There are flowers on my window sill.
Cards on my mantelpiece.
A cheese cake in the fridge.
Presents.
The promise to good things to come.

And a wide awake dog jumped on my bed early this morning to say “Happy Birthday!” (Rapidly followed by “Can we go for a walk nowwwwwwwww?? Plllleeeaaaasssseeee??”)

Years and years of dire warnings clearly directed at the wrong person.

I do not have the best track record with fire. Yes, in my quest for warmth I’ve scorched things many times and once I accidently set my hair on fire in an unfortunate incident involving a sewing machine. And my sole freakishly persistent obsession, which sits constantly in the back of my mind, is that one day I’ll leave the iron on and burn down the house.
Despite close shaves, however, as yet I have failed to set my clothes on fire UNLIKE my so-clever housemate – dispenser of many many warnings about proximity to heat sources and possible consequent consequences.
Yesterday, dallying a little too close to the dining room heater (and for a little too long), she set her dressing gown aflame. Thankfully there was no damage other than burn marks all up one side of the (previously) baby blue dressing gown. It was a bit scary, really, how quickly it happened. We both spend so much time huddled over that heater – it’s surprising nothing has happened before.
I’ll be keeping a close watch on the third member of our household from now on though. At the moment Maisie is the only one of us who has not experienced the unpleasant aroma of singed outer garments. She wears hers permanently so singed bits would not be good.

Are we there yet?
Are we there yet?
Are we there yet?
Are we there yet?
Are we there yet?
Home time.
See ya.

There is a small convoy of two heading north from Melbourne to Brisbane today. It’s just a red car and a blue car. In one is my brother Brendan, in the other is his lovely partner Nicole. They’re moving to Brisbane where Brendan starts his new, post-PhD job with CSIRO next Monday.
It’s such a pretty, sunny day here – surely the ‘Sunshine State’ can’t do better than this (will be much warmer though.)
So if you see them, give them a wave. My thoughts are with them as they start another grand, big adventure together.

I harbour a bad dog in my house. Sure she’s cute and loving and nice to have around n’all, but I think at heart she might be a bad dog.
It’s not that she pongs, is surly to just about everyone aside from a chosen few, is costing a mint in anti-anxiety medication (for her, not me) or that she sheds. That’s stuff we’ve grown to live with.
But it seems she is an inveterate hanky thief. She really likes ’em. She likes to chew ’em up and spit ’em out. She hides them in her little ogre’s den under Justine’s bed.
She’s not interested in any other article from the washing basket unless it’s given to her. No hanky, however, is safe when little Miss Maisie is in the vicinity.

As a late addition to the office renovation here at work, we had a white, textured vinyl, concertina style, fold away door installed in the kitchenette yesterday.
Can you believe in this modern day and age that it closes with a vinyl strap attached to a big metal press stud affixed to the door frame?
It has been touched by the ugly stick big time.
When the architect said “slide away door” I was expecting something a bit more modern and gadgety. Something a bit ‘Star trek’ even. A metallic door which might open automatically on approach, sliding away to goodness only knows where with a satisfying swooshy sort of sound. Maybe even with some sort of blinking lights arrangement.
But no – it’s vinyl, it’s white, it has a big press stud AND it smells weird.
Very disappointing altogether.

1. He likes minties.
2. He once had a flowery, zip up wardrobe.
3. He once thought red braces were a fashion statement (which they are).
4. He once wore red rimmed glasses.
5. He has had a perm.
6. He owns almost every single Dr Who book ever written.
7. He once slept under a Garfield doona.
8. He once would ONLY listen to FOX FM.
9. I have heard the words “Nescafe Instant is the best coffee” pass his lips.
10. And it’s his birthday today.

So happy birthday to a faithful and multi-faceted friend.

Why is it that when I start to pack up to leave work for the day four trams will pass by my window in rapid succession? They all head citywards – in fact there goes another one – precisely the direction in which I’d like to go.
However, the moment I step out the door the miraculous procession of trams will dry up. Completely. Smith Street will become empty of trams and other tram-like conveyances. There will be nothing but a long cold wait.
This happens with stunning regularity. Do they sense me coming?
I’m a dedicated user of PT but it really is tough love on cold, dark post work evenings.

Well, the dog’s on the drugs, anyway.
After weeks of increasingly worrisome, anti-social behaviour we’ve decided to try the pharmaceutical approach to little Maisie’s aggressive tendancies.
Sigh. She’s such a good little puppy really. She’s just a bit highly strung – and firm in her views about who she likes and who she doesn’t. (German shepherds are strongly advised not to apply. Personal trainers, however, are great!)
What kind of puppy will I go home to tonight? Poor little one and her unpredictable temperament.
Visitors might now be greeted with a welcoming wag rather than surly, loudly voiced (barked) suspicion. Perhaps people might start to visit us again!

Phone rings at work.
“Hello!” I say. And give the usual greeting.
“Yes, it’s Allan …. from the Academy here. I was wondering if you could help me?”
“Oh, hello Adolf” I reply. “What can we do for you?”
“Adolf?” he says.
“Did I say ‘Adolf’?”
“I think you did.”
“I’m not sure what we can do for you,” I manage to squeak out before collapsing in fit of laughter.
Confusion ensues.
I’m not sure who I was expecting on the phone. I’m not sure what help we, as history teachers, could have provided.
But I’m damn sure I’m not consuming a really big slab of poppy seed cake and still expect self to answer phone in coherent fashion in future.