Or the last four days anyway.

Thursday 26 Feb: Give some thought to an outfit which would allow me to go from work to uni to concert while remaining appropriately dressed for all three. Fall back on tried and true layering technique. Go to work. Ho hum. Post birthday card to my brother. Sneak in a quick bite to eat with the lovely D (complete with bump on the head) before the first class of the new semester at uni. Facing a semester of learning copywriter’s symbols and the secrets of proof reading. Ok. I’m sure they’re transferable skills. I’ll really be looking forward to Thursday nights for the next little while! Snore. Thankfully, the first class is basically a roll call and discussion of the reading list and finishes early. So can jump on a tram down to the Palais for the Ani di Franco concert. She’s petite. And perfect. Score a lift back into town and catch a train back home. Arrive at 11.50 pm. Am greeted by the dog who feels it’s her responsibility to provide a welcoming party to all pack members upon their return – even when it’s late. Go to bed.

Friday 27 Feb: Work is out of the office today. Early start so must skip training with Adam. Justine goes on her own. Set up hearing room. Spend the day fetching and carrying for panel members and barristers. My work colleague forsees a great career ahead of me as a court orderly. Sigh heavily and sincerely hope this is NOT the case. Pack up hearing room. Wonder why the AFL tribunal gets its own special cupboard in the kitchen and why they appear to get actual glassware when all I am allowed is plastic cups. Hmmm. Trundle everything back to work. Check email before leaving. Presented with a bill from my housemate for over a year’s worth of expenses. (We’ve got to reconcile this stuff more often.) It’s large. Very large. Will finalise my share on the weekend and minus that off for a final tally. Will still be scary though. Go home. Walk and feed the dog. Go back into the city. Meet D who’s been patiently waiting for ages while I get my stuff together. Have Thai dinner in Carnegie. Watch ‘High Fidelity’ at D’s house. Sleep.

Saturday 28 Feb: Sleep. Get cup of tea and crumpets and paper in bed. Lovely. Must be doing something right. Figure out the nine letter word in the Age word puzzle. Very clever. While D is having his hair cut I relieve the burden of the long and torturous wait in the world’s most boring shopping strip (the Grange Road end of Glenhuntly Road) by discovering a brilliant new snack at a local health food shop – popcorn and macadamias in honey. So delicious eat the lot before D gets to try any. Also spot my housemate’s grandmother out and about. Go home via Yarraville to do my shopping. Stop at a little cafe where D exhibits his skills with a fork and a piece of hedgehog. Walk dog. Ring brother to wish him a happy birthday but not home. Watch ‘The Royal Tenenbaums’. Much more enjoyable than the last movie I picked. Hooray. Sleep.

Sunday 29 Feb: A day of chores. (I wish it was only once every four years.) Bedtime now. Hooray! Sleep.

One of my long cherished desires has been to get a job naming the colours on paint charts.
Paint colour names are hilarious. And definitely a trap for the unwary venturer into the land of the colour chart. Mostly because they seek to obscure any attempt you might make to visualise the colour for yourself.
In fact, the less clues the name actually gives to the colour, the better – or so it would appear.
While attempting to amuse myself during a training session on Monday, I came up with a series of ‘new’ colours inspired by Footscray Park.
Here is but a tasty sample:
‘old bones’
‘schmelli’
‘grime’
‘muzzle’
‘swampi’
‘poo bag green’ (there’s a clue in there somewhere!)
and my personal favourite
‘sausage’.
See what comes to mind when you try to visualise them!

Spent part of the weekend assisting a friend prepare to move house. Walked down to the local hardware store with my helper to buy a few necessities. Took an armload of old telephone books with us to throw in the ‘book muncher’. But there’s no book muncher. So back we go, lugging the books, laughing about how everyone should take out their books for a constitutional every now and then. We thought we were pretty funny. Almost home and we’re accosted by the woman next door. “What are you two laughing for? What’s that about?” Huh. The humour police. Apparently, there’s no funny stuff on the streets of Caulfield. More’s the pity.

In larger workplaces it seems that along with stationery some of the suppliers also stock biscuits (stale and disappointing), tea and coffee, milk, etc. The usual staples for keeping the worker bees relatively happy.
A few weeks ago a large stationery order arrived. And with it 72 cartons of long life milk.
72!
A long discussion ensued between the office manager and the supplier. “It’s just not our milk,” he said, in conclusion.
An agreement was reached to the effect that the 72 cartons would be removed by the supplier because, in actual fact, they were not ordered by us.
But yet they remain.
Stacked along a wall in reception.
Boxes of it.
A wall of milk.
(Maybe it’s art.)

I have just spent 25 minutes of my life going through a catalogue of doorknobs. Gold ones, silver ones, brass ones, copper ones, wrought iron ones …
Electo-plated, satin chrome, matt, polished … it’s endless.
I had no idea.
And I’m still not sure what I want.
Sometimes there’s a tyranny of choice.

As a consequence of going out with the talking head of the PTUA, I am increasingly being drawn into conversations about other people’s public transport gripes – even when he is not present.
Increases in ticket costs – whinge, whine, whinge. (Hey, you should pass that on to Daniel, Marita).
No conductors/poor behaviour on the part of ticket inspectors – whinge, whine, whinge. (Hey, you should pass that on to Daniel, Marita).
Lack of services in the western suburbs as compared to the eastern suburbs. Whinge, whine, whinge. (Hey, you should pass that on to Daniel, Marita).
etc
Etc
ETC.
If I spent all my time passing on messages then I’d basically spend ALL my time moaning about the inefficiencies of the system.
That’s not the only thing we talk about!
Ok, so that’s MY public transport gripe off my chest. (For the moment at least.)

So my sunglasses have come back to me.
Or have been found at least.
But now I’ve lost my reading glasses.
Woe is me.

I lost my sunglasses on the weekend.
Somewhere between home and Newport and back.
I put them down for a minute and they just vanished.
I liked them a lot.
I liked them mostly because they were found objects themselves.
(They came from the lost property box at my previous work where unclaimed items, after an appropriate time, were shared out amongst lucky staff members.)
So they came into my life unexpectedly.
And they left the same way.
I’ve put my own lost property claim into the place where I think I might have left them.
But they’re not to be found.
Perhaps it’s time to let them go.
For they have their own journey to make.
My next journey will be to a sunglasses shop on the weekend.
Maybe our paths will cross on the way!
I wonder where they are? And who they’re with?

I had never had an upgrade.
I had heard stories of upgraded plane seats and hotel rooms and the like but it’d never been something I’d experienced.
At least until last week.
Sitting in a small cafe at lunch I ordered the same hot chocolate as the time before however, when it arrived, it was in a nicer glass, a bigger glass and came accompanied by an altogether larger marshmallow.
Finally … an upgrade on my hot chocolate.
(I plan to start small and and work my way up the upgrades! Next, perhaps my humble sandwich might be transformed into a gourmet’s delight or at least be housed in a baguette!)

My boss: “We were going to go to Castlemaine on Monday”.
Me: “We went to Castlemaine on Monday!

My boss: “We were going to have lunch at Saff’s cafe there.”
Me: “That’s where we had lunch!”

My boss: “Rod was feeling a bit down, we were going to have the fat chips.”
Me: “That’s what I had!”

I had someone else’s day!

Spooky!

PS. If you pronounce ‘h’ as ‘h’ as in ‘hat’ + ‘ai’ as in ‘pain’ + ‘ch’ as in ‘chew’, do you say ‘Castlemaine’ with an ‘a’ as in ‘apple’ or an ‘a’ as in ‘ask’?