A quick on tonight as I've spent far too long staring at a screen today.
But here are some modern-day conundrums.
1. How can the dentist charge nearly $200 for a checkup and clean that takes approximately 15-minutes? And yes, I do get that rent, insurance, hiring a dental nurse, equipment... but still. Thankfully, my health insurance extras covered a lot of it - but still...
Lucky he's been my dentist for nearly 20 years, and I've sent him some new regulars over the years.
2. Why does a day of what I call fiddly admin feel rewarding? A colleague and I had to send out nearly 200 emails between us today. A long story. Lots of manipulating spreadsheets and other stuff. But it felt good to do something mindless.
3. Why do I want to be able to do pushups on my toes?
4. Is it wrong to want to give your Uber driver 3 or 4 stars for no other reason other than they have B.O.? Due to tight timings, I caught an Uber back from the dentist. The driver was very nice. The car very clean. But he ponged. I gave him 5 stars regardless, but...
5. Is it law that when your cat crosses your keyboard you have to give him a kiss?
6. Is it okay to take blue cheese to a friend's place?
7. Should I let the book group know that so far, we don't have any Australian content on the list. This is not a good thing. I'm not trying to massage the list.
8.Why do I always have a split lip when I go to the dentist. Is this Sod's Law?
9. Why do I have the urge to clean out the cupboard in the spare room? Is this a sane idea?
10. How can I talk myself into doing my hip rehab exercises. Why is it so hard to get down on the floor?
11. Why do I still have the desire to fly off to Bali and do a sound healing accreditation?
After years of whining, I've done it! I've got a writing group! Yay!
It's been years in the making. I came out of the Faber Academy hoping that I'd get a writing group out of that, but what can I say - COVID - messed up everything.
Then last year, I approached a couple of friends hoping to get a writing group going, but then Darwin happened.
I know - excuses, excuses.
It took another try, after the Darwin contract was over, to get this happening.
Attending a friend's book launch and knowing that she was in a writing group with an acquaintance - a brilliant writer in her own right, that got me on track again.
Then, I ran into a mutual friend, somebody I know from the retreat. I mentioned that I was wanting to get a group going - for accountability, fellowship, to bounce ideas against... and probably to whine about my cat. She was open to it, especially as some of her works were getting published.
The friends that were contacted late last year got a message. A date was set. Then somebody else joined us. The new recruit was found at a writer's festival by one of the others.
Five is a good number. We could do with one more - but that is about it.
The date was set. The First Monday of the month. Timing is paramount as there are kids and animals and commutes home to work into things. We agreed on 8.30 p.m. AEST, 8.00 p.m. ACST (Adelaide time) and 5.30 p.m. AWST (Perth time)
Thankfully, we meet on Zoom.
And we're an unlikely group. An IT project manager, a lawyer, a doctor, a book editor and me.
Four of us have started projects. Interesting, engaging projects.
We've set down some rules. You don't have to share, but if you want to, keep it to under 3000 words for a thematic or structure review. (e.g. If you're sending work out, you give an idea of what you want to review - for me, I asked to have a look and see what they thought of the structure.). If you want a close edit - maximum 1000 words.)
But really, we're here for support and fellowship. Writing can be such an isolating activity, it's good to know that there are others out there who can be in the trench with you.
I'm feeling hopeful that the group which we've given the name the Happy Mondays, how much mischief can we, as a group of middle-aged women writers, get into?
"We've just heard from down the street. Bruce is no more. He died yesterday. His family are dealing with it the best they can."
My reaction was, "NOOOOOOO, not Bruce!"
Bruce was my mate.
We didn't see each other very often, but we had meaningful interactions when we did catch up. He could be flighty. He could be stroppy. He could be aloof. But he was my mate, Bruce.
I should also say that Bruce was a fat, black cat who lived around the corner would bale you up for a pat on the way to the tram stop or on the way home.
This afternoon, I went down the street to where Bruce lived. Sure enough, his dad had attached a sign to the mailbox notifying the neighbourhood of his demise.
So sad.
Bruce liked to be of a man of mystery. You'd not see him for ages, then you'd run into him regularly. Thinking about it, not going into the office as much meant that we didn't get to see each other.
Thinking about it, he'd have to be well into his dotage - he had to be at least 15-years-old.
But over the years, I've looked forward to walking home from the tram only to meet this chubby, black terrorist of a cat, demanding a pat before letting me through.
He was a friend to many, but if he didn't like you, he'd let you know.
He was a unique personality - then again, all cats have their own personality. It's just this one has been patrolling the street around the corner for many years.
So, vale, Bruce. We know you're up there sucking up to one and all, tormenting your new slave, like you tormented the last one. (He was very good at having his dad buy him new wet food, only to dismiss it after he brought in a pallet of the stuff.) You certainly made the streets of Richmond feel a little more welcoming. You were loved by many and won't be forgotten.
Tomorrow, after going to the gym, and going to Masons, I'm off to a barbeque at Blarney and Barney's place.
I was told to bring a dessert, or something sweet.
Joy.
I will let you into what my head thinks when I'm told to bring something along. This is my normal self-talk when it comes to bringing things to a barbeque:
What I make's not going to be good enough.
I can't buy something at Coles.
Nobody will like what I make.
Lemon, vanilla, chocolate - why do people not like the order I put things in?
I want to go fancy.
But it's a barbeque.
I wonder what's in the Coles chiller section.
I don't have time for this.
I want to have time for this.
I am not a natural homemaker, despite my mother's best intentions.
I've got better things to do.
I love baking.
Dammit.
Thankfully, I've talked myself of the ledge.
And yes, this is my normal self-talk when I'm told to bring something and not given clear directions.
Also, I'm a reasonable cook, and known for making desserts. At Christmas, Blarney gives me the job of glazing the ham - something I'd never do with my family as we're seafood and salad people at Christmas - which suits me just fine.
Did you know that Arnotts has brought out a cookbook? Arnotts - The Cookbook is hot off the press. I'm told it's on its second or third printing within the month. The book as all of these Australian standards like Chocolate Ripple Cake (my brother-in-law's staple), slices, upscales, celebrations desserts - you name it - it's in there.
Tim Tim slice sounded just up my alley.
So easy. It's Australian CWA kitchen staples. Two packets of Tim Tams. A can of condensed milk. 100 grams of butter. 200 grams of milk chocolate.
Yes, diabetes in a box.
All you do is grind up one of the packets of Tim Tams, roughly chop the other pack. Over low heat, melt the butter and combine with half of the condensed milk. When the butter and condensed milk is combined, stir that through the blitzed Tim Tams, then add the chopped biscuits. Spread into a greased, lined tin and put in the fridge for at least 30 minutes. When set, on low heat, combine the chocolate and condensed milk until smooth, then spread over the set biscuit base and put it back in the fridge for a few hours.
It was easy. It's finished and sitting in the fridge. The dishes are done. And the questions remain.
Why did I want to put chopped dried cherries or cranberries in the base?
Will they like it?
Can I leave what it's left at Blarney's place?
If I have to bring it home, will the neighbours like it?
Why does bringing something to a barbeque/party fill me with such dread.
Also, is there nothing that an Australian woman cannot do with some butter, a packet of biscuits and a can of condensed milk?
On the good side of things, I got to do one of my most favourite activities - licking out the condensed milk tin. It still brings some joy.
I love that Sunday Stealing is having a Thanksgiving break - and they haven't posted Thanksgiving questions, as being Australian, we don't have Thanksgiving. It's not a thing here, unless you have American family or friends who will drag you around for turkey, stuffing, gravy and sweet potatoes covered in marshmallow and pumpkin pie, which, as an Australian, sounds like a bit of an abomination because pumpkin is a savoury dish which you eat roasted or in soups and salads.
C'est la guerre.
Anyway, today's questions come from Sunday Stealing. I hope they have a great Thanksgiving. As an Australian, it's just the last Thursday in November followed by a day of sales.
F. Film: What movie or tv show are you watching?
Some things I've been watching over the last while.
I saw Wake Up Dead Man last night at the cinema and loved it. Very funny film.
The other week I saw the second installation of the Wicked franchise, Wicked: For Good. I was underwhelmed by that one, though others love it.
And the reboot of The Running Man was great, and I don't normally like action films. Glenn Powell is everywhere. Very easy on the eye.
On television, I've got into The Man on the Inside with Ted Danson. It's got a lovely heart to it. Also if you have aging friends and family, you'll understand some of the undertones.
Another thing I've loved was the British season of The Celebrity Traitors. That was just wonderful.
A. Audio: What are you listening to?
As music goes, I've been going over The Pixies back catalogue. Having gone to both Melbourne concerts last week I've been reliving both gigs. They really are awesome.
After a trip to a jazz bar on Thursday, I'm also having a dig around some jazz. I've got to be in the mood for jazz, but it's been very cool to search some stuff out.
I've always got an audiobook on the go to. This morning, I finishedTrespasses by Louise Kennedy, which was a stunning book about a couple during The Troubles in Northern Ireland.
On paper, I'm about halfway through RF Kuang's Babel. It's a strange mix of historical fiction and fantasy, but I'm enjoying it.
The book group book this month is something called Hard Copy by Fien Veldman. It's allegedly about somebody who falls in love with a photocopier. I've heard different reviews on this. At least it's short.
Jay suggested a Friday film. There were some suggestions of British films, but they all sounded a bit grim, and I was in the mood for something a bit lighter. It had been a big week, something funny and light was required. We settled on the latest in the Knives Out series - Wake Up Dead Man.
If you've not seen any of the Knives Out series, you'll find them on Netflix. The first one is fabulous. I don't rate the second one. But in this third in the series, writer/director Rian Johnson is back to his best. Do you have to see the other two movies in the series to enjoy this? Absolutely not - though a little bit of history about detective Benoit Blanc (Daniel Craig) is not a bad thing. There are no related characters. The only similarities between the films are that they are stylish movies with killer casts.
This is a good, old fashioned detective movie, which also happens to be very funny.
The story starts off when we meet a young priest, Jud Duplenticy (Josh O'Connor) who after getting into some skirmishes with another member of the clergy is sent out to a parish in Upstate New York to be a junior priest to a turbulent Mons Jefferson Wicks (Josh Brolin). This bloke is on an ego trip, keeping some members of his clergy close, while driving others away. Jud and the Mons don't get on. The inner circle, consisting of Martha, the Church Secretary (Glenn Close), Nat, the gin-soaked town doctor (Jeremy Renner), Lee, a reclusive writer (Andrew Scott), Vera, a lawyer who hasn't reached her potential, her brother Cy, a wannabe MAGA styled Senate candidate (Daryl McCormack) and Simone, an ailing artist (Cailee Spaeny) are all in the thrall of the malevolent Wicks.
And then Wicks turns up dead in a locked room, during the Good Friday service after delivering the homily.
Jud is automatically the number one suspect.
This is when the investigative team comes in. Mila Kunis is Geraldine, the chief of police, who brings in the amazing Benoit Blanc to investigate.
I'm not going to go into the plot, other than it's a murder mystery in which an improbably murder takes place, and it's the absolute bomb. There are twists and turns and a lot of laughs along the way.
For those who have not witnessed Daniel Craig do a Southern accent, this is all a part of the charm. Along with the rest of the cast, their comic chops all come out. Oh, and if you haven't seen Daniel Craig in Logan Lucky, search it out. He's hysterical. I love it when you can tell an actor is having a ball.
This film also belongs to Josh O'Connor, who plays the sometimes-hapless Jud. A street kid who's found religion, Jud is both happy to sit back and let things run but also stand his ground when needed.
The rest of the cast are just as strong. Glenn Close as the conniving Church secretary and Daryl McCormack as Cy, the MAGA wannabe man-baby are stand outs. The rest of the cast are just as strong. A lot of this is thanks to Rian Johnson's air-tight script, which is as funny as is it subversive. The digs are the church and the US political climate are on point and very, very funny.
As this is a Netflix production, it will be streaming in the next few weeks put this on your Christmas viewing list. It's very entertaining. A great Friday night film - intelligent, light and funny. What more do you want?
Following on from last night, today was proof that animals really do make the world a nicer place.
I had two very different interactions with two very different beasties today. Both brought a lot of joy.
The first one occurred on the way to the tram.
There is a building site across the road from me. I waked by. Behind the fence there was a strapping, grey Staffordshire terrier. I looked at her. She looked at me. I nodded at her. She nodded at me. I said hello to her. She wagged her tail.
As I walked on the road around the site, she followed me.
Her dad was busy digging a ditch, or whatever tradies do on building site. The dog kept following me.
"I think your dog wants to say hello to me," I said to her dad.
"That's about right."
"Would it be okay if I said hello to your dog?"
He looked over at the dog coming towards us.
"I think she wants to say hello to you. She's very friendly. Her name's Zoe."
"Hello, Zoe."
Zoe came up to me, wagging her tail. She gave me a good sniff before sitting on my feet and demanding a pat. Staffies like to do this, the feet sitting thing.
"I think she likes me."
"Yes, she does."
Once she got off my feet, I gave her one last pat, before saying goodbye to her dad and heading off to the tram.
Made my morning.
This is an AI representation of Zoe, complete with her pink collar.
The second interaction happened when I got home.
Arriving home after work, on climbing up the stairs, I found my next-door neighbours on the landing. They're a lovely Taiwanese couple and they have a three-year-old daughter, Lily. She's a cutey.
The two-minute chat was obviously too much for Lucifer, as he was yowling on the other side of the door.
"Do you hear that, Lily? It's a pussycat. Should we have a look?" I unlocked the door.
Please remember that Lucifer is and obstreperous beast. I love him dearly, but he's not great with other people.
I opened the door.
There was the full expectoration that he would run away back into the flat.
But no, he walked up to me.
Lily was besotted. A kitty cat! Her parents held her back.
Then Lucifer saw her. The look on his face said everything. And remember, Lucifer has a particularly expressive face.
An AI representation of Lucifer looking pissed off.
I don't think he's ever seen a child before - well not on my watch.
The first thing I could see was the thought, "What the hell is that thing? Can I eat it?"
The second was, "Why are you talking to them, when you could be feeding me my dinner?"
The third thing that showed on his face was, "Where the hell have you been?" I did explain to him that I needed to go to work so that I can buy him cat food. He was asked to look after the place when I was at work.
He brings me hours of joy. The range of emotions that cross is little face is just glorious.
Once again I have absolutely no idea what to write. I know there are things I would like to write, but I'm not writing them on here.
So, once again, I'm going to dip into my writing prompt cards, sourced from Catherine Deveny.
Tonight's card reads:
"All animals are therapy animals, most are just freelancing.
Write about the healing power of an animal. Think pets in particular but not exclusively. Open your mind to birds, livestock, wild animals, rodents, and insects."
I love most animals - okay, I'm not fond of chooks, but furry animals - I adore.
I could bore you senseless talking about Lucifer, my gorgeous black boy, or Maow Maow, the love of my life. Growing up, there was Sheba, who was the family dog, but she slept on my bed, and I was her favourite. She was my best friend growing up.
Animals tend to love me too. Visiting an old colleague the other week, his two very large German Short Haired Pointers thought I made a great couch - and I loved them for it.
You'll always find me in the kitchen at parties talking to the cat, or dog. We have great conversations.
Yet my favourite interactions with animals are the ones you don't expect. The ones where you can commune with the animals and you can take each other in.
Here's three examples.
My mum used to live in the country and there were some kangaroos that lived in the scrub out the back. On any given morning, you could go outside and there'd often be a kangaroo, often with a joey, sitting on the front lawn. If you moved slowly, and sat down, you could have a chat. She wasn't going anywhere, comfortable in your presence. We looked each other in the eye, gave each other the nod, and got on with our business - I drank my coffee. She kept nibbling on the grass. After a while, she made her way slowly back into the scrub.
Magic.
My second example was when my stepdad and I went up the back paddock, which entailed a long walk up a big hill. On arriving, we found about twenty kangaroos sitting around chewing the fat. If you're quiet, mobs of kangaroos will just sit there for a bit. They're more scared of you than you are of them. Seeing the two of us, they got up to move away - but that wasn't the joy of this day (although kangaroos always make it good day). We came within a few metres of a Wedge-Tailed Eagle.
Normally, you won't get anywhere near these birds in the wild. They're very shy. This one was obviously hanging out with the roos. It flew away quickly, but not before unfurling it's massive wingspan in front of us.
Nature got a big thank you that day. It's rare to witness that incredible beauty up close.
My last memorable interaction that I think of fondly was in England. I was staying with a friend in deepest, darkest Surrey. Her house is around three kilometres from the station - a good half hour walk home through that classic English woodland.
Around the halfway mark, sitting by the side of the road, was the most glorious fox. I love foxes. I stopped and stared. He stared back. Neither of us moved for a minute or two. He nodded at me. I nodded at him. It was an unexpected acknowledgement. Then he crossed the road and went into some bushes.
I know this is a silly little story about encountering a fox on a lovely English Autumn afternoon on a picturesque English country road, but it was a fox. In the wild. We were minding our own business. But we connected in a small way.
Any time you can commune with an animal, whether it's a dog you pass in the street, or the neighbours cat who demands a tummy rub before you pass, or watching (and smelling) Salvatore the seal, who sometimes frequents the Yarra River, animals will always be the bomb.
I have absolutely no idea of what to write tonight, so I'm delving into my box of Dev's prompt cards.
This one reads:
"Can you drive? Fly a plane? Ride a bike? How did you learn? Who have you taught? Do you enjoy train travel? Always up for a bus ride, or are you a keen walker? Have you been in a helicopter, an ambulance or traveled by horse and cart? Are you an Uber driver? Do you remember tram conductors? Do you have something to write about ticket inspectors? Is taking ferries part of your life or have they been in the past? Walking in transport, right?
Your reflections, opinions, memories, and preferences about transport please my darling."
Okay, I can do this.
I love transport, and with the exception of suburban buses, I love most of them, mainly because transport takes you places.
I'll break this down.
I have been driving since the age of ten - first of all tractors, then I learned to drive in a car around the age of 14. Remember, I grew up on the back roads of Myponga, and shifting cars around, picking up milk from the neighbours - little trips. Job runs. As one of the cars was automatic, I first learned in that, then moved onto the three-on-the-tree Valiant wagon we had at the time. Mrs Gwennie, our bus driver showed me how to change gears in a manual. Yes, I can drive a manual. I pride myself on being able to drive nearly anything. I find driving relaxing. I love long car journeys. Driving is good - though I'd never drive an Uber. I'm not one for the general public.
I've given my friend Geetangeli a few driving lessons. The last one took place in a car park in Christchurch. She's been driving manuals for years - never an automatic. I had a hire car at the time, so we found this empty car park on the Sunday morning and I let her do a few laps. Easiest driving lessons ever, not that she's got behind the wheel of an automatic since, but we proved it was easy, and she has the confidence that these vehicles won't stop her for driving them in the future. I mean, they are a bit set and forget, but I do understand her apprehension.
I'm a keen walker. Sneakers are my preferred mode of transport in cities.
I can't fly a plane, but I'm sure if I asked nicely, my uncle might offer to teach me - though I'm not fond of the thought of small planes - the bigger the better.
Yes I've been in a helicopter, but I was on holiday in New Zealand in the eighties. I've also been in a balloon - 40th birthday present from the guys at work. That was awesome. I've been in an ambulance. I was an ambulance cadet as a teenager, so we got to be in the ambulances at local events. I was also transported from on hospital to another after day surgery - nothing nefarious, in fact it felt like overkill. I could have walked the 600 meters, but that's not the protocol.
I don't remember tram conductors, but I remember them on the trains in Adelaide when I was a teenager. As for ticket inspectors - I suppose somebody has to do the job. They used to be a lot more confrontational - they seem to have softened their stance since COVID. I've never had a run in with them. I'm good at tapping on.
In an ideal world, I would take a ferry to work. Though I could never live in Sydney, I adore taking the ferry. I love the romance, the sitting out on deck feeling the sea spray and sunshine and the vibrations of the motors below deck. Ferries are a great way to get around.
But I love trains. I’ve always love trains. I remember when my grandmother used to take me to watch the level crossings when I was a young child. I would’ve been a train spotter if that.Had been allowed to manifest further. But trains are great, Whether they be the London underground or the Paris Metro, long journey through Europe, there a quick ride on a suburban train. I love that he just have to sit there and you get taken to where you need to go. You don’t have to think about it, you just get on and sit down and your mind is your own for the duration of the ride.
I've just had a huge week and I'm exhausted. I'm thankful that the questions are short and my answers are going to be even shorter. Going out to concerts two nights in a row on a school night, in your 50s, is not a good thing. It's hard. It's exhausting. But it was The Pixies and it has to be done.
1) Has anyone ever told you "I love you" but you didn't say it back?
Yes. Did I love him? No. Was I flattered? No. It was all about timing, but I don't want to go into it. Am I still in contact with this person? No.
2) Do you consider yourself organized?
Yes and no. I look really disorganised, but my ADHD brain has everything in order. Bills are paid on time, itineraries kept to and I know where things are. But it looks a mess.
3) Where do you look first when you go clothes shopping?
Online - and Facebook Marketplace. I don't like clothes shopping in stores.
4) Do you often reflect on your past in terms of eras or milestones ("it's been 10 years since X happened")?
All the time. But some of that comes from working with people who are younger than you and you work out what you were doing the year they were born and it's very scary.
5) Were you more recently ill or injured (flu vs. twisted ankle)?
Not really. I had a nasty cold in France a few months back and I'm still rehabbing a strained glute muscle - thankfully, nothing major.
People who occasionally read my reviews know that I'm normally a positive reviewer, I look for the good in what I go see. I find things to appreciate, talk up some things while being constructively critical about other things.
Yeah. I'm not going to do that here.
Wicked: For Good is ostensibly a bad film. It's a bit of a dog. With fleas. But people are going to march along to it regardless and will probably say it's great.
I won't do that.
There. I said it. It's bad.
This is not to say that I didn't enjoy some things, and I will talk about those. But this one's a shocker, which is disappointing as the first film was very enjoyable. But that was a year ago. They had a year to get this right. It didn't happen.
Also, some of this comes from the fact that this is based off a musical, and the kind of musical which I tend to avoid or then see once and never go again. Case in point - Les Miserables. Seen in once. The best bit is when Javert jumps off the bridge. I don't like that the musical themes are repeated ad nauseum through the show. It's annoying. It's why I don't like mainstream
It's for this reason I never saw Wicked on stage. There are other things I'd rather spend my money on. Seeing this as a film suits me better - it doesn't have the large financial outlay.
So, here's my major criticism: You take a three hour, with interval stage show and turn it into two, two-hour plus movies. The first film has the interesting stuff about how the two protagonists meet and do the enemies-to-friends trope. The second is about how they 'killed off' the Wicked Witch of the West. And frankly, the story is a bit boring. But it could have been a lot better.
I'm not going to diss this film for all the things that should have made this stellar.
The production values are incredible. The CGI, the colours, the sets, the costumes - they're brilliant.
The music and dance productions are fantastic, even if they are repetitive. Cynthia Erivo's Elphaba is exquisite. She's great. So is Ariana Granda as the annoying but growing Glinda.
But and here is my big but, the script feels like it's been outsourced to A.I. and the work experience kid. The transitions between scenes are clunky. Some scenes feel cut short, others are laboured. It's like they've spent squillions on the production and forgotten about the script, making the movie feel like it's about half an hour too long.
I'm not going to let the writers Stephen Schwartz and Winnie Holman off the hook for this. Nor whoever approved the continuity. It felt jumpy and patchy. However good a film looks, it doesn't make up for a badly constructed story - and this is why I've not rated it.
Still, those who love Wicked the stage musical will love this. This will encourage the theatre kids out there to apply for the VCA and NIDA. Those who like musicals will love it, especially those who love the original musical.
For me, nah. Not impressed with the storytelling. It doesn't matter how good it looks, how wonderful the musical numbers are - a badly told story is a badly told story and as a writer, this is unforgivable.
The Venue: Festering (oops) Festival Hall, West Melbourne
Melbourne Dates: 19 and 20 November - the last stop on the Australian Tour
Stars: 4.5 (only because they didn't play Levitate Me).
I had lunch with my friend the engineer today. I explained that I was a bit salty for organising this lunch today because I'd been out to see The Pixies on two consecutive school nights and I was a bit dusty.
Have you any idea how much energy it takes to go into mosh pit on two nights in a row when you're in your 50s?
Okay, there are some things we do better now. There's no drinking to excess. We wear sensible shoes. Some of us with sensory difficulties wear decibel limiting ear plugs. (Loop earplugs are the absolute best - no more ringing ears for a few days after a concert - and you can still hear it clearly.) As soon as the gig is over, we head home, not go down the pub.
We're old and sensible.
I explained this to the engineer.
"You're going to go and wax lyrical about this bloody band again?" he asked.
"Set the timer, give me five minutes."
"You don't change." The engineer has known me for over 15 years. He's seen me go into my Pixies stories.
And I went on to explain, in a very animated fashion, about my two nights out with one of my favourite bands.
Also know, I've seen them:
At the V Festival at the Gold Coast in 2007 (the first time they'd been to Australia and Kim Deal was still their bassist.
At Margaret Court Arena in 2017
At Festering oops Festival Hall in 2010
On the Sydney Opera House fore court in 2022 (they were supposed to play in March 2020, and we got up there and they cancelled because of COVID.
And at the Forum in Melbourne in 2022, this time without Alice, but I did run into Jerry...
Oh, and I saw them support Pearl Jam at Marvel Stadium last year. I could have quite happily gone home after The Pixies, but Pearl Jam were pretty good. (I'm not the only Pixies fan to feel this way.)
My mate Alice and I are complete tragics.
We were joined by some other tragics - Steve, Steve, Steve with the tickets, Jerry, Fergus and Alice and me. We were joined by Rob and Andrew and Barry inside.
This time round, they did two completely different sets.
The Wednesday night set were for the real fans. They did their two albums, Bossanova and Trompe Le Monde end-to-end. These aren't their seminal albums, but they're still good.
Wednesday night was for the hardcore fans. Festering oops Festival Hall was about 3/4 full. They put out some chairs on the side of the mosh pit so we oldies could sit down for a bit. The atmosphere was bubbling - and reverent. We all knew we were in the presence of greatness.
With Francis Black on vocals and acoustic guitar, Joey Santiago on the electric guitar, Dave Lovering on the drums and newcomer Emma Richardson on the bass, they cut loose.
They are also tighter than a nun's proverbial.
They encored with Here Comes Your Man, Where is my Mind? and a cover of Neil Young's Winterlong. The crowd left very happy indeed.
We went back the following night. The lady at the door asked if we were here last night. We were, we told her. She just shook her head at us and let us pass.
This time there was Steve, Neil, Jerry, Barry, Alice and me.
You get the drift. Six 50 somethings mooching along Spencer Street all excited about a gig, with our sensible shoes, glasses, band t-shirts all excited to see this greatness in action.
The second night was more of a classic set. Songs from Surfer Rosa/Come on Pilgrim and Doolittle, along with some of their newer stuff.
The place was sold out.
But instead of the absolute tragics, the people who like The Pixies because they like song at the end of Fight Club, or the cover of Here Comes Your Man in 500 Days of Summer turned up.
It was a younger crowd. It felt different, even though the music was still amazing.
They did both versions of Wave of Mutilation - the rock version and the stripped back acoustic UK Surf track, which I rather like. They ended on Into the White, which I haven't heard in years.
I was happy because they played Nimrod's Son, Hey and Vamos.... but they have to play Vamos.... because it shows Joey off in his best light.
Alice was happy because they performed Head On (a Jesus and Mary Chain cover) which is her favourite.
But they missed out on Levitate Me. And Crackity Jones...and a few others missed the cut.
But The Pixies are still God.
Alice and I agreed, both nights were great, but we preferred the Wednesday night with the long term, committed fans.
Okay, that took me about ten minutes, madly talking with my hands as we waited for lunch to arrive.
But as Alice said, as Francis Black, Joey Santiago and Dave Lovering are in their sixties now, who knows if or when they will come again.
And this is our church.
Alice and I worship in the mosh pit altar of what is one of the greatest bands in the world.
You can't tell me otherwise.
(And if you ever want me to sing you a Pixies song, I'll do it happily. That's the sort of fan I am.)
Bone conducting headphones. Check. (for the tram ride)
Okay. I'm doing it again. Converging with 5000 or so of my brethren who are going to celebrate at the Church of The Pixies.
Alice said it well. "Pand, THIS is our Church!"
She's right.
Concerts have changed.
I wear the earplugs now taking away about 20 decibels of noise but still being able to hear everything clearly - and your ears don't ring into the next day.
There's no point drinking anything other than water - or maybe one beer. That's all - it's a school night.
Oh, and there's chair where you can go sit down for a bit if you get tired. Because we're old. Most of the crowd are well into their 50s. But don't diss us, we know how to party!
Last night the band did the Bossonova and Trompe de Monde albums from end to end - with Here Comes Your Man and Where is my Mind? and a cover of Neil Young's Winterlong as an encore
Tonight' might be a bit busier. Tonight, they're going to get into the Surfer Rosa and Doolittle albums, as well as some of their later stuff.
I will remind you that I received my first Walkman - to play cassettes, when I was 17-years-old. The first cassette I put into that Walkman was Talking Heads Stop Making Sense, which is still one of my favourite albums.
I will remind you that I've seen Elton John with the Sydney Symphony Orchestra. I've seen David Byrne, twice - soon to be three times.
I was sitting in a pub in Holborn when I first heard Blur and Oasis.
I used to get told off for watching Countdown twice when I was a kid.
I know the words to Khe Sahn.
I can do the Nutbush. And the Macarana. And I learned to square dance at primary school.
And now I'm off to Festival Hall, or as I call it, Festering Hall, to see The Pixies.
I love The Pixies.
I'm wearing the t-shirt.
And comfortable shoes. And glasses. And I have my loop earplugs. And I will be standing up the back (if I can't blague a seat).
And I will be joining a lot of other Gen-X tragics in comfortable shoes, band t-shirts, wearing glasses. Lots of the men with have beards and bald spots. Most of the women will be on HRT.
And yeah, we're off to see The Pixies, tonight, for the Bossanova and Trompe le Monde set, and tomorrow night for the best of set, because we are tragics and we know that the band are now in their sixties (with the exception of Emma, who's probably late thirties) and you don't know if this will be the last time.
What books am I going to put up for book group? Every single year I dither over this.
My book group has been going for nearly 20 years, we've had some come in and out and there's the odd blow in, but the eight of us have been at this for at least ten years and we've been doing the lolly vote for all of this.
At our book choosing meeting you're given a bag of 25 lollies. Once everybody has championed their two books you get to put lollies on the books you want to read (but you can't vote for your own books).
Books have to fit the book group criteria, these being:
Must be fiction - no non-fiction, memoir or autobiography
Should be under 500 pages - we will accept a few more pages but use discretion when choosing. So, Demon Copperhead at 560 pages - yes. A Little Life at nearly 1000 pages - no.
Should be of either literary or good popular fiction quality. So, Liane Moriarty, yes. Dan Brown, no.
Must be readily available in book shops, libraries, online. Nothing out of print or hard to get.
Book choices need to be in two days before the December meeting.
I'm the only one who knows what's on the book list ahead of time. We have the two-day amnesty as it allows for anybody who can't make the meeting to vote. Also, it stops double ups. So far this year we have eight books in - already two double ups.
Anyway, I have to have a think about what I'm going to put in.
Nothing on this list has been chosen yet (though a couple of my long list have been chosen).
So here is what I'm thinking about putting up at the moment.
Chosen Family by Madeline Gray
A coming-of-age story set in Sydney taking the two protagonists through to adulthood.
I loved her first book, Green Dot and I'm looking forward to reading more. Australian content. Published 2025. 357 pages.
Mad Mabel by Sally Hepworth
The blurb reads, "In 1959, at just fifteen years of age, Mabel Waller became the youngest Australian in history to be convicted of murder. She is known around the world as Mad Mabel. But is she mad? More importantly, is she guilty? In a world first, at the age of 81, Mabel Waller is speaking."
I've heard good things about Sally Hepworth. Australian content. Published 2025. 342 pages.
The Underworld by Sofie Laguna
I love Sofie Laguna. She's amazing. This one is about a girl growing up - a misfit with a glamorous, aloof mother and absent father. She learsn about the underworld in Roman Mythology classes at school. She has friends, but then things go wrong.
Sofie Laguna always breaks your heart. That's why you keep going back. Australian content. Published 2025. 370 pages.
Theory and Practice by Michele de Kretzer
Winner of this year's Miles Franklin award, this is a Melbourne based novel set in the 80s. It's very cool, though rather unsettling. I loved the details in this. Michele de Kretzer can be challenging, but in a good way.
Australian content. Published 2024. 180 pages.
The Wedding People by Alison Espach
This is my popular fiction thought. Phoebe is a woman, recently separated, who goes to a flash hotel hell bent on ending her life. But there is a big wedding being held at this fancy-schmancy hotel and when the bride gets wind of this, she's having none of it. It's a book about dysfunctional families, friendship, love and everything in between.
American author. Published 2024. 367 pages.
Atmosphere by Taylor Jenkins-Reid
I'd gone off Taylor Jenkins Reid, but I listened to this, and it was fantastic. The story of two women astronauts. Friends, lovers, trailblazers. This is a page turner. Emotional. Interesting. Engaging. Jenkins-Reid is back to her best.
American author. Published 2025. Published 2025, 352 pages.
Orbital by Samantha Harvey
This is a little book that packs a punch. It won the Booker Prize last year. It's about a group of astronauts floating about space. It is incredible. And little. And it keeps coming back to you.
English author. Published 2024. 136 pages.
Gravity Let Me Go by Trent Dalton
I love Trent Dalton. His Boy Swallows Universe was voted the best book of the last 20 years by ABC Radio listeners. How we missed Lola in the Mirror on our reading list last year I will never know. It's amazing. Anyway, this one, according to the blurb, is a dark, gritty, hilarious and unexpected exploration of marriage and ambition, truth-telling, and truth-omitting, self-deception and self-preservation. Hmm.
Australian author. Published 2025. Published 2025. 431 pages.
Great Acts of Love by Heather Rose
Heather Rose is another favourite author of mine. And all of her books are really different. She also won the Stella Prize for The Museum of Modern Love a few years ago. An incredible book.
This one's blurb reads, "Caroline will tell the story of how she came to Tasmania, when it was still Van Diemen's Land, many times. She will cast her inventions into the future. Those who carry them will call it history, but she will call it her life. "
It's a family saga. Got to love a good famly saga.
Australian author. Published 2025. 471 pages.
Broken Country by Clare Leslie Hall
I listened to this as an audiobook and fell in love with it. Here's the blurb from Goodreads.
"Beth and her gentle, kind husband Frank are happily married, but their relationship relies on the past staying buried. But when Beth’s brother-in-law shoots a dog going after their sheep, Beth doesn’t realize that the gunshot will alter the course of their lives. For the dog belonged to none other than Gabriel Wolfe, the man Beth loved as a teenager—the man who broke her heart years ago. Gabriel has returned to the village with his young son Leo, a boy who reminds Beth very much of her own son, who died in a tragic accident.
As Beth is pulled back into Gabriel’s life, tensions around the village rise and dangerous secrets and jealousies from the past resurface, this time with deadly consequences. Beth is forced to make a choice between the woman she once was, and the woman she has become.
A sweeping love story with the pace and twists of a thriller, Broken Country is a novel of simmering passion, impossible choices, and explosive consequences that toggles between the past and present to explore the far-reaching legacy of first love."
It was awesome.
English author. Published 2025. 319 pages.
Dream Count by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie
I am remiss in that I've not read Ngozi Adichie yet. I missed reading Half a Yellow Sun because I was overseas at the time - one of the few book group books I've missed.
This one also looks at the African diaspora in four separate stories.
Nigerian author. Published 2025. 474 pages.
Any thoughts on what I should choose? There are so many books I could put on this list. So many books, so little time. Too many to choose from.
As action films go, this is my type of action film - and I don't do action films that often.
Based on the novel by Stephen King, adapted by Michael Bacall and Edgar Wright and a world away from the Arnold Schwarzenegger film from 1987, this is a very cool re-imagining of a book written in the early 1980s, but with a few twists that make this very relevant.
It also has Glen Powell in the role of Ben Richards. Glen Powell is everywhere at the moment. He's also very easy on the eye, very funny and he makes the role his own. I also adore that he happily takes the piss out of himself.
What Edgar Wright and screenwriter Michael Bacall have done is taken Stephen King's novel and modernised it. Set in the not-too-distant future, Ben is one of the have nots, fired again and again for standing up for the rights of the worker and being sacked for it. When his daughter becomes ill, he needs to make money for real medicine - not the stuff you can buy on the streets. So, he decides to go on a game show, of which, in this world there seems to be many humiliating games.
The worst of which is The Running Man, where contestants need to stay staying alive evading capture by the hunters which are sent after him (and the other two chosen contestants).
The Producers, in particular Dan Killian (Josh Brolin) spot the rage in Ben and sign him up for the show. Ben knows that this means almost certain death for him, however, he has his wife and daughter to life for, and thankfully, he's both smart, and a bit lucky.
And the action starts.
There are a few things that stood out to me with this. Firstly, The Running Man is a biting parody on our reality television culture, and modern society in general. A lot of it is masked by the unrelenting action, but it's there. And it's thought provoking. And there's a lot of piss taking around modern television, with a great send up of the Kardashians / Real Housewives franchises, as well as the banality of reality television a whole.
Secondly, Edgar Wright can do no wrong. The writer/director who made Shaun of the Dead twenty years ago hasn't put a foot wrong since. This is his first real blockbuster. Kudos.
Thirdly, the cast is great - and unexpected. Michael Cera, William H Macy, Lee Pace, Emelia Jones, Sean Hayes, to name a few, help bring this to life.
And yes, it's violent and bloody in part, but the violence is short and quick - even if there is a lot of it - amid the unrelenting action. Like the violence in Marvel films, it's watchable without having to cringe or hide your eyes too often.
The Running Man is a great film for blokes. Need a film to get the bloke out of the house? Send him along to this? You don't have to think that much about it, but if you dig a little deeper, you'll reap the rewards. Some may have a special spot for the Arnold Schwarzenegger original - as I've not seen it, I'm pleased to have gone and seen this.
As somebody who doesn't watch many action films this ticked a lot of boxes.
It's Sunday and as I lost yesterday to a quick trip over to Adelaide, I'm going to make this a quick one. Too much to do here today before tomorrow, when I have a job to go to and work to do.
So here are this week's questions, supplied, as always, by Sunday Stealing.
1. If you were an animal, what animal would you be?
I would be a well-loved house cat. What a life. I've always said I'd like to come back as a well-loved, well-fed, happily fulfilled cat. They really have a good life. They want for nothing.
2. Are you generous?
Yes.
3. Of the following, which consistently gives you the most pleasure: a) music, b) money, c) books, d) science, e) spirituality, f) food and wine, g) movies?
I have to say that money give me the opportunity to enjoy music, books, spirituality, food, wine (well gin) and movies.
I get the most pleasure out of books and movies, but spirituality, music and food also give me a great amount of pleasure.
4. Describe your dancing ability.
I dance like your average household refrigerator. Nuff said.
5. What do you think your worst enemy really thinks of you?
I have no idea. I reckon you have no business what other people think of you - that all leads to pain and suffering on your side. If anything, I hope my enemy had no idea what I was thinking. That would be good.
6. Can you tell when someone is lying to you?
Most of the time, yes. I've got a pretty well-tuned bullshit meter.
7. Describe how it feels to fall in love.
Really, I have no idea.
And I think it is different every time you fall in love.
Sometimes, it's an instant twist of the heart. You have no idea what has hit you, other than you have feelings for this person and there it is.
Other times, it's a slow building of feelings.
I've had both happen. I just know it's different under every circumstance - except when you adopt a new pet. They walk into your heart, and you are stuck with them.
8. In deadly peril, what three people would you want in a foxhole with you?
Oh, please give me somebody who's a crack shot, a doctor, or somebody who has medical training. The last one should be somebody who's funny so that you can entertain each other.
9. What is your greatest weakness?
Probably procrastinating. I'm really good at procrastinating, much to my detriment.
10. If you were to live out the rest of your life as your favorite fictional character, which would you choose?
I have so many favorite fictional characters. The romantic in me would love to be Elizabeth Bennet from Pride and Prejudice. I wouldn't mind being Richard from The Secret History, as I like a good mystery. Or Hermione Granger from the Harry Potter series. Or Alma from The Signature of All Things by Elizabeth Gilbert, because she's awesome. Or Lyra from the Philip Pullman books (The Golden Compass, Northern Lights and The Subtle Knife).
I went to Adelaide for lunch today. Yes. I got up early, drove to the airport, got on the plane, did the easy sudoku in the magazine before take-off, read my book, landed, picked up the hire car and drove out to collect Geetangeli in North Adelaide.
All for lunch.
We then drove down to McLaren Vale, met up with my parents, where the three of them did a gin tasting (I had one gin and tonic - I was the driver and I'm not supposed to drink on the meds) Had some lunch, the did everything in reverse order, dropping Geetangeli back in North Adelaide, dropping off the hire car, getting back on a plane and going home. Okay, as I was on a Jetstar flight there was no sudoku to do. And as the cat had been by himself all day, I came back to a stroppy bugger because I was late home for dinner.
But I went to Adelaide for lunch.
Because I do stuff like this sometimes you need to do this for cherished friends, and Geetangeli is that.
We met at University College in 1986. Yes, we've known each other for the better part of 40 years. We talk online every few months, with the odd message going back and forth in between - normally concerning gin, good films, a local production of a play, great meals or other such things.
When we meet up in person, which happens once every year or so, it's like there's been no time in between - which I reckon is the standard for a great friendship.
So, when she said that she was going to be coming to Adelaide for a few days, we started plotting. Could she spare me a long lunch? Yes. How about we go down to the Never Never Gin Distillery in McLaren Vale? Absolutely. (There is a story around this which we like to tell - best gin in the world). Would she like it if my parents came along? Yes, please. My folks jumped at the chance to catch up.
Rather than stay in Adelaide for the night, arrange cat sitting and the rest of it, I booked the flight and hire car, worked out the timings, as both of us a bit anal about itineraries working, and it was all set.
It sounds a bit extravagant to hop on a plane and book a hire car all to go and have lunch. I will say that the flight was bought on frequent flyer points, keeping the costs down.
As far as I'm concerned, you don't place a cost of friendship. You have to work on them, tend and nurture them. If you can, you spend the money and take the time because the rewards come back to you tenfold.
P.S. It is also wonderful when you have friends who know you well and bring you things you can't get here. New Zealand gin and chocolate. I'm set! I love friends who know you well.
The Production: Dying: A Memoir - based on the book by Cory Taylor, adapted by Benjamin Law
The Space: The Fairfax Studio at the Arts Centre
Runtime: 75 minutes
Stars: 4
Until November 29
Part of many Gen X's lives are now involved with aging and dying parents. It's a fact of life. Barely a week goes by when you don't have a discussion with somebody about what's going on with their folks. I'm very thankful my folks are doing well.
Dying: A Memoir is one of those rare plays which is as funny as it is engaging. It has a small and acceptable amount of audience participation. It is also raw, honest and an absolute joy to watch.
The story is an old one. Cory is 50 when she's diagnosed with melanoma in 2005. She has the next ten years to come to terms with her fate.
According to the MTC website:
When the acclaimed author Cory Taylor was diagnosed with a terminal illness, what followed was an astonishing creative surge that resulted in a memoir Barack Obama named as one of his favourite books of 2017.
Taylor’s wry insights into the rituals, language and taboos surrounding mortality can be witty, provocative or eye-opening – sometimes in the same breath. With honesty and unsentimental clarity she confronts the swamp of anxiety and despair that traditionally surrounds death and opens the door to the bright clear-eyed vision it ultimately grants us. Learning to face death is, in the end, learning to live fully.
Equally moving and disarmingly funny, Taylor’s last work has been adapted with great care by writer and broadcaster Benjamin Law (Torch the Place), a family friend of Taylor’s, who brings a loving ear to this most intimate tale.
This is fabulous.
Genevieve Morris takes on portraying Cory and she is fantastic. Brave, controlled and funny in equal measure as she uses Benjamin Law's adaptation to question society's view on death. As she is actively dying by the end of the play, the script also questions Voluntary Assisted Dying (not available at the time of Corey's death), making preparations, and ultimately living life.
There was a small discussion near the end of the play. The audience was polled.
1. Would you like to know if it was your last time doing something e.g. driving a car, making love, eating ice cream?
It was about a 50/50 split in the audience.
2. Are you afraid of death?
This was a different split. Some had no fear at all. Others were afraid of having a bad death. Some saw it as the next adventure.
Conversation was opened, which is the point of the book, and the play.
Jean Tong's direction is spot on. Warm. Funny. Charming and nice and quick. But you go away satisfied.
This is definitely worth a look. I know I walked in thinking, "Hmm... a play about death. How cheerful.
I walked out fulfilled, full of feelings and impressed by what was a presented.
As somebody writing a novel about preparing to die, as well as being privy to many conversations about ageing and dying, I recommend this.
Clarity always comes in the middle of a boring task. In today’s case, I was nearly finished the compliance training modules that any contractor will tell you about. They’re boring, and time-consuming, and unfortunately a legal necessity. I mean, how hard is it to know that there is a code of conduct And you shouldn’t steal or bully or tell anybody anything. Really. That is what all these compliance things are about.
Anyway, I was walking through these courses as you do. I was riding my Ritalin haze when some thoughts intruded.
I’m currently following a content creator on Instagram who goes by the tag of Healing by the Numbers. She is a psychologist who deals with trauma, and a lot of her content reflects on her abusive marriage. She’s interesting, and very informative. And thankfully, no longer married to the cretinous waste of space.
Today the penny dropped.
It was abuse. It wasn’t sexual abuse or physical abuse, but it was abuse. Silence can be abuse. Not keeping to your word is abuse making a belittling comments is abuse. (What sort of job was a technical writer? Anybody could do that? They used to tell me this all the time.) Breadcrumbing is abuse.
And years on now, with absolutely no contact, I realised that what I feel when I now think of him, is shame.
God, it’s horrible.
It’s been over for years now, but sometimes, when you’re doing something bizarre, and your mind is reasonably quiet, but shame keeps creeps back in.
However, by admitting it, that the relationship was built on abuse, and knowing that it wasn’t you doing the abusing, there really is no reason to feel shame.
The next part is to forgive myself for allowing myself to have this happen to me. I’m a lot stronger for all of this. I’m a lot happier without him.
I’m thankful for the clarity. Forgiveness will come. It will take time, but the clarity makes it easier to do.
I'm back in the location where I started my contracting/consulting career. The building is 100 x better than the one that used to be there.
The onboarding process has been one of the smoothest I've encountered. I've got a laptop. login, email, Teams. All set up by 9.30 a.m.
The people are lovely.
As I've gone back into a bank, I think this is the most time I've spent around people dressed in suits. And covered shoes that aren't trainer, or Birkenstocks.
I've nearly finished my compliance modules. They're all the same. They all say the same things. Don't be a dick. Don't send files to you home email. Don't share any information with anybody outside of the company. Be nice to people. At least this job doesn't have modules on the best practice of Personal Protective Equipment or Ringfencing. Hated that module.
The coffee shop in the foyer next door does good decaf.
Getting up, putting on structured clothing and covered shoes and make up, then arriving at the office at 8.30 a.m. was hard.
Ritalin does help with concentration. It's fabulous.
And I am absolutely buggered so I'm going to join the cat in bed.
And I only have to front up to the office once or twice a week.
Anyway, I'm off to bed. I think I'm going to like it here for the next couple of months.
Fronting up to a Collins Street office tomorrow at 8.30 a.m. is going to be hard. It's been two months, to the day, since I've been in an office, whether in person or remotely. This is a very good thing. I've been overseas. I needed to decompress. Any lingering angst from the last job has gone, bleached from my soul - not that there was much of that, but the overwhelming travel and the complexity of the last project left me exhausted. I feel close to normal now - being tired is part of middle age.
Then there's all the things that must be considered. What am I going to wear? What shoes should I put on my feet? After two and a half years of remote work and monthly Darwin Office Casual and Birkenstocks, are my clothes going to be okay? What do I need in my bag? My peripherals pencil case. Myki. Water bottle (and do I take the trusty Yeti or use another one?) Hairbrush. Lipstick. Tissues. Sunglasses /regular glasses/screen glasses.
Will the team like me? Will I like them? (Going by the people who interviewed me, I reckon that might be a yes.) What are the offices like? What will my laptop be like - will it be an old crusty, or something decent?) Will I need to travel between offices?
And all of this fell into my lap. A recruiter saw my CV after applying for another job, picked me out, put me forward and voila! Job. Of course, I'd been putting it out the universe for a few weeks, making calls, putting in applications, setting up coffee meetings. I did the work.
I'm incredibly grateful for the two months off. Grateful that I've got my energy back (though the allergies aren't appreciated and I wish they'd go away.) And sure, I didn't get as much as I wanted to done around the flat, but that's okay. I've made a start on it.
And Lucifer loves me again.
It's been good.
Here's hoping this next adventure is a good one. My gut feeling says it's going to be just what I need.
Some parties are easier than others. Small gatherings don't count. Work Christmas parties are the worst. Anything big and noisy where the alcohol is flowing, the music is blaring and things have a tendency to get out of control is somewhere I don't want to be.
Most other parties I'll turn up later, generally after spending an hour or so procrastinating about going, arrive late, find a quiet spot, often out with the barbeque, or with the smokers, or under the clothesline.
Part of me wants to turn up in my Hoody, which reads ‘Sorry I’m late, I didn’t want to come’.Lots of introverts have this T-shirt or some other garment with this slogan displayed.
Last night I went to a party. EJ was having a retirement party. He's been like a little kid for weeks about this. He's also painted the house, sorted out the garden, you name it, he's done it around the house. It was explained that I'd probably turn up, say hello, skulk off to the quiet room and do the jigsaw for an hour (Lots of neurospicy people were going - he thought a quiet room would be a good idea) and then skedaddle as soon as the speeches were done. Fronting up was mandatory, after all, he's been my work husband for years.
Last night, I got ready. But what do you wear to a party? This wasn't a backyard barbeque. Do I dress up? And if I dress up, then what do I wear? Or dress down? Is this a jeans and a nice top affair, or should I wear a dress? Also, the weather being feral, my summer frocks were out of the question. I ended up changing twice before settling on a comfy dress, leggings and boots.
I arrived on time, parking the car around the corner. I met some other people going in. They asked if I was going to the old folks' party. Yes, I was.
We were greeted by a security bloke. Security? At a retirement party. It was explained that there had been a lot of home burglaries in the area in the last few months - the guy was there to stop obvious gatecrashers.
Parties have changed in the last forty years. No keg. Decent food. You can hear yourself speak - and hear others talking. It was also lovely to catch up with some old workmates. On of EJ's friends, who he hadn't seen since high school turned up with his wife. She and I went on the French writer's retreat two years ago. Seeing her was a highlight. Also getting to meet EJ's daughter, who's his pride and joy, for the first time.
And there were speeches, and a band, which EJ got up and sang with (he was a part of this band at one stage - and they were pretty good.)
Then there was cake. Good cake. Not a Coles mud cake - not that there's anything wrong with that.
At 11 p.m. as the crowd was thinning and the feet hurting, I said my goodbyes and left. Two hours after my expected exit time. And I didn't do any of the jigsaw. I'm not sure anybody did. The food was too good, though EJ and his wife will be eating pizza until the Rapture comes.
It's Saturday, and the questions are out. It's a grim day here in Melbourne - it feels like it's been raining for weeks, even though it's only been a damp few days - and next week looks like scattered showers - which is a bit strange for November. It's okay - the Melbourne Cup got drenched. Never a bad thing.
I'm also going back to work on Wednesday, so I want to make the most of these last four days off. Yes, Wednesday is a strange day to start a job, but random public holidays for a pointless horse race is also a strange thing. Only in Australia.
1) Which three BOOKS could you read over and over again?
Just three?
Okay, I'm going to have to go for clout here.
First one, and a contentious pick, would be Hanya Yanagihara's A Little Life. It's a tome. there is so much to unpack here. I've read it once and I want to read it again. It is hard going, but worth it.
Second book is my favourite book. Louis de Bernieres' Captain Corelli's Mandolin. It's set on an island. It's amazing.
My third book would be Michel Faber's The Crimson Petal and the White. Another huge book. My original copy was printed on bank paper, and it was still a brick. I took it on holiday once and I was known as 'Girl with the big book' by the staff. I loved every minute of this Victorian thriller.
These would keep me going.
2) Which three MOVIES could you watch over and over again?
I have a tendency to watch things over anyway - it's a neurodiversity thing - but what would I take to play again and again. Ooof. I would say something funny, something thought provoking and something gorgeous.
On the top of mind, for my funny film I might take along The Wedding Singer. I know, it's silly, but it's 80's sensibilities just tickle me.
My thought-provoking film might be Lost in Translation. The whole making a connection in a strange place, it's just superb.
My third films would be Amelie. Just so I could set my mind and feel like I'm in Paris again.
3) Which three SONGS could you listen to over and over again?
Again, I listen to songs over and over again, but here's some I could have on repeat.
Australian Crawl's Reckless. (Australian music from the 80s is the best.)
Then something to get me dancing. Why not the Rolling Stones Sympathy for the Devil.
And because I can never get enough of David Byrne and Talking Heads, one of his earlier songs.
Mind you, if I was stuck on a desert island, I'd take a loaded kindle, internet access and a streaming subscription to keep me occupied when I wasn't swimming./
I had a massage this afternoon. I've not had one for a while, mostly because my 'massage money' had gone towards physiotherapy for the last few months, in an attempt to sort out a lingering arse strain.
Lingering is the word for this injury. It was done in the gym over six months ago when my foot slipped on a mat at the gym and everything went ping. Sure, I can walk, and go to the gym, but there are things, like squats and deadlifts, which I can do for a while, then things start to hurt. Then some strange knee pain started. My knees are pretty good normally. The pain is sporadic and localised. And because my body's compensating for the injury, my lower back is all tight and just not fun.
Also, doing bodywork for as long as I have, you get to know all about how your body compensates for injuries. When I busted by bum years ago I had 18 months of strange aches and pains. At least this time I've got physio working on things, and I'm doing the exercises - and it is improving.
Anyway, tonight, as a bit of a pre starting work treat, I went back to my massage therapist, who I haven't seen in months.
He spent 45 minutes on my back, paying particular attention to my lower back, hips and glutes. As he said, it's all a bit messed up down there.
It's now feeling a lot better.
But I'm really sleepy. Massage makes you sleepy. Really sleepy.
Yep, after an hour of massage just makes you want to sleep. Lots of water, lie on the couch, listen to the rain, watch The Celebrity Traitors finale (current guilty pleasure).
