Next I did what I always do and rolled a cigarette with Champion Blue tobacco. (“Legendary”, it says.) Zig Zag liquorice paper. (“Finest Quality, Made in France”, it says.) Orange Ranch Micro Slim Filter. (“The Perfect Filter”.)
“Liquorice” should always be pronounced “licker-iss”. There’s no “sh” in there. People at smoke-shop counters try to correct me. I won’t have it, hissing the word back at them.
Found some Coffee Chill in the fridge from a day or two ago. It was still OK. Washed down neuralgia and blood-pressure pills plus a multi-vitamin, an Executive-B stress and two fish-oil tablets. That’s breakfast most days.
Then I woke up the computer. It’s a Mac so it “sleeps”. Checked email. One from Sledgette Major trying to arrange a birthday dinner. She’s good at those sorts of things. The new Guardian Australia website told me Iain Banks had died. Then to the Times Crossword Club site to get today’s puzzle. They’re always quite easy on a Monday and I completed it in 17 minutes and some seconds.
There’s a rumour that the Club will close down within the year and we’ll all have to subscribe to the whole of the London Times to get it. If so, that will be my third divorce.
Nothing much to do then. So I put on the booster that makes the solar water work when it’s less than 21˚C and drove around to the Minjup Post Office. There was a man in there with a hoodie on. With the hood up. But he wasn’t in any danger of robbing the place. His foot was in plaster and he was complaining to the lovely Donna-of-the-Post about his operation. He had a wheelchair waiting outside.
In the post was a new cribbage board I ordered from Pleasant Times Industries last month. The website says it’s in Jackson Heights NY 11372. But the package said it came from Amritsar 143 001, India. The globalised world is a puzzle to me.
Strange thing to say, “globalised world”. Wasn’t it always globalised by definition? But you know what I mean eh?
Back from the PO, the water was ready for a shower. Phone rang while I was getting out and I had to drip all the way to the phone to answer. Must get a phone in the bathroom. It was a friend whose external hard drive I’d promised to breathe life into a month or so ago. They were not reminding me that I’d forgotten.
Spare hot water in the tank, so I did the dishes. Nothing much to report there. Dishes are dishes. They get done. There is no other verb that goes with “dishes”.
Felt like a bit of reading. So I put on the washing machine and settled down to a research proposal the Prof had dropped off a few days ago. It was about the representation (what does that word mean?) of women in computer games. And what might happen if you (that is the writer of the report) invented a character of “traditional build” as Precious Ramotswe would have it. To this minute, I have no idea why the Prof thought I’d be interested. The pictures were nice though.
The washing machine is fairly new. A Bosch Classixx [sic] recommended by S. Major. I’m only just getting used to its noises and try to guess when it’s finished from the sounds. But it always defeats me. It has a cunning trick of showing “0:01” when it’s done its thing. That’s supposed to mean “one minute”. But it stays on for at least three before changing to “End” when you can safely open the door. Seeing “0:01” always disappoints me.
Hung the “bigs” load (trousers, tops, etc.) on the line and went in to pick up a novel I’m re-reading. Read it last in 1985 when it first came out. The year of my first divorce. At the time it seemed a bit gloomy and funny at the same time. Very suitable. This time around, it’s just slightly comforting to know that not much has changed in 28-odd years.
Thought I’d got it right by the end of half-a-dozen-or-so chapters, but the machine was still on its final spin — 0:05. Waited. Took out the “smalls” load (socks and jocks, singlets etc.) and hung them in a darkling winter sun.
I saw a bloke go past the west end of the house. He didn’t see me. He’s called Dennis or Doug or something and he’s a mate of Bob-the-Handy from a few properties up around the corner. Though I don’t think Bob actually likes him much. He walks a lot. I suspect for his health. Probably best avoided then.
I’ll tell you all about Bob another time.
The radio played music when I wanted talk and talk when I wanted music. There was a competition to go to “Dark MOFO” in Hobart. I thought — Do they realise what “Mofo” actually means? At first, they said you have to send in a picture of your interpretation of a dark Mofo and then changed this to a picture of “a winter feast”. Someone must have put them right. I sent in a photo of a seed pod on a paperback book cover. The judges are arty, so I’m hopeful.
Then I had nothing much to do so went off to buy a pie for lunch and sit down to write this. The rest of the day looms.
You won’t be hearing about it.
