Saturday
There’s a dachshund in the park attempting to play with a soccer ball. Chest skimming the ground, it doesn’t have the height for much control. Eventually a bigger dog with better skills commandeers the ball and quickly it’s at the other side of the park. Dachshund stands by its owners and barks in the general direction.
I’ve crashed a burger and beer recovery session which belongs to Caroline, Eamonn and the artist from WA. We sit in the sunshine of the park and drink warm Grolsch. Conversation starts with The Hanging Man. What if Death did decline? Or is that a part of the story with which the tellers took liberty? Perversely, it’s comforting that Death is an actual person. Perhaps because played by a dwarf it seems less intimidating. I like the idea of making her acquaintance throughout your life until it’s time. Have I seen her already, and where?
Caroline says that Gab’s baby, Charlotte, throws up about 80 times a day. We talk about our new house where everything will be perfect, and the artist asks if I’m a lucky person. At one point he motions to me to stop biting my fingernails. Inside I frown.
We discuss differences between Sydney and Melbourne, the christening, rescheduling the Pearl Beach weekend and Avi’s dress up party. Mostly we observe dog behaviour, and I pick at the leftover chips.
After a while Caroline and the artist take the keys to my house and walk down to go to the bathroom. As they’re coming back they hear Hazel’s daughter yelling on the phone.
Soon the sun is down and it’s time to move on. The man at the deli says I’m the first soup person of the season. He seems impressed but he doesn’t think it’s cold enough and hasn’t ordered ham hocks yet.
In the supermarket a man in a cap bowls up to me, opens a plastic bag in front of my nose and asks: “is this radicchio?” I nod and he’s gone.
I arrive home with split peas, two bottles of red and no ham. On the kitchen blackboard there’s a drawing of a dachshund chasing a ball.
Later in the evening when we’re gossiping over dinner Scotty thinks that if the rumours are true then the Tom Cruise Jamie Foxx twosome would be called ToeJam, in the spirit of TomKat. He writes that on the board too.
It’s a Scrabble night but we don’t play. Instead we eat mashy soup, drink Moet and talk about the technical differences between dwarves and midgets. We test Ed’s long service decanter, hear stories about the reading room and too hot tennis in Malaysia. I send them home at 2.30. Have to be in good form for What Not to Wear.
I’ve crashed a burger and beer recovery session which belongs to Caroline, Eamonn and the artist from WA. We sit in the sunshine of the park and drink warm Grolsch. Conversation starts with The Hanging Man. What if Death did decline? Or is that a part of the story with which the tellers took liberty? Perversely, it’s comforting that Death is an actual person. Perhaps because played by a dwarf it seems less intimidating. I like the idea of making her acquaintance throughout your life until it’s time. Have I seen her already, and where?
Caroline says that Gab’s baby, Charlotte, throws up about 80 times a day. We talk about our new house where everything will be perfect, and the artist asks if I’m a lucky person. At one point he motions to me to stop biting my fingernails. Inside I frown.
We discuss differences between Sydney and Melbourne, the christening, rescheduling the Pearl Beach weekend and Avi’s dress up party. Mostly we observe dog behaviour, and I pick at the leftover chips.
After a while Caroline and the artist take the keys to my house and walk down to go to the bathroom. As they’re coming back they hear Hazel’s daughter yelling on the phone.
Soon the sun is down and it’s time to move on. The man at the deli says I’m the first soup person of the season. He seems impressed but he doesn’t think it’s cold enough and hasn’t ordered ham hocks yet.
In the supermarket a man in a cap bowls up to me, opens a plastic bag in front of my nose and asks: “is this radicchio?” I nod and he’s gone.
I arrive home with split peas, two bottles of red and no ham. On the kitchen blackboard there’s a drawing of a dachshund chasing a ball.
Later in the evening when we’re gossiping over dinner Scotty thinks that if the rumours are true then the Tom Cruise Jamie Foxx twosome would be called ToeJam, in the spirit of TomKat. He writes that on the board too.
It’s a Scrabble night but we don’t play. Instead we eat mashy soup, drink Moet and talk about the technical differences between dwarves and midgets. We test Ed’s long service decanter, hear stories about the reading room and too hot tennis in Malaysia. I send them home at 2.30. Have to be in good form for What Not to Wear.
posted by noonie at 9:11 AM
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