The last blog I was prompted to write was about yoga making me furious on Thursday morning. By the time I got to write it it was Thursday night and bombs were going off in London. It seemed too frivolous to set down.


To the weekend...

As I came in the door on Friday night, oranges were splayed down the hall like polka dots, or pool balls. I closed my eyes and shook my head but when I opened them the oranges were still there. Lorraine had brought them from her tree two weeks ago and I was supposed to give them to Noonie. They were in a bag near the front door, to remind me. Finally, on Saturday afternoon I acknowledged that getting oranges to their intended is harder than it seems. I put them in our fruit bowl. Then yesterday to ground me, I made an orange and almond cake and Noonie got to eat some at dinner.

In what was to become a theme of the weekend, Steve, the single straight colourist dyed my hair orange - and I kind of didn't care. We had jokes about the cricket and secret shared glances when the trashy woman having her roots done and drinking wine at 11am asked the junior to buy her some cigarettes.

Lisa Torrance's text: "do you mean carrot coloured or more marmalade?"

Mark Dapin wrote a funny piece about BOGOFs, and I wanted to hug him for finding the humour in value add promotions. I'm going to send him an email and suggest we hang out at IGA. We've got a lot to cover: GWPs, cover mounts, and the red flashing light in the fruit and veg section. If I was on the Walkley Awards judging panel...

There's a black umbrella trapped in the no-man's land demarcated by the door mat. It's between the front door and the screen door. Avi says it's trying to escape. I think it was afraid of the oranges out of control on the other side.