A fine birfdy

It was not a significant birthday, but one people might make jokes about. I was told not to plan anything for the day by Phyllis and Kosov, so I didn't. I did go out earlyish for coffee and to collect some medications before they arose, and for the rest of the day I relaxed.

HH had left me a gift on the doorstep, a terrific little guide book about the laneways of Melbourne.

The lads went into town and returned with gifts for me aplenty.

An Italian sauvignon blanc from Calabria, with a French accent over its name. I was so excited! Alas, I noticed the name Marlborough. It is from New Zealand, but that is ok.    

My preferred brand of scotch. 

Chocolate cake. We took a large slice down to HH, and stayed half an hour chatting. 

And flowers.

Be ready to go out at 6.15, they told me. We caught a tram to town, and then another to Brunswick Street, Fitzroy. Phyllis made us wait on the street as he had confused a twenty four hour clock with a twelve hour clock and booked us for 17.00 (5pm) rather than 7pm. Up we travelled in the lift. 

Oh wow, a rooftop bar.

It was cool, so the overhead heating was welcome. 

I featured this mural in the past, but I didn't notice the ghost sign above. I need to decipher the sign.

Looking down on another rooftop bar at what may have once been called The Bullring.

Slightly challenging but what a cool venue name, Naked for Satan. 

The rest are just photos I took from the rooftop. Naked for Satan is a great venue and I highly recommend it. 

You did well, my lads.

An evening out

It seemed curious to have a dinner party on a Monday night. I say dinner party, but it was five of us who were invited, and I was the only guy. The invitation came from our Tasmanian friend's ex partner, our friend who is here for her annual check on her heart transplant, now 20 years ago. How traumatic the time was, but she had the best care possible at St Vincent's public hospital in Sydney where the transplant was performed. The heart of a young man killed in a car accident saved our friend's life.

My Hairdresser Friend came too. I was going to catch a tram and then walk, and she had made a desert, so thought about driving herself. I asked Phyllis if he would be free between 6 and 7 to drive us and he was, so that worked out well.

The mother of the ex of our friend lived in what was then the tallest building in Australia, I think called Q1 on Queensland's Gold Coast. When her husband died, she moved back to Melbourne into her daughter's home, our friend's ex. The mother was becoming very old and began to behave strangely. She saw a gerontologist, who discovered the huge number of pain killers for arthritis she had been prescribed were affecting her brain. She improved after the pain killers were reduced, without a noticeable increase in levels of pain. But eventually her care became too much for her daughter and she went to live in a care home almost across the road.

The home of the ex is a thirty year old three bedroom unit, and very nice it is too. She has such good taste and has renovated what she didn't like, and had a pergola built at the space at the side. The slat angles and lighting are all controlled by remote.

 

Before a traditional home is built, women should have the say about where power points are located and how many there are. Maybe some men could plan well enough.

In the side garden and the front garden were heaps of clivia in full bloom. 

We had nibbles and drinks and chatted away. The dinner was snapper fish fillets, doused in an overpowering tamarind sauce that killed any taste of the fish, with rice and a dressed tossed salad. 

Over the dining table hung a single pendant light bulb in some kind of rattan cage. It looked nice enough, until I noticed the actual light bulb was filthy. My eyes kept going back to the filthy light bulb. Maybe you know the feeling of when you want to straighten someone's wall picture frames. I wanted to get some chemical or hot soapy water onto the light bulb and make it crystal clear. 

The ex made a cheesecake from scratch, nice enough, and my Hairdresser Friend made a rather curious dessert from scratch that was quite stodgy. We did have a nice night, in spite of talking about periods and 'putting in the rags'. I was very complimentary to the ex for her nice home, for dinner and her very cute dog. If only that light bulb could be cleaned... 

Phyllis had messaged me to ask how we getting home. I replied, 'By cab or Uber, unless you are free to pick us up'. He did come and take us home.

I knew I was not in a good state once home. I felt very hot before I got into bed, and sure enough, something I had eaten had not agreed with me. I slept for ten minutes and woke up, boiling hot. Repeat the same until about 5.00am and I then fell into a proper sleep. I experienced the same years ago when we used to dine at cheap Chinse restaurants. I have no idea what triggers what is clearly food related.

The rent reduction

I reduced Phyllis' and Kesav's rent with a few conditions, the major one being that if either or both of them are home at my dinner time, they are responsible for heating it or cooking the meal. This worked well for a while until they weren't so often home at my dinner time, being busy working. 

Two days ago Phyllis did not tell me he would not be home, as he went straight from one job to another. Kosov left for work early, over three hours before my dinner time. Had I have known, I could have prepared something myself, one way or the other, mentally at least. Similar happened a couple of days earlier. I was not happy. 

I mentioned to Kosov that the recycling needed to be taken down, ages before he left for work and he did not. I noticed Jass' water fountain was nearly empty. I sent him a one line message, 'Recycling and Jass water'. 'Sorry Andrew, as soon as I am home'. 

At dinner time, Phyllis called and I ignored the call as I was picking up some takeaway across the road. He called again and I answered and he said he told me he would not be home at dinner time to fix my meal. He did not tell me such in advance.

They both arrived home from their jobs before I went to sleep, and my displeasure must have already been guessed about and discussed. In summary, I told them that they had to act like responsible adults, and real life was not all about Japanese Animae. Taking the recycling down to the basement is their responsibility, it used to be mine, and ensuring Jass has water is also their responsibility.  

They were both home the next day and after I went shopping for staples, we all went out in Perl for a Kosov driving lesson, and he drove on a motorway for the first time, to Williamstown and back over the Westgate Bridge. I am still not happy with his traffic checking at roundabouts, but he is improving each driving lesson.

As an aside, and I can't imaging why, but Coles supermarket in Williamstown is absolutely fabulous. What a wonderful variety of food, fresh and packaged.

I picked up some heated chicken drumsticks to eat sitting outside. Onnndrewww, you are hungry. Eat the the drumsticks. Kosov, I do not eat food while walking up and down supermarket aisles. I sit down to eat. Here Onndreww, eat. I did. I am so ashamed by my consumption of chicken drumsticks in the Williamstown Coles Supermarket aisle. I just thought no one would notice one, but then I ate another.

But we three had a lovely weekend away, which I will of course tell you about. 

The Digital Mess

I am quite organised, even to the point of mostly knowing what I am doing tomorrow.

Jackie in Toronto posted this about organised  people.

Yes, I tick most of the boxes as being organised. Not being organised would give me great stress. Ray was the same. Phyllis and Kosov are terribly disorganised. I never run out of anything, but they do and have to make a last minute trip to somewhere for something.

My email organisation is up to date, as is everything else, with one exception.

In the mid 1990s when we bought our first computer and connected to the internet, someone who I was chatting to on a rudimentary chat site, maybe MIRC, sent me a photo of a bunch of flowers, followed by a dick pic. How amazing that this machine can do that! I saved the photos, and I probably could find them now if I needed to, but it was a downhill slope from there. I saved and I saved, everything. Photos, videos, messages...everything. My oldest email address still operational is from the nineties, a Rocketmail eddress, which became a Yahoo eddress. Not often, but I still use it.

However, over the years I had organised things, almost everything. Photos are filed in folders, stored in the cloud and on an external ssd drive. The problem is that I didn't name all the folders appropriately, and with near two gigabytes of photos, I struggle to find individual photos.

My brother asked me about a photo he had seen of Mother with her four children standing in front of the fireplace at the Dick Whittington Hotel in St Kilda. I just cannot find the photo, but I have now worked a way to narrow it down. He brought his dog Cobber into the hotel, and he was asked to take the dog outside. Cobber died suddenly soon after. So I need to ask him what year Cobber died, and that will narrow the search down to one year. Wow, I've just remember Jo was there, crawling around on the floor crawling around on the floor and checking out the contents of women's handbags. She must have been two years old, so I need to look at 2009. That's so much earlier than I thought.

Or were these two different visits to The Dick. We went there so many times over so many years. Btw, The Dick has a drive through alcohol outlet where apparently you can pick up your Dick Liquor. 

When I have something stored, while it might take some time and thought, I can usually find it.

The afore mentioned guy who sent me photos in the 90s might be this guy. The photo is all of 45 kilobytes.

Perl is out and about

Last week Phyllis asked if he could take Perl to a party in Box Hill. He hasn't asked to use the car for over a week aside from one trip to Aldi to buy bulk cat food and cat litter, so cautiously I said yes, where are going and what time will you return.

They met up with friends in South Yarra for a meal, returned here (I quickly turned on the full living area lamps to impress, but not the overhead lights), and they were here for an hour. The friends are a couple, she of Indian heritage and he of Asian heritage. Translating for English people, she is Asian and he is Chinese, except he isn't from China.

From my computer chair, I at times chipped in with a witty remark, as best as 68 year old can do with twenty year old's. 

They piled into Perl and off they went. I am pleased I have the front and rear dashcam. I looked at it today to watch what happened when my car went into for new car service, one month later after purchase. Jeez, all the motor mechanic staff are Indian. When you think about restricting immigration, be very careful what you wish for. Didn't we learn that post Covid when there were no staff for cafes, shops and other businesses? 

I don't like Perl being out late at night, and I've warned Phyllis and Kosov that if there is incident and they are under threat from a road rager, to not put the car into Park whereby the doors will unlock, but into Neutral and apply the electric handbrake.

The next time I drove Perl, all floors were covered in sand. Phyllis or Kosov, or both, will take the Dyson V7 Tiger with its short attachment to vacuum the car floors. I wonder where they went that was so sandy? Not my business. 

Later: Phyllis worked today, Tuesday all day at one job and asked if he could take Perl. It is a decent walk from the train station, and it was wet, so I said yes. Later he messaged me to say he was going to work at his other job, so the car is out for ages today, 10am to midnight. 

I am lunching with HH later today after she returned from New Zealand, and she may want to go somewhere that is easiest by car, so I checked and yes, the sand has been vacuumed out. 

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.  

They're only words

It was a tragic case a couple of years ago when a man who was losing access to his children after a marital sepa took his infant on to a very high bridge and threw her over the edge, with very unhappy ended. He was convicted and gaoled but it was recently in the news again as the criminal had been assaulted in prison. 

The point of mentioning it is that the tv reporter said the crime happened at 9.15am in peak hour traffic on the West Gate Bridge. No, while the time can be argued about peak hour, but it certainly not after 9.00am. Why do we call in a one hour when it generally accepted as being two. 7.00 to 9.00, but that depends a little on the area where you are. 

It could be said that the evening 'peak hour' is from 3.00pm to 7.00pm from school pickup time at 3.00 onwards. I think in America it is called the rush hour, although if like the traffic here, in peak travel times you won't be rushing anywhere. The roads nearby in red as I write this post are stationary traffic.

Happy hour at pubs and bars where priced drink are reduced in price and can be for anything up to five hours, and rarely one hour. 

A place I patronise at least once a fortnight has a happy hour, and believe me, 6pm is the cut off time, and not a minute later.

Funny, not funny. An Australian Rules footballer has been suspended for nine matches and fined after it was found he offended for a second time by calling an opponent a faggot. His defence was that he called the player a maggot, not a faggot. There is some history to football and maggot. Umpires used to dress in white and might be called a white maggot or just maggot when someone didn't agree with their umpiring decision. Lance Collard was not believed and suitably punished. Photo from The Guardian Australia.

Kindness failure

The post I wrote for today bored me, and it would bore you too. Instead, this Friday evening. 

One of our residents bumped into our carpark gate, in fact hit it so hard it will be out of service for a week. The last time our carpark gate stayed open, thieves entered the carpark and broke into some cars and stole a bicycle worth $4000. We now have a permanent guard stationed at the car park entrance until the gate is fixed.

Sister will park here today in my car parking space and beforehand I will give the guard a note with her car identification and registration plate.

The poor guards, with sitting for hours without anything to do but scroll on their phones. I guessed the guard this evening would be Indian, and I was correct. Hindu, Moslem or Christian, they can all eat chicken, so I heated a leftover cut of spicy chicken, with some spicy green beans and kale, not heating the latter, to give to the guard, with a serviette of course. 

Thank you so much, he proclaimed, but I am vegetarian. Sometimes I think I get nothing right in life. I give up on kindness to strangers.

Later today I look forward to eating some spicy chicken, cooked, chilled, reheated, chilled and reheated. 

Wednesday on Friday

Phyllis and Kosov were supposed to take Jass for a fur trim. Phyllis had to work so it was me and Kosov who took Jass into town for her clip. Kosov, you are correct by calling her coat fur, but not correct to call the excess on her feet, hair.

Kosov tried to coax Jass into the box but she wasn't having a bar of that. I would have just picked her up and forced her into the box, but instead Kosov traumatised her by chasing her around and trying to pull her out from under beds.   

The strong cardboard box that Jass was originally used to bring the stranger Jass to her new home, and then used for two subsequent visits seemed less strong, and in spite of my complaint that a proper cat cage would take up too much space to store, perhaps we will have to buy a proper cat cage. I could see the box was not looking as secure as it once did. The repercussions of Jass escaping on a tram or on the street aren't imaginable. 

Jass took her first tram trip. Kosov was paranoid that people were looking at him while carrying the box. He was correct, they were, as they guessed a pet was inside the box.

From the tram stop, Kosov carried her to the grooming shop. Kosov said something mentioning the letter z, pronouncing it as zee. 

'Kosov, your former colonial masters would be appalled at you using the zee pronunciation.'

'Which is correct, Onndrew?' 

'Both, but in Britain and Australia it is zed. In the US it is zee. You are showing disrespect to your former colonial masters by pronouncing it zee.' 

The grooming was interesting. Our plan was to leave Jass there and find somewhere to eat. No, the groomer said in fractured English after she eventually understood what I was asking. One or you must stay. I went off and I was dying for something to eat and I had half an hour. I confess to visiting Hungry Jacks, Burger King elsewhere. I ordered a cheeseburger and I knew staff misheard me and repeated back to me a double cheeseburger. I did not correct her. Bad things happen.

Kosov had asked me to get some treats to reward Jass, so I found a supermarket and Kosov called me to tell me Jass was done.

While he waited for me to return, he had been looking at cat cages but the white one he found was marked but staff would not discount the price, so we left with Jass in her cardboard box. 

Kosov, are you sure you don't want the proper box, paint damaged or not? Ondreeww, this cardboard is sagging badly underneath. There was a grey one in perfect condition. Ondreew did roll his eyes at this point. We returned. I saw a cat cage for $110, and it had battery powered air conditioning, perfect for a hot pussy. But we bought the $42 model that is a a backpack that sits in front of your body, so I suppose you call it a front pack. Staff suggested we collapse the cardboard box and leave it next to a bin on the street, and someone would take it, so we did.

Onndreew, even more people are looking at me now. No Kosov, they are looking at Jass in the backpack through the diver glass porthole. 

I had intended taking the car out for weekly shopping but I was exhausted by the time we reached home. Jass doesn't seem too upset by her outing. 

It was not my idea to have her clipped and Jass looks awful. Ray and I never clipped a cat in the past. Ah well, they paid, the cat care and cage costing them $125.

I rallied and caught a tram to Malvern Vale Hotel for dinner with my long time Indian friend and his Asian partner of about three years. They seem to get along so well. The craic was good, although those thieving gambling machines took $20 from me and $50 from my friend.

Jass doesn't look so bad in this photo, but it is a very rough cut. We could have done the same at home with body hair clippers.

  

Dinner for Jass

Jass likes her dry food and not wet foreign muck (Who gets the Alf Garnett reference). She took a small taste and decided to not eat that night. 

I don't blame her really. 

Brand name Cachet. Mousse with lamb, spinach and feta. It sounds ghastly.

Jass went without dinner, and while I know a cat won't starve to death when any food is available (my mantra to Phyllis and Kosov), why do I feel criminally responsible for almost starving a cat to death? 

Friday Funny

It's not really funny, but a bit amusing. It has just been added to our national sound archive. 

Monday madness

Sunday, with much moaning about the job being bigger than expected, my brother's tenant replaced my defective window tinting. His price for 5 windows, four being very big, was less than I paid a large company to retint Phyllis' window after he moved in. I had no issue going out and buying the tinting man a sandwich, doughnut and a can of Coke. Tinting man has been tinting home and car windows for 45 years. If you are a local and need tinting, maybe choose Elite Tinting. Mick really knows his stuff and is cheap compared to the big companies.

Between 12 and 1 on Monday someone was coming for a final measure up for the new blinds. After two text messages in the morning to confirm my address, he arrived and called me, asking where he could park. In the lane behind my building, where tradespeople are allowed to park. He didn't have commercial vehicle registration, so I told him to come to the carpark and he could drive in to park in my second space. This was becoming hard work. I went down to let him in and he asked me height clearance for the carpark. 2.1 metres, I told him. He thought that was ok, but it wasn't and something on the back of the roof of his monster 4WD hooked on the overhead barrier. He was muttering about damaging his roof. The building manager must have been watching on a camera and called me to say the vehicle could not enter. He let down his tyres by some action under the rear bumper and reversed out cautiously until he cleared the overhead barrier and said if he couldn't find a parking space, he would come back another day. Later he texted me to say he would return with a more suitable vehicle. 

I think my blind replacement has been contracted out to another company. Whatever, I am not happy and I think I will complain. 

Of course as soon as he arrived, my food delivery arrived, but Phyllis and Kosov were home and looked after that. Except there was a missing sandwich. What the fuck is my life like! I called the company and it could deliver the missing sandwich on Friday. Ok I said, but I didn't know what time it would come, so I would be trapped at home until it arrives. I will call the company today and tell it to just include the sandwich in next Monday's order. 

Tuesday was calmer, whereby I went to the city and ate a sandwich and then caught a 12 tram to South Melbourne for coffee. I went on to see an exhibition at South Melbourne Library, but it was rather oversold. Phyllis had messaged me to ask if he could borrow my jacket for a job interview in Richmond. He said nothing about taking the car, but he did. Richmond probably has the best public transport in Melbourne, and there is no reason to drive there. I will bide my time until a suitable time arrives to tell him he can't use the car for such matters. But then, for a job interview, you don't want to be late. But then if you use public transport or drive, you need to allow time for some delays.

My dead in bed neighbour HH replied this morning to my message saying that her iPad had been updated and everything is now in Russian. It is useful at times to say, 'I know nothing about iP and Apple tech'. She sorted it out. 

Today we are visiting Ballarat, and it looks like bread is thawing to make sandwiches to sustain us.

Me tucker

A comment on yesterday's post make me think you might like to see the menu I choose from for my  subsidised meals, for which I pay a bit over AU$11 for three courses, $34 a week. I receive three of the three courses each week.

I can choose three main courses, up to meal number 106. The roast meals are quite good, as is the meatloaf. Crumbed barramundi and salmon patties are fine. Bacon and egg quiche, and shepherds pie are ok. The Greek lamb salad is ok when Phyllis fixes it up a bit. The menu changes a little at times.

Then I can choose three from sandwiches and soups. I do love the potato, leek and bacon soup, and the pumpkin soup is nice. I usually take one soup and two sandwiches, which I divide into half and individually wrap them in cling wrap. 

I go on to choose from three desserts. I will alway select two traditional fruit salads, and halve them to put on breakfast cereal. I do love the bread and butter pudding, but I try to limit that to one per fortnight, and the alternate week choose all fruit salad. If there isn't any fruit salad for my cereal, I use half a banana. 

I haven't tried every main course but most of them, and I've gotten to know what works well and what doesn't. At times I freeze some food, but mostly it is kept in the fridge. I ignore use by dates up to a week after delivery, longer if frozen. 

The woman who delivers the food is cheery and brings the meals to my door. It is also a bit of welfare check, she noting if there seems to be something not right and making a report. I think for quite lonely or isolated people, she would stop and have a chat with them if they wanted to talk. 

I take a photo of what I've chosen, so as not to choose the same the following week. At one point I ended up with three roast pork meals before I began taking a photo. 

One day, I thought was Saturday but it wasn't

I went to bed early last night, and consequently I woke early. Not a sleepy wake where I could go back to sleep, but wide awake. At 6.03 just as the sun was rising, fourteen balloons arose at the same time. I think the most I've seen in the past were seven. Quite wondrous and they floated in my direction, but not too close by.

I was out early to meet my friend, formerly of Japan, for breakfast. Yes, too early to call it brunch. I was hungering for bacon and eggs, and that is what I had, on sourdough toast, that I am not so fond of. But our meals were nice.

Phyllis and Kosov had invited two lady friends to lunch at home, with Phyllis cooking. Phyllis was out early too, to Victoria Market to buy fresh food. I'll give them some space. I used the Franklin Street entrance to State Library Station, far simpler than the Latrobe Street entrance, and the train, a couple of minutes late, shot off like scalded cat towards Footscray Station where I alighted to catch a train to Altona. The Werribee bound train was travelling via the Altona Loop! If the trains are running the same way back, that could be interesting ona single track. The screens at Altona Station were only showing Werribee bound trains, not city bound trains for me to return to the city.

We are told to use Journey Planner in case of disruptions. It was effing useless. I drilled down and down and finally found there was a bus replacement back to Newport Station. There was signage to direct passengers to a bus stop at the northern side on the roadway but I was still unsure until I arrived at the bus replacement stop. It took forever for the bus to reach Newport Station, where I could catch a train to the city. But the train with passengers onboard had come from the Werribee direction. I just gave up trying to understand at that point. Apparently these shenanigans will continue until April. 

I left the train at Footscray to catch a Metro train home. 

At home the lady guests were still here, one obviously Indian and the other seemed to be a blonde Anglo. I tried to hear her voice, and I thought it sounded Indian. A game of Uno was underway at the lounge room coffee table. There was food aplenty, and enough for my dinner later. I retired to my quarters to eat my discounted near use by date supermarket sandwich until they departed. 

Once the mynah chicks were born on the balcony below, I ceased harassing the parents, but Jass hasn't. She and the parents are at war with each other. I saw the chicks today, and they are just on ready to fledge, so for Jass, the bird excitement will end.  

Meanwhile back in the real world, I correctly guessed that Janice at Jabblog would win the annual Laughing Horse best blog award, at a terrific ceremony on Little St James resort island, just off the US coast. It is well deserved award and congratulations to JB. 

The quiet life of a retired gentleman

Friday:

My fifth visit to the new Melbourne State Library station saw me finally work out how to get out and in without accidently going into the god awful Melbourne Central Station shopping centre. 

I bought a couple of things in the much more civilised QV shopping centre, and then walked down to Bourke Street, caught a tram one stop to Elizabeth Street and made my way up the steep hill to Corner and Bench for a chicken and coleslaw slider, and coffee of course. Gosh, I was a bit whacked, with the temperature at about 30/90.

I walked on to William Street to catch a 58 tram home, with a big gap between trams, and a friend from the country called. He was at Anzac Station and would I care to meet for coffee. He was outside my building when I arrived home, met Phyllis and Kosov and then assisted as P & K dragged and carried the old dishwasher down to the car and got it into the back of the car. Don't accelerate quickly Phyllis, or it will smash the back window. 

I took my friend across the road for coffee, which extended to an hour. Kosov messaged me to say the job was done. He called to ask if they could take the car to a shop, then Phyllis called to ask the same. Where, I asked where. Somewhere on the route 57 tram line. My friend found these messages and calls all highly amusing. They returned home after making the car back to normal, with a 12kg/26lb watermelon, plus a quarter of a watermelon, maybe 3kg. 

I heard a noise something like a key turning in the door lock. It happens when someone gets the wrong apartment number, or is trying to rob us. It was Jass, out on the landing scratching at the door. A neighbour had put a bowl of water and a bowl of food for her next to the door. She had slipped through someone's legs, not mine, and gotten out for what must have no longer than twenty minutes. I left a thank you note and quickly after, the bowls were gone when I went out again at 6.30 for dinner, with a note explaining that the person was concerned because of the heat, and their cat had once done the same. I think it was our neighbour to the front. 

I had to miss the building's Christmas barbeque because I had been invited out by my former workmate for dinner at Victoria's Swiss Club restaurant, Edelweiss. (Insert Mary Schneider yodelling clip) The meal was fine and the staff great. My friend had dined there before and was remembered by the delicious German waiter Michel. He was very sweet indeed and a right charmer. 

I could not believe how busy the city was, busier than daytime, I think,  heaving with people out on the warm night. All dining venues seemed packed and no doubt the hidden laneway bars were booming too. 

So, it is rather nice to be a retired gentleman with time to read Proust and Dostoevsky... maybe I'll make a start tomorrow. 

Did Jass think the old dishwasher should stay? 

Surprises

"Andrew, we are taking you out on Saturday for lunch for your birthday." The whole point of being away for my birthday was to avoid such things, but it seems it was all in vain. It was also a day or so short of Kosov's birthday.

It was going to be a car trip to the charity shop, then to the big green shed for some gap filler and a duster for home. Apparently though, something was booked, so without a clue where we were going, Phyllis' phone guided us from the South Melbourne charity shop towards Richmond, then north. We are going to Easey Street in Collingwood, it seems. There is nothing much there but local people my age will remember the infamous street where the Easey Street murders occured. 

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Easey_Street_murders 

https://www.abc.net.au/listen/programs/the-case-of/introducing-the-case-of-the-easey-street-murders/105922022

Finding an on street car parking space was challenging, after dropping off Kosov in Easey Street as we were a bit late for whatever was happening. We found a space and Phyllis reverse parked not quite expertly, but not badly. I knew it was paid parking, but I was feeling a bit stressed by not knowing what was going on and forgot. We walked down Easey Street to meet Kosov and I remembered the paid two hour parking. Phyllis went back to deal with it. I didn't give him the car remote, so I hoped he didn't have to put a ticket on the dashboard, and he didn't. He just had to enter the car registration number plate on the parking pay machine, and pay of course, which he did with his phone. 

Kosov greeted me at the doorway into a dim building, we were checked in and told the stairs were to the left. Ok, five storeys we climbed and ended up in an eating area. We were seated at our table and there were nice views from our seats. I looked around a bit, and what hit me was the double sliding steel doors, with a handle. OMG, we are in one of those three old 1970s retired Hitachi train carriages, sitting atop a four storey building. What a super surprise, and the meals were nice. 

Later we wandered along Smith Street and stopped for coffee at Kent Street Bar. We were supposed to go to the big green shed in Port Melbourne after lunch, but I'd had enough of 'being out'. 

Once home, I received the bottle of wine I mentioned on Sunday there was a heap of tiny Cherry Ripe bars, and a special meal was made for me and this appeared attached to the shelves.

The next day a parcel arrived containing various things Phyllis and Kosov had ordered. For me there was a new black case for my phone, which I love, and also this case for my car's black fob. It's not a match to the colour of the car but not far off. 

The cafe carriage is far right. The others might be offices. There is a lift but I think that is used as a dumb waiter.

So the next day after Kosov went to work, Phyllis drove us to Brunswick to collect what he had ordered for Kosov, a three kilo container of Nutella. It absolutely poured with rain on the way home, as Phyllis negotiated the tricky Haymarket Roundabout, and then another massive roundabout at South Wharf. I thought Phyllis may have been in the wrong lane in the heavy rain as we traversed the Haymarket Roundabout, because a car blasted its horn at us, but later after checking maps, we were not in the wrong lane, the horn blaster was. 

We soon reached Bunnings in Port Melbourne and bought what we needed, along with a sausage with onions in bread each at the charity fundraiser barbeque.

This tale will be continued.

Flattery works

Phyllis asked me for my fried rice recipe. He makes his own fried rice but it is quite different to mine. I put rather some effort into mine, but honestly, I am over cooking anything. However, with some flattery I will get around to cooking fried rice upon request. A few days notice that I have to cook it is good.

I typed out the recipe for him today. He loved it. "I will keep it forever, Andrew".