I love Melbourne in the winter, when the skies are grey and it's raining, and the roads are a bit slippery, and everybody is rugged up and all you want to do is drink hot chocolate and eat stodge and be in a warm room with a comfy chair, a wood fire and a soggy cat.
Unfortunately, I don't have the open fire, but I do have the comfy couch and the soggy pussycat. It's miserable outside, the rain starting just as I was coming out of the hairdressers, and by the time I made it to town to collect my mail, it was raining the light, but inconvenient rain Melbourne is known for. It's about ten degrees outside now. Still, a light rain falls.
Inside, the heater is on. The soggy pussycat is curled up on his throne, under his blanket, happy that I'm home. I'm catching up on the ironing. Guy Ritchie's The Ministry of Ungentlemanly Warfare is playing on the telly, giving me a chance to gawp at Henry Cavill while ensuring the bedlinen is dry, uncreased and ready for its next use.
Speaking of The Ministry of Ungentlemanly Warfare, I am loving all of the bizarre stories that are coming out of World War II, now that the archives are open. Operation Mincemeat is another of this ilk, showing the stories of this heinous war and the plucky spirit of the Brits and their love of ratbaggery.
It's good television to do the ironing too.
But now, I have decisions to make.
It's cold and damp and I have a theatre to get to.
This is a Shakespeare weekend. Tonight, I'm finally catching a performance of Macbeth (An Undoing) at the Malthouse. I was supposed to go the week I caught COVID. The decision is, do I take public transport, drive or catch an Uber. Public transport in this weather is never fun, and the Malthouse is a little off the beaten track. Parking is expensive - but so is an Uber - but it is door-to-door. I have ten minutes to decide what to do.
Tomorrow, it's the Bell Shakespeare's King Lear.
Again, it's something you can only do in Melbourne.
It makes me happy
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