I have recently purchased a new skirt which I like very much. It is of a certain length and a certain colour. Those who know me well can probably pretty much visualise it – most of my ‘new’ things morph into my existing wardrobe with barely a ripple. However, this one is a little different. In accordance with current trends it has been cut with an asymmetrical hemline. Never has an apparel purchase caused such comment from the general public. If I had a dollar for every time someone delicately mentioned that my hem was falling down (to which I point out that it is a design feature) I would be a rich woman – or at least able to afford to buy a less commentable-upon skirt!

Last night I went along with my comrades Jacqui and Justine to the Metro (it’s been a while – close to 12 years I reckon) to see Badly Drawn Boy. I was quite looking forward to this event given my recent experience of missing out on tickets to see Ben Harper – there was indeed a certain sense of achievement in just getting through the door!
Was not quite sure what to expect given the young Manchester lad’s reputation. However, in between shambolic rants uttered in the most unintelligible accent I have ever encountered (thank god for Jacqui who translated for me the entire show), I think I got value for money. $56 for a three hour concert where I could sit down (albeit on a carpet-covered step) was pretty reasonable.
He’s quite the serious musician – there were a number of false starts as he told off first the drummer, then the bass player (from The Smiths) then the stage itself for either being, or causing him to be, out of tune. I’m actually quite happy I was a fair way from the stage when I suggested things might improve for him if he removed his beanie. (I was quite amused anyway!)
Badly Drawn Boy? More like Grumpy Bearded Boy (with crusty beanie).
Actually he played a really impressive selection of stuff from his three CDs which I enjoyed immensely (sounded fine to me). I liked his 3/4 time rendering of some of the instrumental stuff and one ‘Billy Braggesque’ tune in particular (thanks, Justine). And he must have been having a reasonable time to stay on stage for three hours – the roadies eventually had to wind him up by progressively removing his little table of drinks and fags, his guitar, the microphone stand, etc, etc.
We were all congratulated for attending the first Melbourne Badly Drawn Boy concert and, if he never comes back, the ONLY Melbourne Badly Drawn Boy concert.
And the new accessory of choice for concert goers? Mobiles with little inbuilt cameras. They were everywhere (although mostly in possession of geeky boys.)

I’ve been a bit slack about contributing to my blog lately. One of my office mates has wondered whether, if there are no obvious signs of life on the blog, there would there be any concern expressed amongst my vast readership as to why there were no entries. Any solicious enquiries about possible carpal tunnel syndrome/a broken limb/accident with chainsaw (not as unlikely as it may first appear!)/sudden death?? Thus far, na da. Somewhat consoling though is that none of the abovelisted reasons apply. I was simply unable to access the internet via work at the end of last week due to a problem with our ISP. Couldn’t send or receive emails. In fact, my work’s website was ‘inadvertently’ deleted by the company which is hosting our domain. But things are back on track today. Now I just have the problem of thinking of something to say!

This morning I went as usual to a drop-in centre where I do some volunteer work. One of the people I’ve been working with there brought me in a present to apologise for a misunderstanding we had had the previous week. I had forgotten all about it, but it was important enough for him to give me a small token by way of apology. How lovely.
Now, I hear on the radio that in 15 minutes George Bush will address the American people and formally announce that ‘hostilities’ have begun in Iraq. It makes me feel sick to think about the possible outcomes. I feel ashamed of my country’s involvement in this act of war.

The ongoing turf war between the humans and the mice continues. We have been catching and disposing of a mouse a day over recent times. Yesterday however, the mice had a minor victory. In a sleepy (pre-cup of tea) attempt to empty the trap into a plastic bag I failed to notice that the mouse, in fact, was still alert (and alarmed!) and rather than having a stiffening mouse carcass drop into the bag for disposal, the mouse took a flying leap from the trap when it opened, bounced on the floor, ran across my leg and scarpered under the stove. Yuk, yuk, yuk! Mouse (1) Me (0)
This morning, however, close(r) examination revealed one dead mouse in the trap. BUT it was not the same mouse. Now there is a scarred mouse at large with knowledge/experience and (possibly) a desire to wreak vengeance upon the human oppressors (or at least to chew really big holes in my packets of dried goods.)
Justine and I have decided to up the ante in our ‘weapons of mouse destruction’ (an illustrative phrase from a recent article in The Age). An attempt to purchase more mouse traps at the supermarket was thwarted on the weekend. There were no traps in evidence but three people (including Justine) were staring blankly at the space on the shelf allocated to mouse traps. This made us feel slightly better in that it is now clear that the mouse issue is suburb wide and NOT a result of slatternly housekeeping on our part.
Today I will venture down to the Collingwood supermarket in an effort to out-distance the Footscray mouse infestation and consolidate our anti-mouse arsenal with a few extra traps.

Also from the animal kingdom: Standing at the counter of Footscray train station this morning waiting to purchase a ticket we hear over the loudspeaker -“Someone please shoo that dog out of the waiting area. It is accosting two females.” ?????

This morning I thought I’d just make a cup of tea. Actually this is the first thing I think upon waking every morning. My housemate says that I am not really compus mentus (see) until I have completed the first cup.
Today is special. We have cake in the house so I can indulge my all time favourite of leftover cake/pudding and a cup of tea for breakfast.
I cut the cake. I boil the water. I open the tin with the tea in it ….. and out flutters a dust moth. One of those moths you see on cartoons which signifies that the box/jar/cupboard/etc has not been opened in years (often accompanied by clouds of dust for added effect).
I have a cup of tea every morning and every night at least – usually lots more. How could a moth get in there? And flutter away so unselfconsciously – like it was meant to be there – this morning?
Nature is slowly taking over my home. Not only are there mice in the walls (as I discovered last night) which could be read as either surprising or maybe some horrible revenge for previous bad acts (see previous entry ‘Lament for a Mouse’) but there are moths in the tea caddy. What is next?

Overheard on the train to work this morning was a very excited conversation about the imminent release of the new Ned Kelly movie (and, no, it was not between me and someone else very excitable, it was definitely a very eager group of school girls.)
“Heath Ledger (sp?), He’s so sexy!” “Ned Kelly, he’s a legend!”
‘Hmmm”, I thought. “Yes, Ned Kelly is a legend: handsome, young, a larrikin, a horseman and boxer and brave in death. He is everything that makes a peculiarly ‘Australian’ version of a hero. Nevertheless he was also a thug and basically a cold-blooded killer. Whatever you think though, he certainly has become a legend. Those girls are quite right.”
Tuning back into the conversation after these idle musings, we had moved on to “Heath Ledger (sp?), he’s SUCH a legend.”
I must be getting old. This is not a conversation I can be a part of. I can just picture the looks on the faces of these girls if I tried joining in the conversation. Ned Kelly the legend, I can manage. But Heath Ledger – that’s a whole different story.

Where my past is unexpectedly brought to life on the small screen.
At the end of a busy long weekend Justine and I sat down to watch ‘The Secret Life of Us’. Sure, it’s a soap but that’s what makes it ideal viewing. (Although I must be getting old because rather than describing it as full of pretty young things, I’d have to describe it as full of boys who badly need haircuts. You have a look – scruffy, almost every single one). We like to watch because we used to live in a lovely little flat on the border of St Kilda and it’s nice to see the old familiar places on the teev. Mostly, however, we like to complain about its realism (or lack thereof). “Nothing like that ever happened when we lived there!” “Look, they’re going the wrong way. You can’t go there in that direction!!” (Couch critics).
Anyway, some way through last night’s episode I began having a flash back to circa 1996. One of the TV characters meets a guy in a bar and ends up having a falling out over the Middle East situation, eerily paralleling a conversation I once had in my own loungeroom in St Kilda:

Guy on TV: “I’d drop a bomb on the Middle East. That’d solve the problem.”
Guy in my loungeroom: “I’d shoot Saddam Hussein in the head. I’d do it myself. That’d solve the Middle East problem.”
Girl on TV: “Isn’t that a bit of a simplistic solution?”
Me in my loungeroom: “Isn’t the issue a bit more complex/systemic than that?”
Girl on TV: “Are you in the Army?”
Guy in my loungeroom: “Yep, I was in the SAS …. and proud of it.”
Girl on TV: “You are an idiot. Go away.”
Me in my loungeroom: “You are an idiot. Go away.”
(Or something like that.)

Just a little too close for comfort!
But I look forward to seeing what happens to me next!!

Every Saturday morning I trundle down to Footscray Market to do the shopping. I’ve been doing this for just over two years. I guess I must be a bit of a fixture but I did not realise it was this obvious.
Today I decided to mix it up a little and arrived earlier than usual. I go to my deli: “Hello, you’re earlier than usual”. I go to the greengrocer: “You’re here early today!” I go to another greengrocer: “You’re early today. Where are the kids?” (I used to shop with my friend Dave and his two children here every weekend before they moved away and even though they’ve been long gone I still get asked about “my” kids!) Finally, I make it to my last stall: “You’re here early. Usually when you arrive I know it’s half an hour until I can go home”.
Hmmmm, not today I guess! And if this was not enough, then the husband of the woman on the stall says: “How was dinner the other night?” “Huh??”, says I. “I saw you going into the Vietnamese restaurant on the corner.” “It was fine”. (Are there no secrets??)
The last straw came as I made a break for the exit. I was idlely musing about the possibility of upgrading my shopping trolley to a fancy new number I had seen during my travels when I hear “Hello, Madam. Don’t I normally see you later at the Latino cafe?”
If I had known that turning up three quarters of a hour early was going to cause such trauma among the fine folk of Footscray Market I would have saved myself the trouble and stayed in bed.

Finding it difficult to settle at my desk this afternoon, I decide that it might help if I go for a walk and get a snack.
Which I duly do.
It is sunny, it is lovely, I buy my treat and I return.
From a side office comes the plaintive cry: “What did you get?”
I take a small detour to said office to show off my purchase.
“Are you having a break?” he asks.
“No”, I reply. “I’m having a Kit Kat!!”

Ahhhhh, marketing!!!