm not into hunting for sport.
The same can be said for motor sport. I just don't get it.
After getting off the red-eye to Sydney this morning, arriving at my hotel, begging my way into an early check in (thank goodness for a platinum status with the hotel group, thanks to all the trips to Darwin), and a quick shower, I met up with an old friend for breakfast.
We've known each other for a while.
We're both middle-aged/
We talked about lots of things.
Trump - we both loathe.
His PhD candidature - interesting topic.
Working in the Territory - love it though the travel is a bit brutal.
The joys of middle-age. Men settle. Women don't. Women fight against disappearing. Men don't. Women expand. Men contract.
Then the topic meandered onto his sixteen-year-old daughter.
I should say, I've been having variations on this conversation over the last few months with various friends.
"How's Meg?" I asked.
"Hmph."
"I have a cat for a reason. Far easier than children." Well, it's a fair point.
"But kids don't shit in your shoes."
"True."
"So, what's the problem?"
"She has a boyfriend." I could hear the despair in his voice.
I will say, from what I've been told, Meg is a lovely, sensible girl, who has nice friends and does her homework, and stays out of trouble. She occasionally gets a bit lippy, but what sixteen-year-old doesn't bite back a bit? Sixteen is awful. If you don't mind spending time in their company and don't want to shoot them, you've done a good job of parenting them. Well that's my uniformed reasoning.
"So, is he nice?" I asked.
"He has a mullet." The disapproval was evident.
"So, what's up really? Your little girl has a boyfriend. She's growing up. You don't like him?"
"HE HAS A MULLET! My daughter has a boyfriend who has a mullet!"
Oh boy.
"But didn't you have a dodgy haircut when you were a teenager? A Flock of Seagulls flop? A James Spader combover. Or did your Mum still cut your hair?"
I shouldn't have goaded. He changed the subject after that. His bottom lip was still quivering.
Just to remind you.
Haircuts of the 80s.
And okay, when James Spader had hair in the 80s, it wasn't too bad. He's knicked a lot of his sister's hair mousse.
Then there's the Mum cuts.
He was unconsolable. Couldn't tell me if he was okay. His defining negative feature was that the bloke had a mullet.
Middle-aged men. They're such snowflakes. Today's song:
Is there anything better than tropical rain? I think not.
It is the end of the wet season up here and for the last few days, it's been raining, heavily at very inconvenient times. You want to go for a walk? It rains. Want to go for a swim. It rains, with lightning and thunder. Yeah, not a good idea. You wake up. It's raining.
I rather like it.
Today, after work, after handing in various passes and turning off the computer, I went to make a trip to the bottle shop to pick up some gin.
Of course, it was raining.
But not the heavy tropical rain. It was like a Melbourne rain. But warm.
And as I wanted to get to the bottle shop before returning home, I decided to walk in the rain. It wasn't heavy enough to do too much damage to the Birkenstocks, but heavy enough to get me a little damp.
Warm rain. Almost cloying rain. It felt like I was wandering through my morning shower. That warm.
It was just lovely,
And now I'm packing to go home. Sort of.
And overnight flight. A day and a night in Sydney. A morning flight (but not too early) on Sunday morning. Get back, get unpacked. Collect the cat.
We ate our winnings this evening. Three months ago, the three of us won a $150 voucher for the dinner at Sweethearts, a pub/bar/club on Mitchell Street which is a bit more upmarket than the normal backpackers places that line the streets. A pub crawl down Mitchell Street normally includes stops at The Darwin Hotel, Shenanigans, The Tap and Monsoons - Sweethearts is a bit further down the road and I'm not sure the bouncers would let you in. All of the pubs in Darwin have bouncers.
Anyway, the three of us and a ring in, Chunky, who's in his last weeks at the company, came along too as a proxy leaving do. We put the voucher to good use. It fed the three of us very well (Steaks all around) and a few non-alcoholic drinks, because we're being a bit boring. But it was a lovely night.
As was normally the case we tried to get an ice cream at Johnn Johnn's, but they were closed (and it was only just gone eight), so a trip to the seven-eleven was needed.
We were home by 8.30.
My other winnings occurred just after work. A proper swim was taken, restoring my soul.
The problem with work travel is you have to fit in exercise as and where you can. Yesterday it was tipping down. I also had the Silent Book Group at The Last Supper - something I like to do when I'm up here. And walking was out because it was too rainy. And there was no way I was getting in the pool, because of the storms. So no exercise was had. I've missed exercise this trip. Today, just the required 20 lengths before dinner was just what the doctor ordered.
I mean free grub and a swim. How much better can a night get?
I read at a silent reading group of Cavanaugh Street, I read this morning when I woke up at about 630.
And I’ve been writing all day, so I don’t really feel like writing now.
I will say, I do believe I need a writing group. I don’t think I’ve had a writing groups since I did the Faber course in 2020. One of the good things about Faber is you have a writing group there for you For a whole year, there to critique your work.
You don’t need to be friends, although you may end up friends at the end. You also need to be with people who write at the level you’re writing it. You also want people who can provide constructive criticism. You don’t want somebody who’s just gonna sit there and say that’s nice…
But I have no idea where to find a right group. I just know I’d like one.
Walking in the door, things feel different. It’s not as I left it four hours ago when I came home for lunch. The towels have been replaced in the bathroom. The bed has been made, well made better than I had made it this morning, the sheets folded with military precision, the blanket tucked in neatly. The dishes that have been sitting on the sink I’ve been done, again not many, just a coffee mug and a couple of spoons, but now they rest on top of a tea towel, drying.
For the first 18 months of coming up to Darwin for work, I stayed at this hotel. We’re always given a one bedroom apartment, meaning we have our own bathroom and kitchenette. But with the cheap room rate that has been negotiated, it also meant that the rooms would only be serviced if you stayed longer in a week.
The other small perk of the job is that you can join the hotels loyalty program. You get points for every night you stay.
There are also tiers to this loyalty program. Stay 30 nights over the year, you reach gold, and you get a drink on arrival and better rooms.
Stay more than 50 nights and you reach platinum. It appears with this you get complementary room servicing on a daily basis.
And it also seems a bit strange to me, because I don’t mind using a towel for a couple of days in a row. But it is rather nice to have somebody make your bed and do your dishes.
Oh, and the song of the day has been stuck in my head all day. I have been dancing to it. For all the great things about having your room serviced on a daily basis, there is nothing that beats a good earworm.
