Catch Up

My neighbour HH's foot is healing much slower than she expected. She never asks until I offer, which I do almost daily, if she wants anything at the shops, as she can't drive and can't really walk, only hobble around. Last Thursday she asked for a loaf of Abbott's wholemeal bread when I went out shopping.

Yesterday she asked if I could get her a prescription medication, plus painkillers. 

Late that afternoon Phyllis cooked her a meal of spicy air fried chicken, a dressed salad and a fried egg, and served it to her hot at her dining table. She said it was the first proper sit down meal she'd had for two weeks.

Gratuitous photo of Jass as she waited for an answer to her question, did we think she is pretty.

Andrew, said Sister's wife, while I know you don't wear tee shirts, I couldn't resist buying this for you. Bone Doctor was right about me wearing tee shirts but I do like this one featuring different Melbourne tram models. Kosov wears it well. I've told him he must hand wash it.

Saturday morning I met up with my Sydney friend Victor for brunch before he went to see a local performance. He was only in Melbourne for the day, and jetted home later that day. 

Once home, we three went off to the big green shed to buy cat grass, grass for cats to eat. It was absurdly expensive for a tray of a bit of grass, but we bought a tray. So far, Jass has shown interest but not eaten any.  

Saturday night we three met up with a couple of my friends, the Fijian Indian heritage guy and his Hong Kong born partner at a Pakistani restaurant in St Kilda. It was very popular with South Asian community and locals. It was quite good, and I wanted to take the very handsome waiter home with me. Noooo, Ondrrrrewww. You cannot, I was told. This catch up was to celebrate Phyllis' 23rd birthday. 

Come the day, Sunday, gifts were unwrapped, one wrapped by about 20 metres of cling wrap, and gifts spread all over the place.

I had said ok to visitors Sunday afternoon to help Phyllis celebrate his birthday. I think five people came. I left them alone, taking with me half a meals on wheels sandwich, a strange Asian small cake and a couple of chocolates. At Albert Park Beach I sat on the bench where Ray and I so often sat during Covid lockdown and consumed my food with a takeaway coffee.

Sitting on my own on a bench, eating and and drinking my coffee as I stared out to sea and a stormy sky, just as old people do.

I went on to Port Melbourne shops to buy something, then to the Mazda car dealer to look at a a new car, but it was closed. I did walk around looking at cars. I found my way to Westgate Park to look at the salt water lake and lean back my car seat to untenion my body. 

I returned home while the afternoon party was in full swing with all guests sitting at the dining table consuming a feast. I went to my bedroom to play on my tablet while fun went on until I was called out for the birthday cake. Last year Phyllis bought Kosov a sword online. So much for our strict weapons laws. 

The cake was cut with the sword, but later divided by a proper knife, and at my suggestion, served by a cake slide, on side plates, with a dessert forks and serviettes.  

Monday Mural

Sami and others post Monday Mural photos.

This is an exciting new mural, in Bowen Crescent less than 200 metres from my garage gate. It was painted by Pete CTO and features Louisa Briggs, who was an Aboriginal matriarch of the Boonwurrung people and the first Aboriginal woman to become a paid midwife. Louisa died in 1925. Such a shame that while her heritage in this country will go back thousands of years, she was not an Australian citizen.

   

Castlemaine 4

I had a train to catch, a return journey on the Goldfields Railway. Naturally as a person of my social standing, I had booked a first class train ticket. I ate some cereal in my motel room, checked out at 10.00 and drove the five minutes to railway station. I was very early but that meant I had time to find a nearby parking space, ascertain that the train left from Platform 3 and I could access it via a subway and an upward ramp. No lift!

At Platform 1 was a coffee kiosk, and the coffee made by an old bloke* was better than I expected. I sat on a nicely shaded seat outside the station and drank my coffee before making my way to Platform 3 where my ticket was checked and I was told to head to the rear of the platform where there was a red carpeted ramp to board the train. There was much manoeuvring of the the train engine to get it into place for the journey, which was fun to see. Ah, did I mentions a steam engine was hauling the train carriages?

The train staff were all lovely, especially the first class carriages host. The train was not particularly busy, but I was very conscious that I was single traveller among couples and family groups. It does take some time to become used to be a single after 45 years of being a couple. No one spoke to me, but then I didn't make an effort to speak to anyone. Ray would have certainly been chatting to someone and perhaps pulling me into the conversation. 

Smoke rising while the engine gets up a head of steam.

What a handsome beast.

I walked up the red carpet to board and this looked very comfortable, along with being quite beautiful.

I can see where I've been.

There were some sleeper compartments. The seat will make a bed and the fancy woodwork above the seat will drop down to make another bed. In one corner was a drop down metal wash basin.

It was quite a chilly morning and the host informed us that the next first class coach had heating. 

It did, by way of a split system reverse cycle air conditioning unit that can be seen in this photo. 

Meanwhile back in the rear first class carriage, a little fire was burning to warm us. But given a woman had her legs over the front of the flickering fire, I guess that was fake news. 

We had just crossed a viaduct, ok, a very modest viaduct.

We arrived in the very historic town Maldon after a very relaxing 45 minute journey, with the train reaching its peak speed of 40 km/h/25. This artwork was in the adjacent park.

Err yeah, whatever.

I couldn't believe how much gushing water was flowing into the train's water tank. It's a thirsty beast. 

It is not for me to judge Maldon by a one hour visit, but I am glad I changed my mind from staying in Maldon and choosing Castlemaine. As I walked the short distance to the town proper for some sustenance, a Sikh man passed me by walking with great purpose on the footpath. I saw him later emerge back at Castlemaine from a train compartment. He was clearly a solo traveller too. We could have chummed up and discussed our common interest.

An incinerator smoke stack of some kind. Ok, minimal research, it is gold mining related. They knew how to lay bricks in 1863. 

The engine had done a run around and was now at what was the back of the train, with our balcony facing the back of the engine.

While after the train trip, I am driving home, I think I owe Hercules Poirot by having one gin and tonic in the art deco carriage. The bar/cafe is visible in this photo.

Yes, quite good fun being behind the hard working engine. 

I was so relaxed during the return journey, time sped by, and once back at Castlemaine Station, I headed for home, with one brief stop off to stretch my legs, back, neck, hips, knees etc. I dunno about this travelling alone caper. The second weekend of May will see me away for a bit but with family and my lads. My nieces and nephew will be there, with my eight great nieces and nephews, along with four inherited great nieces and nephew. 

*Younger than me but still comparatively an old bloke. My age self awareness continues its delusional state.

Girlie Pants

There is some interest in what I described as girlie pants.

Girlie pants is just a name I used when I was helping Kosov shop for four pairs pants for Phyllis, and I find they are too feminine. But that's just my opinion. He likes them and is entitled to dress as he likes and I wouldn't want to change him.

This is what I mean. They are fairly close fitting at the top but flare out wider the further you go down the leg. These are a bit restrained pattern wise compared to some he wears. They only cost between $15 and $20.

This one from the company's website.

ABC TV News

We were used to ABC TV having a permanent weekday news presenter. Long time Victorian newsreader Ian Henderson retired and handed over the baton to the two Marys, a job share kind of arrangement with one Mary presenting two nights a week and the other three nights a week. Then there was a permanent weekend newsreader. 

Well the idea of a permanent newsreader has gone to hell. It could be anyone of about eight different people. That's fine in a way, as they are all competent at their jobs, but we've lost the trust and the reassurance we used to have by having one permanent trusted newsreader. It's all about the ?? I can't think of the right word. Maybe a trusted familiar comfort is a way to express the feeling. 

Then there is the guessing game of whether there will be a dedicated weather presenter, or will the weather be presented by the newsreader?

ABC TV viewers and ABC radio listeners like consistency of presenters. We form an attachment to them. This applies to commercial media newsreaders too. Iskhandar Razak has almost become a permanent newsreader, and that's good. 

My boring life

Hairdresser Friend's birthday was last Friday. We had tried to make an arrangement to catch up and kind of settled on the following Monday, but Friday morning she called me and asked if she could come for a drink and maybe have a meal across the road that night. So we did at Gentleman George, and I invited neighbour HH to join us. It was a really nice night together. Phyllis and Kosov were at work.

Phyllis had asked a week earlier if he could use my car on the Sunday to visit Healesville Sanctuary and I said yes. They packed up an Esky with food at 8 o'clock and set off. Instead they drove on to Marysville where we stayed a couple of nights last year, so they could see the avenue of honour of poplar trees in autumn colours. Nice. 

Tuesday, with Phyllis having the car for work, I decided we desperately needed a can of gas to fill stove lighters, used here to light large deep candles. Don't ask. Carless, I decided to go to the big green shed in West Footscray, a quick trip thanks to the new Metro rail. However, I stopped off at Footscray first for coffee at Maples Cafe. As I walked along the street I passed a cigarette shop, paused and backtracked to the shop, and sure enough, it had cans of butane. No need to visit the big green shed. 

I was just finishing my coffee in Footscray when neighbour HH called. On her way to Morning Melodies at Hamer Hall, she had fallen over and hurt herself. She limped in and sat through the performance, then afterwards a first aid person on duty strapped up her foot and she made her way home. She asked if I could take her to emergency at The Alfred, and I replied I would be home in half an hour and would do so. Thanks to a bit of luck with the Metro train and a tram, I was home within 25 minutes. Phyllis had my car at work, so I drove her in her car to The Alfred and dropped her off. Some detail has been left out, but no matter.

We messaged back and forth and she had to stay in overnight for a full round of scans and tests, as they would do with an 80 year old. 

Kosov and I were just heading out the next morning to shop for girlie pants for Phyllis for his birthday when HH called to ask if I could pick her up. Sorry Kosov, and I drove my car to pick up HH. She had a chipped bone in her foot and a hairline fracture of one rib. She should be pretty well ok and out of any pain by the weekend. I offered her food and shopping, but she had all she needed in stock at home.

Today Kosov and I did go to the city, to a shop called Valley Girl to buy pants for Phyllis. Kosov knew exactly what he wanted. I assume the name Valley is a reference to the valley in California and not our industrial Latrobe Valley or Brisbane's 'interesting' Fortitude Valley. Valley of the Dolls was quite enlightening book to read for a rather young Andrew.

Oh, it is hard to write for an international audience and keep track of today and tomorrow, when as I write is today and tomorrow is my tomorrow but could be your today. 

Tomorrow I am meeting up with Ex Sis in Law for lunch in Elwood, after I shop for Vim and topping up the cellar supply. 

I have not heard back for the second quote for my car repair, but I have almost decided to buy a new car. I have not heard back if I will receive cash to compensate me for the extra electricity used to dry my apartment out after the flood, and today I submitted a painter's quote for paintwork damage for consideration by the Owners' Corp manager to forward to the insurance company. 

Cooking can happen anytime in my kitchen, just not by me, and it is utter chaos. This evening the rice cooker was bubbling away, the range hood roaring, the microwave singing its tune regularly. Voices were loud as the pair bitched at each other, and a lovely meal was prepared for them to eat immediately and for me to eat later. Jass sat watching them and then after eating they both went to work. Jass looked quite desolate at the end of entertainment and the disappearance of her two fave men, with silence reigning over the apartment and just boring old me at home. She sat near the door, hoping they would soon return, but they won't until after midnight.

Docklands, Cocklands or Divorcelands

The latter reference in the title directed towards men who recently divorce and move to Docklands to live a wild life.

London has a Docklands area, and it it is a huge development of high rise buildings a little blended with historic areas. There are so many waterways, to a foreigner, it is very confusing. I really don't know if the development of the London's old docks area has been judged as successful. Fun60?

Melbourne's docklands area redevelopment to high rise apartment blocks has not been judged as successful. The areas was taken from City of Melbourne to the Docklands Development Authority, and if the authority tried to do a bad job of its task, it succeeded. 

No matter what money, festivals, fireworks and community celebrations have been thrown at it, as a great place to live and visit, it has been a failure. 

The Docklands area is a soulless and a barren windswept area full of high rise towers but little street activity.

Where I live, a street full of apartment buildings and office blocks, there is constant activity on the street. I remember stepping outside a few years ago on a warm summer night at about 9pm and I could not believe the number of people out and about. 

The development of Docklands happened under the then Premier Jeff Kennett, just another, white, male, born to rule, rich politician c***. I tire of them, both conservative and Labor. 

Lol about Soho and Notting Hill. I think Professor Burke might have it right. 

Former premier Jeff Kennett once described Docklands as a rare species of plant that takes a while to bloom. Demographers predicted it would become Melbourne’s Soho or Notting Hill, a waterfront spectacular and an urban oasis.

Swinburne University housing researcher Professor Terry Burke made a more stinging assessment in 2006: “They should blow it up and start again.”