I'm a quadiplegic

I know how to sweat for no apparent reason!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Parliament in the morning (my thoughts came together, which meant my session did too) then Chairing the Lifetime Care and Support Authority Advisory Council in the afternoon. I ambled down Macquarie Street to Hyde Park where I paused for a while by the fountain, in the sun, watching lunch time unfold in the heart of the city. Lovely.

When I decided to move on through the trees that are doomed by some blight (apparently) I headed first to galleries Victoria for a Laksa its makers claim is the best in Sydney. It's not but it did the job. After that I was drawn to Kinokinuya, as I always am when in that space. I Bought Follow the Rabbit-Proof Fence for me and Rooftops, a graphic novel by Mandy Ord, for Spike. That book store is an irresistible treasure trove.

Naturally, at least in my universe, travelling through the underground mall adjacent to Town Hall station necessitates a detour to the German bread shop. It IS a hard life I live, isn't it?

Noodles with Spike in the evening. The second glass of cheap wine is ALWAYS a mistake. (Actually, even one glass of cheap wine is a debatable decision ... but we're human; we forget or live in hope. We should learn, however, that hope and cheap wine never meet).
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And today's word is ...

... SAVE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

... as in save your unsaved notes for tomorrow's presentation before Sike's Asus freezes. I guess another word could have been lost ... or irretrievable ... or aaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrggggggggggggghhhhhhh!

Spike tried to assist me. It was beyond both of us. Besides, the clock is ticking on her own deadline for tomorrow's assignment at the college.

I would just like to make this point. Of all the questions one could ask when it's clear the computer is not going to unfreeze I suggest not uttering this one ... have you saved your work? Not a good question: no, no, no, no, no!!
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Why let work benefit?

I have no university class this evening; this being week three of a three week break. So I stayed in the office, working late on draft policy papers including my thoughts on notes that I'll use to lead a discussion on legal capacity with members of the State Parliament's Social Affairs Committee. I can't quite get my head around how I should approach the subject. Maybe it will come together in a coherent thought soon. Maybe it'll be one of my more embarrassing moments.

I do wonder (but only a little) why I give the free time I've gained with the university break to my employer? It's because I always do, of course. But why not give it to my writing - to my second novel that I still haven't a real grasp of or my poetry, which still lacks the transcendence good poetry needs. One day I'll learn. Or not, as the case may be.
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First day of Sprinter?

It has been warm and pleasant today - more than warm; positively hot. Just the kind of day for a 3 or 4 kilometres push through the undulating back-streets of Summer Hill. There's an appropriate name for a suburb, if ever I read one.

We made our way by taxi this morning to Hoskins Park in Dulwich Hill (via Hensons Park in Marrickville). Only when it became clear we were not in the vicinity of the correct destination did we learn that the venue for the farewell brunch for Kelly, David and their son Jara had moved north west by one suburb. Hoskins rather than Hensons; Park is the same word wherever it is; Dulwich Hill is a subdivision of Marrickville, so I guess that technically speaking we weren't wrong there either. It's not important. Worse things happen at sea.

We joined a group of mostly thirty-something parents with a varied selection of children - mostly boys, as it happens - between the ages of two and four. Spike asked, jokingly, if we were the only couple not to have brought offspring. Yep. At least Spike fits the demographic. I could be a parent of the demographic; grandparent to its next generation. Who cares? Correct - no one.

Suriya Lee was there with his twin sons, Akira and Oscar. Lousie (their mother) arrived not long after. It turns out that Kelly, David and Jara (with whom Spike shared a house in Croydon Park for a year) are camping out in Suriya and Louise's house until they drive north to Bellingen on Tuesday to start the next phase of their lives together. They're lovely people on the edge of an adventure. Let's hope it works well for them. It should.

I've not seen or spoken to Suriya since his departure from our office in March. He seems well, content with life and enjoying the surprises and satisfactions that come with his new set of circumstances. That's good news. We spoke briefly about my own less than perfect time at work over the last six months. I observed that I do not give a shit about the pantomime horse behaviour of others. I truly, truly don't. They are not worth the effort of worrying about what mad scheme they might come up with next.

Spike's contribution to brunch was a berry compote with ricotta cheese and organic honey. As Spike prepared the treat she noted that the honey came from a producer that turns out both organic and non-organic varieties. How, asked Spike, does the bee-keeper know their organic bees have not been nipping over to some non-organic bush to gorge themselves on chemically enhanced nectar? I have no idea. It's one of life's mysteries. Maybe they have a very skilled team of bee herders who ride bare-back dragonflies to keep the hives apart. Maybe the bees are given an organic farmers manual on identifying phosphates as part of their induction. Maybe they're just really, really clever fucking bees who sit at home doing crossword puzzles and sudoku squares between shifts. Whatever, Spike's berries, cheese and honey went down very well with all.

We pushed home. It was probably the best option; the right idea. But on the exposed parts of the route between Dulwich Hill and Ashfield it was, as I said at the beginning, hot. See ... I'm beginning to repeat myself. That's how hot it was / is. I'm becoming incoherent.

"Sprinter" by the way. I read an article on yesterday's Independent web site. Dr Tim Entwisle, who is the Executive Director of the Sydney Botanic Gardens, says the idea we break down the southern hemisphere year into four seasons based on northern hemisphere climate patterns and ecology makes very little sense. He reckons we need 6 season descriptors for Sydney (apparently the Jawoyn people of the NT have six that correspond to what the weather is actually doing in their neck of the woods). Makes sense to me.
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A reversal of fortune

SO ... I lost my mobile phone somewhere in the Red Rattler; confirmed at the bus stop that we'd missed the last wheelchair accessible bus of the night back to the city (last bus of any type, come to think of it); couldn't remember the first four digits of the wheelchair taxi booking service; couldn't get the phone number from directory inquiries; couldn't book a wheelchair cab through the voice-recognition system; headed-off in not quite the right direction in what might have been a naive attempt to push home then the solid tyre of my front wheel came off the wheel entirely! Perched with one front wheel up on a drain cover while Spike worked hard without tools to re-fit the tyre I thought ... this is an unexpected end to an otherwise enjoyable evening (except that may not have been quite how I ran over the words in my mind!!)

Events turned for the better though, quite suddenly. Spike got the tyre back on. We were able to book a wheelchair taxi directly through one of the co-ops and miraculously when I asked Spike to call my mobile phone someone at the bar answered the call. It had been found / handed in as the staff cleared away the debris of a good night. Spike ran back to the club. A taxi came. The driver loaded me then we went off in search of Spike. We were home fifteen minutes later and in bed by 3:00 a.m.

Not surprisingly, our Saturday started late and has progressed at a sedate pace. Spike has made earrings to sell next week and a cake to be eaten immediately. I looked at the papers I need to read for a submission I have to write by Monday but decided work can wait. Tea, cake and a good read of the online newspapers is about as much as I'm any good for.
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Friday night is music night

(Eventually) we caught a bus to Marrickville and the excellent Red Rattler club ... highly recommended: accessible (which always helps); delightful (truly) bouncer on the door; texter drawn musical notes on one's wrist as proof of entry; red ... and I mean postbox red decor throughout; chairs and sofas that might have been rescued from a nineteenth century Parisian brothel and a decent, friendly, enthusiastic crowd (rather more black top, black frock, black stockings and black boots than one might have hoped for in an 'alternative' bunch but maybe there's still time for them to become confident enough to believe that colour can be cool also ...)

Spike had been drawn to the evening by the promised appearance of the Crooked Fiddle Band. They didn't disappoint. It was my first encounter with the band. I liked their set very much.



The headline band were the Barons Of Tang whom we saw play in the Sydney Festival Speigeltent in January. They were just as raucous at the Red Rattler, looking as if they were having a great time. They're a lot of fun.

The surprise of the night (at least to me) was the first act: the woefully named Captain Kickarse And The Awesomes. But what a trio ... drums, lead guitar and bass guitar; no vocals, just lots and lots of solid rock with the rhythm and blues undertones you'd expect from a buck of lads that were closer to Cream than Status Quo but had their very own charm and style. Good music.

As we waited for the bus Spike said she might not dance at the club. She was tired. She might just sit and enjoy the atmosphere. Ha! She was on the dance floor in time for the second number by the first act. She didn't sit down again for the best part of three hours.

Good night.
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