My new driver’s licence arrived in the post yesterday (or ‘Driver licence’ as the card is actually entitled.) For the last week or so I’ve been using a signed piece of paper with a receipt for $40 stapled to it in lieu of the usual plastic card with my photo on it. An interim measure until my real licence appeared. I braced myself for the inevitable bad photo experience: would it be police line-up bad? Or lunatic asylum bad? Or broad spectrum, run of the mill bad? Would a loop of hair on the top of my head appear as out of nowhere like on my passport? There were so many ways the photo could go wrong.
Instead, freakishly, I saw on the card quite an acceptable photo. Moreso, it was actually one of the better photos of me out there. Really quite flattering. All praise to the young man at the PhotoPoint in the Australia Post Mail Centre in Elizabeth St, Melbourne. Whoever you are, I’m very grateful! While I would like to say to him “Get out there into the real world of photography – you’ve a gift. You’re wasted on the everyday licence/passport photo machine”, I’m also loathe to give up ready access to a more than adequate source for 3 x 2.5 cm headshots when required. I might keep him a secret for a little longer!

Walking the dog in Footscray Park is always a bit of an adventure. There’s all the usual park type stuff along with a lot of detritus which, generally speaking, should have bypassed the park and gone straight to the bin. Typically, this is the stuff the dogs love the most.
Today we discovered a new type of flora deep in the heart of the park. The dog had disappeared from sight for a suspicious length of time so I headed towards the general area in which she had last been positively sighted. Loud rustling and frenzied movement identified her position in the midst of tangled vegetation. After much persuading and cajoling (read shouting) she eventually emerged licking her chops, dancing with glee and bearing the remains of a pizza. Closer examination revealed pizza crust dotted at various intervals throughout the foliage. She had discovered the mythical pizza tree.
And made a bee line for it when we arrived at the park this afternoon. Much to my annoyance I think it will be a new favourite.

Tonight I saw not one, not two, but three mattresses at various moments during my trip home from Uni. The first, a fetching blue and white striped number, was heading in a westerly direction on the Sydenham line train. The second, a garish floral number, was again heading in a broadly westerly direction near the Footscray mall. The third was in my street. A more subtle floral number, once again it was heading west.
Where were all these mattresses going?
Hang on. I know! It must be the western suburbs’ annual mattress ‘Desperate and Dateless’ Ball, because (cue punch line)
…. they were all single!!!
HAR HAR HAR!!

Sorry. Clearly WINNING my footy tipping competition has done nothing to improve my sense of humour!

8.30 am.
‘Bloke’ to ‘mate’ on city loop train this morning: “Mate, I could really go a chiko roll, ya know?”
‘Mate’ to ‘bloke’: “Mate, I think they make chicken rolls just about everywhere.”
‘Bloke’ to ‘mate’: “Nah, mate. A ‘chiko’ roll.”
‘Mate’ to ‘bloke’: “I don’t reckon they make ’em anymore. Ya might have ta go with the chicken.”

So, what do you think? Do they make chiko rolls anymore? I haven’t seen one in a very long time.

Three years ago I decided to bite the bullet and get some lessons and trade in my decrepit looking Learner’s Permit (it’d been around for a long time) for a Probationary Licence. My Learner’s Permit had proved itself useful in providing me with ID on occasion but it really was getting less and less use the older I got (don’t often get asked to prove my age anymore.)
Three years ago I also turned thirty. A milestone birthday. It’s now or never, I thought. While generally happy to get about on PT, it would be handy to have another option. Fear of driving in the city will no longer hold me back. I’ll find an instructor to take the fear away.
I found Ivan von Stropi. From 10.30 am to 11.30 am on a Saturday morning Ivan and I would drive around Elwood and South Melbourne and, for a change of scene, Carlton. He gave me lots of driving tips, boyfriend advice (although I did not have one at the time), tried to sell me his house in Healesville, spent one memorable lesson showing me when it was appropriate to toot the horn at other cars and would also make me do hideous reverse parks outside crowded cafes before hauling me out of the car and buying us both a coffee which we would consume in a very civilised way before getting back in the car and driving home. I think the distraction therapy worked. I lost my out and out fear of metro driving completely.
I also passed my test despite crying in the car in the lesson prior to it.
That was three years ago. Aside from one binglette it has been trouble free driving. (I have not done a reverse park since.)
Yesterday I paid the fee, had a new photo taken, signed the paper, threw away my P plates and got me a new, big person licence.
Then I took the train home because the car is currently up on a hoist having ‘something’ done to its transmission.
It’ll be a bit funny not having to remember to put the P plates on the car when I take it out. Might make life less distracting for those young male P plate drivers who, upon seeing a single female alone in a car sporting similar P plates, have been known to zoom up behind or beside me waving madly, only to be completely thrown to find a 30+ old lady with (on a bad day) bits of grey hair fluffing about looking back at them in a very disapproving manner.

Day one of my holiday has been largely devoted to administrivia. Trundling around to update driver’s licence, pay uni fees, pay off a bit more of the house, etc etc. Not exactly on the top of the list of all time fabulous holiday activities, but worthy nevertheless. And they’d been bugging me. So much better done.
Did manage the sleep in bit – although it wasn’t really a sleep in, more a back to bed – given that I got up at 6.15am to take the dog to the park. (I made it back to bed for a joyous extra couple of hours upon my return.)
Got in some heavy duty novel reading and some pretty serious essay avoidance too.
At around 4.00ish I’d just made the mid afternoon cup ‘o tea and was scrabbling around to find something delicious to have with it (sadly lacking) when the door bell rings.
Who could it be?
It was the kids from next door bearing King Size Caramello Koalas!! Right then lads, I’ll take ’em off your hands.
Have just eaten three. Feel a bit sick actually. Ooops, caramel leaking into the keyboard. Hmmmm, sticky typing. Good thing housemate who owns keyboard is out of the country. HA! Plenty of time to make it look like nothing ever happened.
I lurv holidays!

I’m sleeping in.
I’m reading novels.
I’m ignoring my essay.
I’m gadding about.
I’m snoozing in the sunshine (if there’s any to be found!)
I’m not answering the phone.
I’m making sure I have elevenses.
I’m ignoring my essay.
I’m going to the gallery.
I’m dressing down.
I’m doing some painting. (DIY)
I’m going to see my folks.
I’m ignoring my essay.

I’m on holidays!

To the well meaning people who have yet to cross my path but who, when they do, feel the urge to suggest I purchase a pair of tweezers …
And to those who have already done so …
And to those who’ve been looking at me funny over the last week or so …

Look, OK, *I know*. They look a bit scruffy. I am not unaware of this. They are on *my* face. I see them every day. I am in the process of re-shaping them. It takes time (won’t happen overnight but it *will* happen!)

They are transitional eyebrows.

I can live with them without comment, why can’t you?
Harumph!

We have a new washing machine in our house. It does not belong to me but to my housemate Justine. It is brand new. I have never owned a new white good in my life. My (reconditioned) washing machine was loaned to someone else when I started sharing with Justine and washed away innumerable stains etc in Brunswick until it could wash no more and was unceremoniously placed on the nature strip for collection on a convenient hard rubbish day. Vale.
The new machine is Swedish. It is a front loader. It makes narry a sound throughout the entire cycle (even when it spins). It stays in one place. It heats its own water should you so choose. It has a huge repertoire of cycles. It is capacious (and commodious). There is NO LINT! It counts down the minutes until the end of the cycle on its natty little digital display. It can be programmed for a delayed start.
It is altogether more amenable than me when it comes to actually doing the washing, it may well be sleeker and more stylish, I have a sneaking suspicion it might also be smarter than me. The pecking order in the house hierarchy may be up for rearrangement!

What a slow and weary afternoon! Over 50% of our staff stayed up to watch the final episode of Buffy last night. Thoroughly dissected it was this morning but this afternoon has degenerated into sleepydom.
‘Twas a worthy ending – if not outstanding. Bit of humour, bit of drama, bit of pathos. Lots of girl power!!
Thanks to them all – both good and bad – for an excellent excuse to sit up late and watch TV.
But (to paraphrase) what’re we gunna watch tomorrow? Especially if you believe, like me, that Angel is boring AND has droopy hair.