Two boys on bikes fly around the corner, following the sound of their own voices. They are about twelve or thirteen years old. The first boy is graceful and elegant, almost like the bike is part of him. As he comes around the corner, his hands are stretched out at his sides, like aeroplane wings, and he looks so loose and free. The second boy is everything the first boy is not. He's awkward and wobbly. He takes his hands off the handlebars for a second and the bike's frame shudders and shakes from side to side.
"How do you take your hands off without the handlebars wobbling?" he calls to the first boy.
"Balance," is the only response and not very helpful for a boy who struggles just to ride the bike.
"Yeah, I know! But when I take my hands of the handlebars, they wobble. Yours don't. How come?"
"Balance!"
Groan.
It was a futile conversation. The first boy has it naturally and it seemed miraculous that the second boy was able to ride the bike at all.
It was nice to see a couple of kids out and about on their bikes in the neighbourhood. I suddenly realised it's a rare sight these days. I remember riding my bike all over town when I was their age. We'd ride to and from school and be away for hours at a time on the weekends. Only once, did I go quite a long way and underestimate how long it would take me to get home. In the days before mobile phones, my parents must have worried about me. I did get there in the end.
I hope the second boy is really good at something that the expert bike rider isn't. That would only be fair.
Showing posts with label neighbourhood. Show all posts
Showing posts with label neighbourhood. Show all posts
Thursday, 16 April 2015
Thursday, 19 December 2013
Just don't wish him "Merry Christmas" - neighbourly encounter
As I arrived home last night I encountered my whacko neighbour. I feel slightly bad describing Gottfried like that because I think he likes me.
I saw him walk in the front gate ahead of me and knew that we would meet at his front door. He was just putting the key in his door when I came around and the corner and said hello.
"Oh, it's you, Tanya. Hello Tanya! How are you Tanya?"
Did I mention that one of the things that freaks me out is that he drops my name every three or four words?
"Hello Gottfried."
"Tanya, don't tell me you're getting caught up in this Christmas thing! Tanya!"
I was carrying what looked like several bags, but really one was my handbag, one contained my mail and the other was a huge bag from David Jones which contained a new hat I had bought for the beach.
"Oh I don't know. There's lots to organise!" I said, overly cheerful.
"Well Tanya, I can imagine that you're..."
"No one will know what hit them," I quickly inserted, afraid of what he might say next.
"No Tanya. Nothing will hit anyone. You'll have everything so organised Tanya!"
Oh god, was that a blush I saw rising on his cheeks?
"I don't know about that Gottfried."
I changed the subject.
"I know that you don't celebrate Christmas or New Year, but have a nice time over this period whatever you do." (I'd previously been ungraciously chastised for having the temerity to wish him happy Christmas and new year in previous years.)
"Oh I'll be doing exactly what I usually do Tanya."
"Well enjoy that."
"I will Tanya. Thank you Tanya."
"Ok then..." I maneuvered to get past him and up the stairs to my place.
"I heard you playing the piano the other day Tanya," he added. "It was very nice Tanya. I'd like to hear more Tanya!"
"Thank you Gottfried. I was revisiting some Janis Ian."
"Well whatever it was, it was very nice. You should play more often Tanya."
He looked pleased with himself.
Compared to some of the exchanges we've had in the past, this one was quite pleasant. Since we have locked gates on the front of the property, people don't wander in and park in his vacant car space either. Perhaps this has relieved some ever-pressing stress.
Do you know your neighbours?
I saw him walk in the front gate ahead of me and knew that we would meet at his front door. He was just putting the key in his door when I came around and the corner and said hello.
"Oh, it's you, Tanya. Hello Tanya! How are you Tanya?"
Did I mention that one of the things that freaks me out is that he drops my name every three or four words?
"Hello Gottfried."
"Tanya, don't tell me you're getting caught up in this Christmas thing! Tanya!"
I was carrying what looked like several bags, but really one was my handbag, one contained my mail and the other was a huge bag from David Jones which contained a new hat I had bought for the beach.
"Oh I don't know. There's lots to organise!" I said, overly cheerful.
"Well Tanya, I can imagine that you're..."
"No one will know what hit them," I quickly inserted, afraid of what he might say next.
"No Tanya. Nothing will hit anyone. You'll have everything so organised Tanya!"
Oh god, was that a blush I saw rising on his cheeks?
"I don't know about that Gottfried."
I changed the subject.
"I know that you don't celebrate Christmas or New Year, but have a nice time over this period whatever you do." (I'd previously been ungraciously chastised for having the temerity to wish him happy Christmas and new year in previous years.)
"Oh I'll be doing exactly what I usually do Tanya."
"Well enjoy that."
"I will Tanya. Thank you Tanya."
"Ok then..." I maneuvered to get past him and up the stairs to my place.
"I heard you playing the piano the other day Tanya," he added. "It was very nice Tanya. I'd like to hear more Tanya!"
"Thank you Gottfried. I was revisiting some Janis Ian."
"Well whatever it was, it was very nice. You should play more often Tanya."
He looked pleased with himself.
Compared to some of the exchanges we've had in the past, this one was quite pleasant. Since we have locked gates on the front of the property, people don't wander in and park in his vacant car space either. Perhaps this has relieved some ever-pressing stress.
Do you know your neighbours?
Tuesday, 3 December 2013
Man needed! The day I couldn't shut the door.
Yesterday was Melbourne's hottest day since March; around 36 degrees (Celsius). I had sealed my apartment shut when I left in the morning, closing windows, drawing blinds and closing internal doors. It worked. When I walked in the front door it felt several degrees cooler inside than it was outside.
I was doing the customary after work potter. There was mail to read, dinner to plan, washing to bring in. I'd had my sheets on the line and they were dried as stiffly as if they had been meticulously starched. I turned the radio on and heard the presenter ask the audience if the cool change had reached us yet.
I looked out the window. It "looked" cooler. I opened a door and could feel the temperature had dropped significantly. This was my cue to open everything up again. It was reported on the news later that the temperature had dropped 13 degrees in less than forty minutes! The bricks were holding the heat, but the cool breeze was bliss.
The door from my lounge room to my balcony kept slamming shut as the wind forced it shut. I had some blocks of wood lying around and used one of them to chock the door open. Problem solved.
At about 10pm I decided it was time to go to bed and went to remove the block of wood and lock the door for the night. Neither the block of wood, nor the door would budge. I pulled. I kicked. I shook. I tried to lift. Nothing. My burly Irish neighbour was out on his balcony, smoking, and he asked if I needed help. Very kind of him, but I had no memory of his name. I could tell you the names of his last three predecessors, but his name escaped me. I decided to buy some time and said that I just wanted to get my hammer and see if hitting it (the block of wood, not the door) really hard would work. I found my hammer right away, so there wasn't much time to recall my neighbour's name.
Out to the balcony I went, armed with my pink-handled hammer. I hit the block of wood. I may as well have whipped it with a piece of dental floss. My trusty neighbour was ready to come and help. He'd even put on a shirt. I succumbed. I'm quite happy to ask for the help I need, but I need to first establish that the help is actually needed. As we met at out front doors, I confessed I had forgotten his name.
"It's Allan!" he replied very cheerfully.
I handed him the hammer. He looked at its pink-handled girlishness with disdain. He hit the block of wood with it. I felt a bit better because the dental floss analogy was still relevant. He returned to his apartment to retrieve a more manly hammer. I was relieved that it wasn't a sledge hammer as I noticed that the door was now at quite an unnatural angle.
Allan started to really hit that block of wood. I silently apologised to the entire western suburbs for the noise. At one point, I even saw sparks as there was movement in that block of wood. Two more whacks with gusto and the wood split in two, but the bulk of it was still stubbornly wedged and the angle of the door was terrifying. Just as I started to plan the conversation with the real estate agent, the wood moved and the door moved and I was moved!
I thanked Allan as he showed me the hammer, proud that he'd been able to assist a damsel in distress.
"Next time, use a smaller piece of wood," he said as he left.
Tonight the door is tied open with kitchen twine.
What's in your toolkit? Do you know your neighbour's name/s? What would have happened if the door couldn't be closed securely? (eek!)
Sunday, 3 March 2013
Sunday slideshow
Firstly is a shot of one of my favourite street corners in Melbourne - the corner of Elizabeth Street and Little Collins Street, looking towards Swanston Street. The black and white really shows off the ornate old building and then behind it is the modern skyscraper, almost luminous.
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| Old and the new © divacultura 2013 |
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| © divacultura 2013 |
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| © divacultura 2013 |
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| © divacultura 2013 |
I spent some time in Yarraville's pop up park this afternoon, hanging out with a friend. It's such a lovely hub for the community in this beautiful weather. My friend and I were playing Scrabble. While I waited for her to lay her tiles, I took the opportunity to take some photos.
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| © divacultura 2013 |
Here's the view from my deckchair.
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| © divacultura 2013 |
Here's the Scrabble board from my perspective. I went on to win the game!
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| © divacultura 2013 |
Another perspective on the park from behind the Scrabble board.
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| © divacultura 2013 |
The happy stripes of the deck chairs in the pop up park.
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| © divacultura 2013 |
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| © divacultura 2013 |
Friday, 5 October 2012
My favourite things - the lemonade stand
1. The "pop up shop" at Seddon train station. It popped up this morning and was still there four hours later when I returned from the city. The proprietors are two bold, blond-headed eight-year-old boys and they have a cunning entrepreneurial spirit. This morning as I walked to the station, the one with the curls approached me and offered to sell me some flowers. They had a tartan rug and all the flowers were beautifully laid out. I explained about my hayfever and said that I couldn't buy flowers because of it, but I wished them well. I asked him how it was going and he said "okay" and that they'd had donations from a couple of people. He looked at me meaningfully with a maturely cocked eyebrow. I decided not to make a donation; these boys looked like they were serious about business.
When I returned in the afternoon, they had diversified. They were now offering home made lemonade for $1 a cup. I asked who made it. Ethan had. I asked if it was good.
"It's very good," he said solemnly. There was pulp floating in it so it looked real. I had a momentary worry about washing up and who else had used the cup, but decided I would be okay.
The boys engaged in entertaining banter while I sipped my lemonade. An old man made his way from across the street to enquire about the price of a cup of lemonade. He decided $1 was a good price but shook his head when a cup was proffered at half mast. "If I'm paying a dollar, I want a full cup," he said. These boys showed excellent customer service instincts, apologising immediately and happily rectifying the error.
I noticed some small bunches of lavender were still available.
"How much is your lavender?"
"It's a dollar. We've got the English or the French. The French is a smaller bunch 'cos the flowers are bigger, but the English smells better, I reckon," one of them said earnestly.
He displayed the two options and asked me which I would like.
"I'll take one bunch of the English please."
"An excellent choice," he said as he took my dollar.
I asked how business was. They said it was pretty good and that they had made $60 for the day.
"What are your expansion plans?" I asked.
"Well we're getting ready for peak hour."
"What do you think about your shop location for peak hour?"
"Yeah, we've been thinking about that. What do you think?"
I made a couple of suggestions, including staying right where they were until they had seen the pattern of foot traffic coming off the first couple of peak hour services. They thought this was a good idea and advised they would consider it.
I wished them all the best and thanked them for the lemonade and the lavender.
I was going to ask them if I could take a photo of them and their shop, but felt it freak them out. Here's a picture of the lavender instead.
2. I discovered a precinct in Melbourne Central that I hadn't visited before. It's a new food court and shopping area which is cleverly decorated and has better than the usual foodcourt suspects. I enjoyed a Mexican quesadilla from one of the zillion Mexican joints springing up and also had a coffee and cake for afternoon tea after some wandering around with my camera.
This place has a wonderfully coherent and pleasing design theme. The pale green (shown in the saucer above) shows up in a few places.
I gazed at this still life arrangement as I enjoyed my afternoon tea. You can see the same green in the handle of the egg beater.
The chairs were funky too.
3. There's a little library in this part of the world! A cool idea in the middle of a retail area frequented by students. Its philosophy is written on the window and I'm inspired to drop of some books when I'm next in the neighbourhood.
4. The shot tower at Melbourne Central. This has to be one of the cleverest renovations/preservations around. Who ever is in charge of the centre deserves congratulating. There are lots of delightful details.
5. The prose in Nick Cave's first novel, "And the Ass saw the Angel". It's incredible: dense, rich and requiring gorging. I'm very grateful for the built-in dictionary in my e-reader too. Here are a couple of my favourite passages. Not for the fainthearted:
"Mummy was a swine - a scum-cunted, likkered-up, brain-sick swine. She was lazy and slothful and dirty and belligerent and altogether evil. Ma was a soak - a drunk - a piss-eyed hell-bag with a taste for the homebrew." (page 26).
"Finding Toad covered in pig-shit and sucking a trotter, they had chased him out of the Morton's valley to roam the gullies and gulches of the out-hills, a sore Goliath shunned by his own blood, without friend or companion save the league of demons that rubbed and itched amongst the crags and sunless cracks of his bad, mad and unholy brain." (page 34)
"His demented eyes egged in their orbits as if they were being laid." (page 56)
What are your favourite things this week? Have you ever run a lemonade stand?
When I returned in the afternoon, they had diversified. They were now offering home made lemonade for $1 a cup. I asked who made it. Ethan had. I asked if it was good.
"It's very good," he said solemnly. There was pulp floating in it so it looked real. I had a momentary worry about washing up and who else had used the cup, but decided I would be okay.
The boys engaged in entertaining banter while I sipped my lemonade. An old man made his way from across the street to enquire about the price of a cup of lemonade. He decided $1 was a good price but shook his head when a cup was proffered at half mast. "If I'm paying a dollar, I want a full cup," he said. These boys showed excellent customer service instincts, apologising immediately and happily rectifying the error.
I noticed some small bunches of lavender were still available.
"How much is your lavender?"
"It's a dollar. We've got the English or the French. The French is a smaller bunch 'cos the flowers are bigger, but the English smells better, I reckon," one of them said earnestly.
He displayed the two options and asked me which I would like.
"I'll take one bunch of the English please."
"An excellent choice," he said as he took my dollar.
I asked how business was. They said it was pretty good and that they had made $60 for the day.
"What are your expansion plans?" I asked.
"Well we're getting ready for peak hour."
"What do you think about your shop location for peak hour?"
"Yeah, we've been thinking about that. What do you think?"
I made a couple of suggestions, including staying right where they were until they had seen the pattern of foot traffic coming off the first couple of peak hour services. They thought this was a good idea and advised they would consider it.
I wished them all the best and thanked them for the lemonade and the lavender.
I was going to ask them if I could take a photo of them and their shop, but felt it freak them out. Here's a picture of the lavender instead.
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| (c) divacultura 2012 |
2. I discovered a precinct in Melbourne Central that I hadn't visited before. It's a new food court and shopping area which is cleverly decorated and has better than the usual foodcourt suspects. I enjoyed a Mexican quesadilla from one of the zillion Mexican joints springing up and also had a coffee and cake for afternoon tea after some wandering around with my camera.
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| Coffee and cake at Cupcake Central (c) divacultura 2012 |
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| The tiles (c) divacultura 2012 |
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| Still life with cupcakes (c) divacultura 2012 |
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| Geometrix (c) divacultura 2012 |
3. There's a little library in this part of the world! A cool idea in the middle of a retail area frequented by students. Its philosophy is written on the window and I'm inspired to drop of some books when I'm next in the neighbourhood.
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| Little Library rules (c) divacultura 2012 |
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| Giant white chandeliers, reimagined (c) divacultura 2012 |
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| Mezzanine chairs (c) divacultura 2012 |
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| Shot tower shadows and living wall (c) divacultura 2012 |
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| Shot tower I (c) divacultura 2012 |
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| Shot tower II (c) divacultura 2012 |
"Mummy was a swine - a scum-cunted, likkered-up, brain-sick swine. She was lazy and slothful and dirty and belligerent and altogether evil. Ma was a soak - a drunk - a piss-eyed hell-bag with a taste for the homebrew." (page 26).
"Finding Toad covered in pig-shit and sucking a trotter, they had chased him out of the Morton's valley to roam the gullies and gulches of the out-hills, a sore Goliath shunned by his own blood, without friend or companion save the league of demons that rubbed and itched amongst the crags and sunless cracks of his bad, mad and unholy brain." (page 34)
"His demented eyes egged in their orbits as if they were being laid." (page 56)
Sunday, 12 August 2012
Sunday slide show
Now that I live in the west, I don't often go to St Kilda. I used to hang out at the Espy quite a bit, soaking up the live music and the sunshine. It's been a while.
I made the journey today to meet with my gal pals who make up my book group. Today we were discussing a crime novel set in Melbourne in 1933, The Richmond Conspiracy by Andrew Grimes and we met at a cafe in Acland Street. A birthday had been celebrated during the week, so we shared a bottle of bubbles as well.
When I left the house this afternoon, I had not finished reading the book. I still had twenty pages to go! The forty minutes of travelling on public transport to get there was very handy. I finished the book in time to see the throngs of people at the markets along the Esplanade. (It took all my powers of concentration to read, as my fellow travellers were rowdy, on their way to the footy.)
I love that view out over Port Philip Bay, with the tall palm trees, and Luna Park and the Palais Theatre the monumental but shabby land marks.
Of course, I took some photos.
While I was waiting at the tram stop to travel home, the dragon swing boat started up and I noticed the dragon's head popping above the fence.
It was a busy day in St Kilda, but this shot suggests the streets are virtually empty. There's a sense of foreboding. Something could be about to happen.
Another in my series of random photos of the ground. I took this leaning against the rail at the tram stop. I like the industrial feel of it and the reflections of the road's line markings on the metal pole.
As my tram arrived at Flinders Street I noticed a baby elephant standing over in Federation Square. Apparently there is a whole herd of them hanging out in the city. They've all been painted in honour of the Melbourne Zoo's baby elephant Mali. Mali even painted one of them herself. If I find it, I'll share a photo with you. Here's the one elephant from both sides.
On the way home I started reading Simon Baron-Cohen's book, Zero Degrees of Empathy. Lots of neuroscience so far, but highly readable in spite of that.
IT'S MY BIRTHDAY & YOU GET THE GIFTS! Only one more week to enter!
As I contemplate renewing my commitment to divacultura for another year, I feel excitement and affection. Thank you for sharing some of your time with me. As a thank you gift - and so I can gain a better sense of who's out there - I'll be giving away a pair of my hand knitted socks to two very lucky readers, where ever you are in the world (ie two readers will receive a pair of socks each). To be in the running, leave a comment on this post by Friday 17 August 2012, stating why you like reading divacultura. My favourite responses will receive the prize (my decision is final). Why not take the opportunity to sign up and follow too!
I made the journey today to meet with my gal pals who make up my book group. Today we were discussing a crime novel set in Melbourne in 1933, The Richmond Conspiracy by Andrew Grimes and we met at a cafe in Acland Street. A birthday had been celebrated during the week, so we shared a bottle of bubbles as well.
When I left the house this afternoon, I had not finished reading the book. I still had twenty pages to go! The forty minutes of travelling on public transport to get there was very handy. I finished the book in time to see the throngs of people at the markets along the Esplanade. (It took all my powers of concentration to read, as my fellow travellers were rowdy, on their way to the footy.)
I love that view out over Port Philip Bay, with the tall palm trees, and Luna Park and the Palais Theatre the monumental but shabby land marks.
Of course, I took some photos.
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| Luna Park entry. (c) divacultura |
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| Striving dragon (c) divacultura 2012 |
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| Iconic intersection (c) divacultura 2012 |
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| St Kilda palm trees in front of Luna Park, heading towards Acland Street. (c) divacultura 2012 |
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| Random shot (c) divacultura 2012 |
As my tram arrived at Flinders Street I noticed a baby elephant standing over in Federation Square. Apparently there is a whole herd of them hanging out in the city. They've all been painted in honour of the Melbourne Zoo's baby elephant Mali. Mali even painted one of them herself. If I find it, I'll share a photo with you. Here's the one elephant from both sides.
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| (c) divacultura 2012 |
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| (c) divacultura 2012 |
IT'S MY BIRTHDAY & YOU GET THE GIFTS! Only one more week to enter!
As I contemplate renewing my commitment to divacultura for another year, I feel excitement and affection. Thank you for sharing some of your time with me. As a thank you gift - and so I can gain a better sense of who's out there - I'll be giving away a pair of my hand knitted socks to two very lucky readers, where ever you are in the world (ie two readers will receive a pair of socks each). To be in the running, leave a comment on this post by Friday 17 August 2012, stating why you like reading divacultura. My favourite responses will receive the prize (my decision is final). Why not take the opportunity to sign up and follow too!
Sunday, 5 August 2012
Sunday slide show
Since seeing the challenge of Photo Finish this week, I've been feeling great about the fact that the camera I use these days is on my iphone. Here are my favourite shots this week.
A familiar sight around the Melbourne CBD.
I had never noticed these yellow whirlygigs on this building before. I really like the composition of this shot. The yellow is unexpected.
These two shots are of the same fence, taken from opposite ends. I love the details of peeling paint and the way the light highlights them.
Another door, very high up, with no stairs attached. I wonder what the story is?
Lois Lane in the heart of Yarraville.
I sang a song called "Up the Ladder to the Roof" once. This looks like you need to go up to the roof to get the ladder. Strange place to keep it.
Art deco detail from inside the Davis theatre inside the Sun Theatre in Yarraville. These panels are along both side walls and are quite lovely.
IT'S MY BIRTHDAY & YOU GET THE GIFTS!
As I contemplate renewing my commitment to divacultura for another year, I feel excitement and affection. Thank you for sharing some of your time with me. As a thank you gift - and so I can gain a better sense of who's out there - I'll be giving away a pair of my hand knitted socks to two very lucky readers, where ever you are in the world (ie two readers will receive a pair of socks each). To be in the running, leave a comment on this post by Friday 17 August 2012, stating why you like reading divacultura. My favourite responses will receive the prize (my decision is final). Why not take the opportunity to sign up and follow too!
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| (c) divacultura 2012 |
This is taken from Little Collins Street, looking up Union Lane, through to the Bourke Street Mall where you can see David Jones. This laneway is a graffiti hot spot with some really interesting art that changes constantly.
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| (c) divacultura 2012 |
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| (c) divacultura 2012 |
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| (c) divacultura 2012 |
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| (c) divacultura 2012 |
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| (c) divacultura 2012 |
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| (c) divacultura 2012 |
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| (c) divacultura 2012 |
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| (c) divacultura 2012 |
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| (c) divacultura 2012 |
This formidable looking guy overlooks the Lindt Cafe in Collins Street.
I hope you've seen some interesting things on your travels this week. What inspires you to pull out your camera and take a photo?
IT'S MY BIRTHDAY & YOU GET THE GIFTS!
As I contemplate renewing my commitment to divacultura for another year, I feel excitement and affection. Thank you for sharing some of your time with me. As a thank you gift - and so I can gain a better sense of who's out there - I'll be giving away a pair of my hand knitted socks to two very lucky readers, where ever you are in the world (ie two readers will receive a pair of socks each). To be in the running, leave a comment on this post by Friday 17 August 2012, stating why you like reading divacultura. My favourite responses will receive the prize (my decision is final). Why not take the opportunity to sign up and follow too!
Sunday, 29 July 2012
When the rain falls horizontally.
My customary Sunday walk with camera in hand was somewhat truncated today by the crazy Melbourne weather. The sun would be shining one minute and by the time I had my coat on and umbrella in hand, I would step outside only to be fighting horizontal rain. I felt like I was in one of the battle scenes in Lord of the Rings except there was no castle and not an archer in sight. And all I was trying to do was walk to the village.
Miraculously, I wore my sunglasses part of the way. I wasn't being rock 'n' roll; they were necessary.
The friend I was meeting for Sunday afternoon conversation and a glass of red wine urged me to sit outside. I acquiesced and before long we were moving inside because the archers with the rain arrows had started up again. We found a great spot by the window looking out at the street and before long were moving again. This time it was the DJ who required our prime spot to set up his gear. He asked us if we minded moving and we said we did. His response was to become snaky and walk off. We moved to our final spot for the afternoon and enjoyed each other's company.
As we emerged, it was suddenly night time. The rain was still around and I had a tricky walk home juggling a bag of groceries, my handbag and umbrella. I made it!
Anyway, I did manage to take an interesting photo on the nature strip outside where I live. There's the stump of a tree which was removed a few years ago and it has become a hub for new life.
After lunch with a friend in Richmond on Saturday, I caught a tram back to the city. I've always loved the Forum Theatre on Flinders Street, with its gargoyles and ornamentation (it's wonderful inside too). This is a random snap I took from the window of the tram just to see what would happen.
IT'S MY BIRTHDAY & YOU GET THE GIFTS!
As I contemplate renewing my commitment to divacultura for another year, I feel excitement and affection. Thank you for sharing some of your time with me. As a thank you gift - and so I can gain a better sense of who's out there - I'll be giving away a pair of my hand knitted socks to two very lucky readers, where ever you are in the world (ie two readers will receive a pair of socks each). To be in the running, leave a comment on this post by Friday 17 August 2012, stating why you like reading divacultura. My favourite responses will receive the prize (my decision is final). Why not take the opportunity to sign up and follow too!
Miraculously, I wore my sunglasses part of the way. I wasn't being rock 'n' roll; they were necessary.
The friend I was meeting for Sunday afternoon conversation and a glass of red wine urged me to sit outside. I acquiesced and before long we were moving inside because the archers with the rain arrows had started up again. We found a great spot by the window looking out at the street and before long were moving again. This time it was the DJ who required our prime spot to set up his gear. He asked us if we minded moving and we said we did. His response was to become snaky and walk off. We moved to our final spot for the afternoon and enjoyed each other's company.
As we emerged, it was suddenly night time. The rain was still around and I had a tricky walk home juggling a bag of groceries, my handbag and umbrella. I made it!
Anyway, I did manage to take an interesting photo on the nature strip outside where I live. There's the stump of a tree which was removed a few years ago and it has become a hub for new life.
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| It's a toadstool forest! (c) divacultura 2012 |
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| Random tram window shot (c) divacultura 2012 |
After lunch with a friend in Richmond on Saturday, I caught a tram back to the city. I've always loved the Forum Theatre on Flinders Street, with its gargoyles and ornamentation (it's wonderful inside too). This is a random snap I took from the window of the tram just to see what would happen.
IT'S MY BIRTHDAY & YOU GET THE GIFTS!
As I contemplate renewing my commitment to divacultura for another year, I feel excitement and affection. Thank you for sharing some of your time with me. As a thank you gift - and so I can gain a better sense of who's out there - I'll be giving away a pair of my hand knitted socks to two very lucky readers, where ever you are in the world (ie two readers will receive a pair of socks each). To be in the running, leave a comment on this post by Friday 17 August 2012, stating why you like reading divacultura. My favourite responses will receive the prize (my decision is final). Why not take the opportunity to sign up and follow too!
Sunday, 24 June 2012
Out and about today
Today was lovely and sunny for the most part and I took advantage of this to head out for an afternoon walk. I love to take my camera with me (in this case my iphone) and closely observe the world. Here are my favourite shots from today.
I've become quite a fan of the ground. Looking in detail at an intersection provides an excellent opportunity to play with composition. I find the angles, cracks and textures in this shot really pleasing. I've used an instagram filter to make it almost black and white. How do you like the little splash of green in the bottom right-hand corner?
Speaking of green, here is a photo of grass. There is a large vacant lot in Yarraville and I noticed today that the grass was really green. I think this shot is an interesting look at texture and light in a largely monochromatic colour scheme.
Outside a house, I noticed three trees with hardly any foliage on them. The ground beneath them was prettily littered with fallen leaves and pebbles. Very attractive.
When I see the sun like this over Yarraville, it seems obvious why the cinema is called the Sun. This shot shows the old St George's ballroom (now apartments) in the background.
What did you notice today?
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| Random ground shot (c) divacultura 2012 |
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| Grass (c) divacultura 2012 |
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| Fallen (c) divacultura 2012 |
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| Sun over Yarraville (c) divacultura 2012 |
What did you notice today?
Wednesday, 20 June 2012
The earth moved - rocking the suburbs.
It's not often that I'm sitting in my lounge and the earth moves, but that's exactly what happened last night. It's probably old news that Victoria was hit with a 5.3 earthquake and the epicentre over in Moe is still feeling aftershocks.
I heard a rumbling and then a slight shudder which felt very odd. Then there were several bangs and shakes - it felt like a truck was repeatedly ramming the building. It was very violent and, well, unsettling. Nothing fell off my walls. I hoped that it might shake my resident mouse out of hiding, but that didn't happen.
Once it was clear it had stopped and nothing was broken I went outside and ran into my neighbours. We were all looking for confirmation that other people had felt it too and we weren't having some strange hallucination. We checked to see if anything had fallen off the building and checked to see that everyone was okay.
My downstairs neighbour bid us goodnight with the comment, "It's been nice bonding with the neighbours over a natural disaster!"
I went inside and opened up Twitter and turned on the ABC radio. My twitter feed confirmed there had been an earthquake. I was able to gain information and quickly knew the strength of the quake, how widespread it had been. I received enquiries to check on my welfare from far and wide.
Once it was clear that there had been nothing serious, the twitter conversation turned to humour and a discussion about the challenge twitter poses to mainstream media. We were all gathering information from each other and knew the story long before stories started to appear on media websites. That's hard to compete with.
Callers to ABC radio sounded confounded and reached for the words to describe their experience. One man was quite animated in his description, saying that it was "incredible!" and "The big TV in my room? Well, it moved a little bit!"
Apparently the quake is one of the strongest experienced in this area. I've felt a few tremors before, but nothing like last night. Compared to somewhere like Christchurch, this was a little tickle. It was enough for me! I can't imagine how frightening it must be to be in a prolonged, strong earthquake.
Have you ever experienced an earthquake?
I heard a rumbling and then a slight shudder which felt very odd. Then there were several bangs and shakes - it felt like a truck was repeatedly ramming the building. It was very violent and, well, unsettling. Nothing fell off my walls. I hoped that it might shake my resident mouse out of hiding, but that didn't happen.
Once it was clear it had stopped and nothing was broken I went outside and ran into my neighbours. We were all looking for confirmation that other people had felt it too and we weren't having some strange hallucination. We checked to see if anything had fallen off the building and checked to see that everyone was okay.
My downstairs neighbour bid us goodnight with the comment, "It's been nice bonding with the neighbours over a natural disaster!"
I went inside and opened up Twitter and turned on the ABC radio. My twitter feed confirmed there had been an earthquake. I was able to gain information and quickly knew the strength of the quake, how widespread it had been. I received enquiries to check on my welfare from far and wide.
Once it was clear that there had been nothing serious, the twitter conversation turned to humour and a discussion about the challenge twitter poses to mainstream media. We were all gathering information from each other and knew the story long before stories started to appear on media websites. That's hard to compete with.
Callers to ABC radio sounded confounded and reached for the words to describe their experience. One man was quite animated in his description, saying that it was "incredible!" and "The big TV in my room? Well, it moved a little bit!"
Apparently the quake is one of the strongest experienced in this area. I've felt a few tremors before, but nothing like last night. Compared to somewhere like Christchurch, this was a little tickle. It was enough for me! I can't imagine how frightening it must be to be in a prolonged, strong earthquake.
Have you ever experienced an earthquake?
Saturday, 16 June 2012
Precision parking: the fine art of stealing a car spot.
Taking advantage of the (now gone) sun, I was on my balcony this morning hanging out some washing. An unfamiliar car pulled up and the driver wound down his window and shouted up at me.
"Is this your car park?"
"No," I responded.
"Do you know whose it is?"
I pointed to the apartment next door.
"Thanks," he said.
"Why?" I asked.
"Because I live at number 4 and my girlfriend's car is parked there. So I have no where to park. I just want to check if it's okay for me to leave my car here."
He reversed into the car space, wound the window up and locked the door as he walked towards my neighbours' place.
"It's good of you to ask," I said. It really was. Most people just park where they like without any consideration for the person they may be inconveniencing.
"Yeah, well, not really. I'm just sick of uptight people nagging me for parking in their spot." He was standing on the balls of his feet, tightly wound.
"Well it's fair enough for people to ask you to move if you're in their spot," I suggested.
"They don't have to whine at me."
He stalked off. I heard him knock on my neighbours' door. They weren't home. He returned to the car and took out a loop of electrical cord. I went back inside.
Then I heard yelling. I went onto my balcony and pretended to adjust the washing. He was yelling at a cowering woman, demanding she move her car forward half a metre. I assume she was his girlfriend. She scurried back inside, re-emerged with car keys and moved her car forward. The man directed her. This was some precision parking. First she went too far forward, then too far back, then too fast, too slow, the angle wasn't right. She persisted in her efforts to please him with her car parking. I would have abandoned the car to him. Or driven off into the sunset.
Any wonder he was sensitive about the way people spoke to him about his mis-parked car. Delivering, rather than receiving was obviously more his style. I wonder what is going on in his life for him to carry so much frustration and anger with him.
I think I'll walk the other way next time I see him coming.
"Is this your car park?"
"No," I responded.
"Do you know whose it is?"
I pointed to the apartment next door.
"Thanks," he said.
"Why?" I asked.
"Because I live at number 4 and my girlfriend's car is parked there. So I have no where to park. I just want to check if it's okay for me to leave my car here."
He reversed into the car space, wound the window up and locked the door as he walked towards my neighbours' place.
"It's good of you to ask," I said. It really was. Most people just park where they like without any consideration for the person they may be inconveniencing.
"Yeah, well, not really. I'm just sick of uptight people nagging me for parking in their spot." He was standing on the balls of his feet, tightly wound.
"Well it's fair enough for people to ask you to move if you're in their spot," I suggested.
"They don't have to whine at me."
He stalked off. I heard him knock on my neighbours' door. They weren't home. He returned to the car and took out a loop of electrical cord. I went back inside.
Then I heard yelling. I went onto my balcony and pretended to adjust the washing. He was yelling at a cowering woman, demanding she move her car forward half a metre. I assume she was his girlfriend. She scurried back inside, re-emerged with car keys and moved her car forward. The man directed her. This was some precision parking. First she went too far forward, then too far back, then too fast, too slow, the angle wasn't right. She persisted in her efforts to please him with her car parking. I would have abandoned the car to him. Or driven off into the sunset.
Any wonder he was sensitive about the way people spoke to him about his mis-parked car. Delivering, rather than receiving was obviously more his style. I wonder what is going on in his life for him to carry so much frustration and anger with him.
I think I'll walk the other way next time I see him coming.
Saturday, 21 April 2012
The case of the parking spot & the crazy neighbour.
The front yard of my block of apartments has been undergoing a remodelling over the last few months. It is apparently to be transferred from ugly and uninviting to a barbeque area. They demolished the front fence, took out the big peppercorn tree, demolished the letterboxes and have built an enclosure for the rubbish skips which live right at the entrance to the property. There are rumours we are getting a security gate which will govern access to the property. None of this has been communicated to those of us who are mere tenants.
The barbecue area is a nice idea, although I'm not sure how much it will be used, given its location. The new letterboxes are much more secure. The bin area I'm not sure about. I'm not sure how we'll get access to the bins to deposit rubbish once all the bins are in there! We'll see.
Here's what I came home to on 20 February this year:
It's certainly not Backyard Blitz. At the rate they're going, our barbeque area should be ready for deepest winter. Excellent!
On Friday morning, heard the beeping of a truck reversing into the driveway. I looked out the window to see pouring rain and a cement truck reversing into the parking bay that belongs to my very particular neighbour whom I call Gottfried. (You can read more about him and his neighbourly relations in this post.) For those who haven't read about Gottfried, the key thing to know is that he yells at anyone who parks in his parking space, or even thinks about stopping there. That sounds reasonable, until it is revealed that he does not have a car. With all of the activity happening at the front of the building, there have been regular displays of Gottfried's particular view of the world. To remove the temptation for anyone who may be considering parking a work truck there, he has taken to parking the trailer he uses with his bicycle. (It is red and has a rather jaunty pinwheel attached which whirls in the wind. Quite unexpected.)
As I looked out the window I saw one of the men get out of the cement truck and move Gottfried's bike trailer so the truck could be parked in his space, allowing ready access to the cement from the site where it would be poured. I quickly retreated behind the blinds, wondering how long it would be before Gottfried was out there tearing strips off these blokes.
It took about a minute. I heard the truck move. As a result the truck had to park in the entry to the driveway, blocking all access to the property - at 7:30 in the morning when lots of people would be needing to go to work. In the space of the next 20 minutes, those poor men had to move the truck seven times to allow cars out. Seven!
But at least Gottfried's parking bay was free.
The barbecue area is a nice idea, although I'm not sure how much it will be used, given its location. The new letterboxes are much more secure. The bin area I'm not sure about. I'm not sure how we'll get access to the bins to deposit rubbish once all the bins are in there! We'll see.
Here's what I came home to on 20 February this year:
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| Looking towards the street. (c) divacultura 2012 |
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| Looking from the footpath. (c) divacultura 2012 |
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| Looking from the driveway. (c) divacultura 2012 |
It's certainly not Backyard Blitz. At the rate they're going, our barbeque area should be ready for deepest winter. Excellent!
On Friday morning, heard the beeping of a truck reversing into the driveway. I looked out the window to see pouring rain and a cement truck reversing into the parking bay that belongs to my very particular neighbour whom I call Gottfried. (You can read more about him and his neighbourly relations in this post.) For those who haven't read about Gottfried, the key thing to know is that he yells at anyone who parks in his parking space, or even thinks about stopping there. That sounds reasonable, until it is revealed that he does not have a car. With all of the activity happening at the front of the building, there have been regular displays of Gottfried's particular view of the world. To remove the temptation for anyone who may be considering parking a work truck there, he has taken to parking the trailer he uses with his bicycle. (It is red and has a rather jaunty pinwheel attached which whirls in the wind. Quite unexpected.)
As I looked out the window I saw one of the men get out of the cement truck and move Gottfried's bike trailer so the truck could be parked in his space, allowing ready access to the cement from the site where it would be poured. I quickly retreated behind the blinds, wondering how long it would be before Gottfried was out there tearing strips off these blokes.
It took about a minute. I heard the truck move. As a result the truck had to park in the entry to the driveway, blocking all access to the property - at 7:30 in the morning when lots of people would be needing to go to work. In the space of the next 20 minutes, those poor men had to move the truck seven times to allow cars out. Seven!
But at least Gottfried's parking bay was free.
Saturday, 3 March 2012
Photo of the day - YOUR NEIGHBOURHOOD
Here's the main street of Yarraville on a very grey, rainy day.
* I used the Lo-fi filter and tilt focus on instagram.
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| (c) divacultura 2012 |
* I used the Lo-fi filter and tilt focus on instagram.
Sunday, 19 February 2012
Floral delivery
I haven't had very many encounters with the police or emergency services in my life. Today I called 000 to attend a very violent argument somewhere in my apartment block. Living in such close quarters with other people makes me nervous when there are volatile, angry men around.
The call reminded me of one of the earlier encounters I had with police, not long after I moved to Melbourne.
I was living in Richmond in a double fronted worker's cottage and had one of the front bedrooms. I remember it was a Thursday night at about 9:45pm. I had just watched "ER" on TV and was lying in bed reading. My room had one of those old wooden sash windows that slides up and down and can be propped open at various certain heights. It was April, so quite cool at night, but I had the window propped open about a hand span.
Suddenly the blinds and curtain rattled and I saw a hand coming through the window! I screamed and ran out of my room. One of my house mates ran towards me and screamed when she ran headlong into me. There was a lot of screaming.
"There was a hand. A man! Through the window!" I screamed at her.
We looked at each other, wide-eyed and pushed open my bedroom door wide enough to see that there was a bunch of flowers on the floor of my room. No people and no hands. We pulled the curtain and blinds back and saw smudges of hand prints in the dust on the window sill.
Flowers! I threw them outside, sealed up the window tight and slept with the light on and my tennis racket beside me.
The next morning I called a friend who was a member of the police force and told him what had happened. He asked me if I had called the police and when I told him I hadn't (it hadn't even crossed my mind) he suggested I should. So I did.
I called the local station directly.
"Junior Acting Trainee Probationary Constable Smith speaking?" an uncertain sounding voice said at the other end of the line.
This would be interesting. I told the story of what had happened the night before. He duly listened and then asked: "Did the hand have any distinguishing features?"
All I could think to say in response was "Four fingers and a thumb. And some flowers. Which were left behind."
"And did the hand belong to a male or female personage?"
"Male, I think."
"What distinguished the personage's hand as being of a male persuasion?"
"It was big and hairy. The hand I mean."
Suddenly the whole thing felt very silly. When he asked for a description of the flowers I started to giggle. I gasped out a description and waited.
Junior Acting Trainee Probationary Constable Smith paused and then provided a very accurate recap of the story, translated into police-speak. He then said: "Why are you providing this information?"
Because there's an outrageously generous florist out there, scaring the pants of unsuspecting women by strewing flowers randomly through open windows?
Instead I said: "I just thought I should let you know in case you know of similar incidents in the neighbourhood or in case one comes to light. Should I do anything?"
"I suggest you make a note of what has happened so that you remember for next time," was his winningly helpful suggestion.
He said he would drive around and be on the look out and that I should call the station immediately if anything like this happened again. Thankfully it didn't. I'm not sure that Junior Acting Trainee Probationary Constable Smith was the man to keep me safe. Maybe he wasn't the wordy type but would be heroic if my honour needed protecting.
It took a long time for me to open my bedroom window again - it may have been as late as the following summer. It never happened again and I have never received such a dramatic flower delivery again.
The call reminded me of one of the earlier encounters I had with police, not long after I moved to Melbourne.
I was living in Richmond in a double fronted worker's cottage and had one of the front bedrooms. I remember it was a Thursday night at about 9:45pm. I had just watched "ER" on TV and was lying in bed reading. My room had one of those old wooden sash windows that slides up and down and can be propped open at various certain heights. It was April, so quite cool at night, but I had the window propped open about a hand span.
Suddenly the blinds and curtain rattled and I saw a hand coming through the window! I screamed and ran out of my room. One of my house mates ran towards me and screamed when she ran headlong into me. There was a lot of screaming.
"There was a hand. A man! Through the window!" I screamed at her.
We looked at each other, wide-eyed and pushed open my bedroom door wide enough to see that there was a bunch of flowers on the floor of my room. No people and no hands. We pulled the curtain and blinds back and saw smudges of hand prints in the dust on the window sill.
Flowers! I threw them outside, sealed up the window tight and slept with the light on and my tennis racket beside me.
The next morning I called a friend who was a member of the police force and told him what had happened. He asked me if I had called the police and when I told him I hadn't (it hadn't even crossed my mind) he suggested I should. So I did.
I called the local station directly.
"Junior Acting Trainee Probationary Constable Smith speaking?" an uncertain sounding voice said at the other end of the line.
This would be interesting. I told the story of what had happened the night before. He duly listened and then asked: "Did the hand have any distinguishing features?"
All I could think to say in response was "Four fingers and a thumb. And some flowers. Which were left behind."
"And did the hand belong to a male or female personage?"
"Male, I think."
"What distinguished the personage's hand as being of a male persuasion?"
"It was big and hairy. The hand I mean."
Suddenly the whole thing felt very silly. When he asked for a description of the flowers I started to giggle. I gasped out a description and waited.
Junior Acting Trainee Probationary Constable Smith paused and then provided a very accurate recap of the story, translated into police-speak. He then said: "Why are you providing this information?"
Because there's an outrageously generous florist out there, scaring the pants of unsuspecting women by strewing flowers randomly through open windows?
Instead I said: "I just thought I should let you know in case you know of similar incidents in the neighbourhood or in case one comes to light. Should I do anything?"
"I suggest you make a note of what has happened so that you remember for next time," was his winningly helpful suggestion.
He said he would drive around and be on the look out and that I should call the station immediately if anything like this happened again. Thankfully it didn't. I'm not sure that Junior Acting Trainee Probationary Constable Smith was the man to keep me safe. Maybe he wasn't the wordy type but would be heroic if my honour needed protecting.
It took a long time for me to open my bedroom window again - it may have been as late as the following summer. It never happened again and I have never received such a dramatic flower delivery again.
Saturday, 18 February 2012
Don't rubbish me!
As I started my car this morning I noticed a man arrive at our bins with his rubbish to dump - large cardboard boxes. The bins are one of the things that I don't like about living where I live.
There are 28 apartments in my complex and we share six skips - three for general waste and three for recycling. The bins are right at the entry and are very untidy. People regularly dump rubbish near the bins and sometimes I feel like I live beside a garbage dump. The bins barely accommodate all the rubbish from 28 households and by the time collection day arrives they are bursting.
Recycling is the other problem. People put any old thing in the recycling bins, despite the helpful sticker the local Council has provided showing clearly what can go in the bins and what must not be put in the bins. Plastic bags seem to confuse most people. They spend time carefully sorting their recyclables and then place in a plastic bag in the bin! The guide to recycling is published in English and we're a very multicultural area, so maybe it's a language problem. Then there are the people who make no distinction and just put their rubbish in the bin. Or beside the bin. I'll never understand that one.
I also emerged one morning to discover they had been set on fire. While it was fascinating to see that the plastic of the bins had melted and left a pile of rubbish, it was a revolting mess to have at the doorstep for a few days!
Anyway, back to the man lurking at the bins. I had to drive right past him on my way out, so I wound down the window of the car and stopped to speak to him. He was flattening all his cardboard to place in our already overflowing recycling bins.
"Hello! Do you live here?" I knew he didn't but I gave him my most friendly smile.
"Um, no. No I don't," he replied looking a bit nervous.
"You're not thinking of dumping your rubbish on your neighbours are you?"
"Um. No, I mean, well, I can't fit it in," he reddened. He had one of those complexions that blooms guiltily.
"Oh, okay," I said, still friendly. "Where do you live?"
"Um, what do you mean?"
"Oh I just want to know where you live so I can dump my rubbish at your place. You wouldn't mind would you? I mean my bins are overflowing with the neighbourhood's rubbish. Don't know why, but my neighbours seem to think that my home is a garbage dump for them." I furrowed my brow and shook my head.
"Um, no. Um, what? Oh...um..." He had one of those tongues which becomes tied when feeling guilty.
I waited.
"Could I put this in your bin? Just this once? Please?" He looked like a little boy asking for a lolly or a cake.
"I'm not going to tell you what to do. You wouldn't have thought of asking if I hadn't stopped to talk to you. I just ask to be treated fairly and with respect. You decide. Bye!"
I drove off. I could see him standing staring at his rubbish, frozen in time. At least he was thinking about it. He was scratching his head anyway.
When I arrived home I found the bins so stuffed with his rubbish that they don't close properly. Guess the carefully crafted guilt trip didn't work.
I've had this conversation with other people who think it's okay to dump their rubbish on someone else's property. It's amazing how people will justify what they are doing - their bin isn't big enough, it's just this once, they have a lot of rubbish this week. If you fill your bins you have a couple of choices: store the rubbish until the bins have been emptied; take it to the dump or a recycling centre (yes, you have to pay for this). Or you could approach a neighbour and have a conversation. I'm sure that if you asked first instead of just dumping, the answer would be YES!
There are 28 apartments in my complex and we share six skips - three for general waste and three for recycling. The bins are right at the entry and are very untidy. People regularly dump rubbish near the bins and sometimes I feel like I live beside a garbage dump. The bins barely accommodate all the rubbish from 28 households and by the time collection day arrives they are bursting.
Recycling is the other problem. People put any old thing in the recycling bins, despite the helpful sticker the local Council has provided showing clearly what can go in the bins and what must not be put in the bins. Plastic bags seem to confuse most people. They spend time carefully sorting their recyclables and then place in a plastic bag in the bin! The guide to recycling is published in English and we're a very multicultural area, so maybe it's a language problem. Then there are the people who make no distinction and just put their rubbish in the bin. Or beside the bin. I'll never understand that one.
I also emerged one morning to discover they had been set on fire. While it was fascinating to see that the plastic of the bins had melted and left a pile of rubbish, it was a revolting mess to have at the doorstep for a few days!
Anyway, back to the man lurking at the bins. I had to drive right past him on my way out, so I wound down the window of the car and stopped to speak to him. He was flattening all his cardboard to place in our already overflowing recycling bins.
"Hello! Do you live here?" I knew he didn't but I gave him my most friendly smile.
"Um, no. No I don't," he replied looking a bit nervous.
"You're not thinking of dumping your rubbish on your neighbours are you?"
"Um. No, I mean, well, I can't fit it in," he reddened. He had one of those complexions that blooms guiltily.
"Oh, okay," I said, still friendly. "Where do you live?"
"Um, what do you mean?"
"Oh I just want to know where you live so I can dump my rubbish at your place. You wouldn't mind would you? I mean my bins are overflowing with the neighbourhood's rubbish. Don't know why, but my neighbours seem to think that my home is a garbage dump for them." I furrowed my brow and shook my head.
"Um, no. Um, what? Oh...um..." He had one of those tongues which becomes tied when feeling guilty.
I waited.
"Could I put this in your bin? Just this once? Please?" He looked like a little boy asking for a lolly or a cake.
"I'm not going to tell you what to do. You wouldn't have thought of asking if I hadn't stopped to talk to you. I just ask to be treated fairly and with respect. You decide. Bye!"
I drove off. I could see him standing staring at his rubbish, frozen in time. At least he was thinking about it. He was scratching his head anyway.
When I arrived home I found the bins so stuffed with his rubbish that they don't close properly. Guess the carefully crafted guilt trip didn't work.
I've had this conversation with other people who think it's okay to dump their rubbish on someone else's property. It's amazing how people will justify what they are doing - their bin isn't big enough, it's just this once, they have a lot of rubbish this week. If you fill your bins you have a couple of choices: store the rubbish until the bins have been emptied; take it to the dump or a recycling centre (yes, you have to pay for this). Or you could approach a neighbour and have a conversation. I'm sure that if you asked first instead of just dumping, the answer would be YES!
Thursday, 26 January 2012
First conversation of the year with my neighbour
The neighbour in question is the strange one whom I suspect is doing strange things within the confines of his flat. I've introduced you to him before.
There have been three sightings this week, all involving him wearing his very warm overcoat. Including on the days when the temperature has been around 35 degrees Celsius. I only saw him close enough to be obliged to speak to him today for the first time in 2012. Here's how the conversation went:
ME: Hi Gottfried*. Happy new year to you.
GOTTFRIED: I don't celebrate new year.
ME: Well, hello anyway and good wishes to you.
GOTTFRIED: Yes. Hello Tanya. Good wishes to everyone everyday. All the time.
I ran up the stairs feeling nervous.
* Not his real name
There have been three sightings this week, all involving him wearing his very warm overcoat. Including on the days when the temperature has been around 35 degrees Celsius. I only saw him close enough to be obliged to speak to him today for the first time in 2012. Here's how the conversation went:
ME: Hi Gottfried*. Happy new year to you.
GOTTFRIED: I don't celebrate new year.
ME: Well, hello anyway and good wishes to you.
GOTTFRIED: Yes. Hello Tanya. Good wishes to everyone everyday. All the time.
I ran up the stairs feeling nervous.
* Not his real name
Tuesday, 13 December 2011
Neighbourhood blooms
As I walk around my neighbourhood I'm often struck by the beautiful flowers in the gardens. The summer colours are beautiful. Today I particularly noticed the pinks and purples. Join me for a wander through the gardens?
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