Hieronymous the Anonymous

Oktobterfesting

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Daylight savings started today. I woke late to find it was an hour later than usual thinking, bugger that, I'm staying put. It was 10.30 when I got up, and that was only to feed the dog, make a coffee and to collect the paper, which I read proceeded to read in bed.

A late night and many steins of German beer have left me congested and sounding very croaky, though I feel fine. Now I'm up I've cooked a late breakfast for lunch, mushrooms with garlic and rosemary, and scrambled eggs with chives and parmesan on English muffins. The sun is shining, I'm feeling mellow and happy to watch the umpteenth re-run of Pillow Talk on TV, just for fun.

Yesterday was a good day. Now that I've written that it occurs to me that it's only infrequently that I could claim that. Not that most days are bad - they're not - they just blur into an indistinct and untroubling average. Yesterday was just right though.

The morning was unremarkable. I had a gardener come over to mow the back lawn, which had become wild in the last month, and to trim and weed as required. I knocked over a few tasks around the house with a replay of the previous night's cricket on TV.

Early in the afternoon I climbed into the car and drove to Carlton to catch up with Fong. I parked the car and wandered up to meet Fong to see a movie. There she told me that the Nova was sold out, what to do? We drove to the Westgarth cinema to catch Julie & Julia there. Walking down High Street I cast an eye at the locals having a quiet coffee and a chat sitting outdoors, at the bakery with crusty bread on display in the window, and the crowd milling around the cinema. We had a coffee in one of those very particular coffee shops who sell premium beans on the side. Mmm, I thought, I know all this, I liked it, very Melbourne, typically Melbourne, but here with a local twist.

The movie was great - but I'll write about that separately.

Afterwards I dropped Fong back in Carlton then proceeded to the Tivoli Club in Windsor. The place was jumping. Upstairs and down there were people everywhere drinking German beer from large plastic steins, sitting at tables or dancing to the eclectic musical choices. The air was thick with the aroma of bratwurst sausages fried with onions.

I caught up with JV and met his new girlfriend and the others there. Two of the girls had dressed up in traditional costume, both colourful and alluring, and fun too, like dress-ups. Through the night we racked up the steins and loosened up, conversation ranging far and wide, playfully, dancing occasionally, or singing along.

The music was one of the more amusing aspects of the night. The DJ downstairs was a guy of about 60. He had a good, strong voice, but he sang reading from a book to the pre-recorded music, exhibiting not a skerrick of emotion or passion, like an automaton. The musical selection was all over the place: Sweet Caroline; New York, New York; Quango, Quango, Quango; Glory, Glory, Hallelujah; Love Me Tender, and so on. In the end it was just fun anticipating what he might play next, and suggesting diverse possibilities that seemed quitewell on the cards, Like A Virgin, Funky Cold Medina, and the like.

In general the place was filled with a great vibe. A large part of that was the quirky nature of the place - tables of elderly Germans amid young partygoers. The music, the lederhosen, the excess. All good.

It was late we left, back to JV's home 5 minutes walk down the road. There were about 7 of us, by now all pretty friendly. A bottle of wine was cracked, the TV switched on to a music program, the 500 biggest hits of the eighties, people spilled out onto the balcony. I was invited to a party next week by a couple I talked music with. They were into their music big time, but when an old clip of Steve Winwood from the eighties came on the TV they didn't know who he was. Man, I said, don't you know the Spencer Davis group? Mmm, no. I shook my head wondering what the world was coming to, and then pulled out my iPhone to play a few old Spencer Davis songs for them (Gimme Some Lovin', Keep On Running, I'm a Man). Well it was familiar, sort of, and isn't it great?

I left a little while later. It was about 2.30. I drove thinking that it's a sign of the era, maybe the generation, that for all the passion, knowledge of rock roots is shallow. Sure, the big bands like the Beatles and the Rolling Stones are known to everyone. But what of bands like The Spencer Davis Group or Cream, Gerry and the Pacemakers, the Byrds or Sam Cooke?

All these bands are before my time, but I'm of a generation when looking back they are within touching distance. Maybe my generation is the last to look forward knowing where it all came from. All the same, half the fun is sharing these things, and teaching a little as we go along.

All in all, a good, complete day.

Don't mention the war

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It's been my experience in general that often I will get crook just in time for the weekend, and well again just in time for a return to work on Monday. Thankfully it appears I've reversed this trend this time.

I woke today having slept well, and feeling the best I have all week. While I'm not yet 100%, I'm well enough to get out and about again, which is fortunate as I have a busy weekend I'm looking forward to.

This afternoon I'm seeing a movie with Fong. She rang me earlier in the week to tell me she had scored free tickets to Julie & Julia, did I want to come? Sure I said, certain at that point that I would be well again come Saturday. And so it's proved.

Afterwards I'm going to a birthday party at the German club in Prahran. It's the birthday of JV's current girl, and sounds good - steins of beer, beer wenches, hearty German food (read meaty and fatty), lots of celebrations. The only complication is the theme for the day: you have to go dressed as something German.

I've scratched my head at this one. While there are a plenitude options most I'm guessing would not be looked on kindly by the good burghers of the Tivoli club. I've always wanted to dress as a SS storm-trooper, but I don't think today is the day. Likewise sticking a Hitler moustache is both ugly and unlikely to gladden many hearts.I guess there is always the lederhosen option, bound to put a flutter in every girls heart, but I don't possess any, and just between you and me don't think they show my assets to best advantage. What am I left with then?

As it stands I may be going in a leather jacket I bought in Germany. And if it counts for anything, I'll be driving there in a German car.

I actually attended the Oktoberfest proper back in 1998 - which seems a lifetime ago now. What I recall were the long tables with bench seats on either side at which Bavarians sat wearing traditional costume of lederhosen and all the accoutrements. Big busted hausfraus wearing dirndls and with their hair braided and clipped in place and carrying in their hands large steins of frothing beer, 4 or 6 to a hand. There was a oom-pa-pa band band up front, giant pretzels on sale and, I remember vividly, huge rotisseries with hundreds of chickens slowly cooking. I'm glad to have done it.

I don't think it'll be like that today, but a big stein of German beer won't go astray, nor pretty girls with edelweiss pinned to their outfit.

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Year of the Cat

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As predicted, Grand Final day was wet and miserable. Not wanting to drive I caught public transport to the Cheeses home. This necessitated boarding a train full of footy supporters decked out in their club colours on the way to the 'G. I was happy to be going to a mates place, but casting my eye over them and overhearing their excited conversations I couldn't help but recall the few times in the past I have made the same journey as them, and what I felt. Attending the AFL grand final is one of the must-do events in your life. I've been to four.

It was the usual drill at the Cheeses, except this year rather than sitting and eating out in the sunshine we all gathered inside. Dark, heavy clouds hung low in the sky. The wind gusted driving the rain hard and battering anything that wasn't properly secured. It was cold like it was rarely in the winter proper. We boys stood by the barbecue as tradition demands clad in heavy coats.

The lunch was good, and the beer and the wine and the chance to catch up with long held friends, but the real business of the day was the footy. While the kids played in the next room and the women chatted sitting on the couch we boys dispersed around the room watched the action keenly, free with our opinions and explosions of comment directed at the TV.

It was a classically good game, old fashioned in a lot of ways, two tough teams going at each other hard, with the rain turning the game into a more basic contest stripped of many of the elements a lot of people associate with Australian rules football. I'm a purist, I love the spectacular athleticism and skill of the game, but for me what it is really all about is the contest: two teams fighting for the possession of the ball.

In hindsight it's very easy to say that St Kilda should have won. I was conscious in the first half as St Kilda dominated play, but squandered their opportunities thinking they may well pay for that. St Kilda missed 5-6 simple goals that they kicked wide or short, whether it be from inexperience or nerves or the wet conditions. By contrast Geelong nailed every one of theirs, and even managed a goal that wasn't. At half time St Kilda led by 6 points when they should have led by between 20-30 points - virtually unveatable in such conditions it wasn't to be though.

Games like this are all about taking your chances. It's hitting the mark when you have to, stepping up to execute when it counts. St Kilda did much of the hard work well, but failed to capitalise on it. You could say they should have won - and they dominated on every statistic - but should be's don't work in real life. It's not enough that something should be - you have to make it be. On that count St Kilda's loss was deserved.

Give a good team like Geelong enough chances and they're going to take some of them. So it proved. They took the hits and rode it out. In the end Geelong, aided by some good fortune, outlasted St Kilda to win a classic match.

I wanted the Saints to win, but I have a soft spot for the Geelong coach, 'Bomber' Thompson, who I think is a great man. That was that. While they celebrated we knocked off the rest of the red wine and ordered in some pizzas. Another year gone.

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Girls, cubed

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Somehow over the weekend I managed to share one of the major meals with each of three girls.

On Friday night I went into the city for a drink, just like old times. It was sunny but windy. The wind blew hard, pushing you forward or resisting as you walked into it. It was an inconvenient wind, yet I enjoyed it, feeling once more some of the capricious and untrammelled power of nature.

I met up with the publisher at Meyers Place for a beer, spilling out into the laneway amid the crowd of public servants from the Spring Street end of town. From there we went to Comme, an altogether different vibe. It's an elegant bar set in an elegant old building with high, moulded ceilings, and filled with elegant people drinking elegant cocktails or elegant New Zealand Pinot's.

We went to the upstairs bar which I didn't know existed, and perhaps didn't until recently. We sat on a funky beige leather banquette while I sipped on one of the aforementioned Pinot's, trying to fit in. Then we were off again.

This time we set off for dinner. Cumulus Inc is one of the trendiest restaurants in Melbourne at the very least, and one of the best reviewed. It's one of those wildly popular places that won't take reservations. Instead people crowd into the basement location on Flinders Lane, someone takes your name and casts an eye around the jam-packed room before pronouncing a table might be ready in 30 minutes, fancy a drink at the bar in the meantime?

In our case the wait was less than 5 minutes thanks to an unexpected departure. We sat at the bar and perused the menus while the young waiter behind the marble bar gave us the rundown. Basically Cumulus is one of those restaurants where you choose a selection of dishes to share, kind of like an up-market tapas, a popular concept these days.

Over the next couple of ours we shared about 8 dishes between us, and a variety of truly excellent wines as recommended to us by the waiter. 

My highlights were perhaps a little unusual. I'm a sucker for a good bresaola, and enjoyed that with fresh horseradish. There was a truly excellent cauliflower dish also, North African inspired, with goat curd, pomegranate and pine nuts plus a mysterious combination of herbs and spices - there was basil I think, and I'm guessing harissa. It was delicious - as was the baked gnocchi with jerusalem artichoke, taleggio and truffles. For me that was probably the highlight. That and the great house-baked sourdough bread that came with the meal - perfecto.

It was while eating the steak that I felt something go amiss. I was chewing when I found something hard and crunchy in my mouth. A bit of bone? Well, unlikely given we were sharing a piece of boneless scotch fillet. Tooth then? Mmm, maybe.

And so it was. I fished it out of my mouth and found a small fragment of one of my molars at the back, left bottom of my mouth. I held it between my fingers looking at it intently while my tongue poked at the gap in my mouth, which felt huge. The tooth was interesting, a pale grey in parts with what looked like a small seam of green minerals running through it.

This was no surprise. I went to the dentist for the first time for about 7 years about 3 months ago. I basically got a clean bill of health. Naturally, that's when things started. About 2 weeks ago I rang to make another appointment - the tooth in question had become tender and loose. Now it was broken and I couldn't feel anything in the rest of it. (When I got home I found it had turned black, the nerve obviously dead).

In any case that was an interesting conclusion to a fine meal, and we went our ways soon after.

On Saturday it was Fong's turn. It was windy again, and very warm and sunny, unseasonably so. I met up with Fong in a little cafe in Little Bourke Street before I allowed her to twist my arm and take me to Kenzan for lunch - she always wants Asian. We had a cheap and tasty Japanese meal before moving on.

The idea was to do something. Her first suggestion had been some 'World Poetry' thing at Fed Square. I rolled my eyes at that - if it's like world music... I suggested the Dali exhibition then, but she said nup. We finally agreed on an architecture display at Ian Potter, and then promptly did nothing.

It was one of those days. Both of us felt very sleepy. I'd been up until about 2 the night before, plus the unseasonal heat and wind made me feel a bit drowsy, as it did her. The city was busy, full of people, the football crowd I thought, South Australians over from Adelaide for the big game and taking the opportunity to explore a real city for a change.

We mooched around. I searched for the boxed DVD set of Mad Men. No go, sold out. We sat on the steps of the GPO like a couple of wide-eyed blow-ins from the outer suburbs. Then we tried some orange juice from a roadside stall claiming to be the quickest and cheapest in Melbourne. Then we ambled down to Collins Street, and to the Hopetoun Tea Rooms for afternoon tea.

As far as I know the Hopetoun Tea Rooms have been there forever in the Block Arcade. It's the sort of place your grandmother would take you when you were a kid for a pot of civilised tea and a scone. I daresay it's a Melbourne institution, and a place I've wandered by hundreds of times with barely a glance at the display of cakes and cheesecakes in the window. I hadn't been there for 15 years.

So we sat in the window and each had a pot of tea and a slightly stale Portuguese custard tart and battled to stay awake. The conversation was anything but lively, and I was content to watch the crowd pass by outside and to eavesdrop on the conversations around us.

It was about 4pm when we parted. Fong pedalled up the road on her bike while I set off in the direction of the station - only to detour to the nearest bookshop. I'm not sure what made me do it. I was tired and actually wondered if I was coming down with something. Books are soul food to me though, and I think I was probably feeling a little muted - buying some books would lift me.

I went to Dymocks fully determined to spend some money, and walked out half an hour later minus $120 and with a bagful of books and DVD's. I felt content.

I stayed in bed until 10 on Sunday. I felt very lazy, and considered staying there for the rest of the day. Then the yoga teacher rang. We had made tentative arrangements to catch up for a walk with the dogs. Are you coming? she asked. Yeah alright I grudgingly agreed.

It was a much cooler day, the clouds low and broodingly grey. I was ready in record time and bundled a clearly delighted Rigby into the car and drove across town to Elwood.

We walked down the beach towards St Kilda, the dogs taking the opportunity to take to the water and roll in the sand. We had breakfast in St Kilda and then returned, a round trip that took about 3 hours spanning about 7km. With Rigby tugging on my arm it's pretty good exercise.

I'm not sure about the yoga teacher. I have the other two sorted, but don't know what the yoga teacher expects of me, or what I want of her. It's unusual for me to be so hesitant, but I'm pretty sure nothing permanent could be between us, though I like her and we get on well. We want different things, and are at different stages of our life. This uncertainty has me acting in a way unfamiliar to me, in a way not altogether welcome.

I'm sure something will happen, but I think it will be just fun.

That was the weekend. In betwen I watched the footy and the cricket and baked myself Beef Wellington and lay on the couch watching an old film, Three Days of the Condor, like the slob I wanted to be.

Song for the day

There's an iPhone application that when configured will play music as you walk down the street as a kind of virtual soundtrack. That's a notion that's always held a lot of appeal to me, though I haven't downloaded this app and won't be. Its short-coming is that it plays the music previously programmed and not the music that is just right for the moment - which would be the true soundtrack.

I think of this now as I write with my iTunes on shuffle playing quietly in the background, Bloc Party as I began this post, and now the Shins. It was on my mind yesterday as well as I travelled around Melbourne. Yesterday the soundtrack was occasional, in the car to and from and between destinations, random music as I switched channels, the sunroof open to allow the bright sun inside the car, and footy commentators pontificating on the match of the day.

I was out early yesterday with an excited Rigby in the car seat beside me. We drove to Elwood to meet with the other yoga teacher, the one that isn't French, for a walk along the beach and breakfast to follow.

It seemed a lovely day, something we both commented on as we walked our respective dogs. The sky was blue, the sun bright, the only thing spoiling it was an insistent breeze. As we walked on the path by the beach we talked easily of her recent trip to Vietnam and of my little escapades here and there. Passing by us going in either direction were people on bikes and middle-aged women in lycra shuffling their weekly exercise, and many others like us walking the dog.

We walked for about 20 minutes before we stopped at a cafe right on the water, and sat outside. It was then that the insistent breeze became something more. I don't know if we were more exposed to it here or if it blew up further but now it became a strong, gusty breeze that upset menus and rattled through the loosely tied rigging. The crema on cappuccino's and latte's would blow off, forcing the waiters and waitresses to back into the wind, and a waiters station on wheels was sent careening. On the beach where we had passed a flotilla of small yachts about to set off we could hear the flap of sails and later, as we left, watched as one of these yachts heeled over in the strong wind and threatened to upturn into the white-capped waters of the bay.

Through it all we managed to smile and enjoy a good breakfast and carry on our conversation as the dogs demanded our attention.

On our way back we walked into the face of the wind and felt the occasional grain of sand fly at us and smelt in the sunny air both salt and ozone. Nearby there was a part of the beach sectioned off for dogs to play off the lead. That's where we went.

I was concerned that Rigby would cause his customary havoc amongst all these good dog lovers and their dogs. I hesitated for a moment before letting him off his lead. He looked up at me as if to ask, can I? Go on then, go for your life. And off he went.

He raced into the water and out again. He jumped up on obliging people and chased their dogs. He charged away and returned, always back to me, keen to be in my eye. When I called his name or whistled he would look up and then come to me. With him was the yoga teachers old collie, smaller and less energetic than Rigby, but patient and wise. Together they played with the collie rounding Rigby up and keeping him contained, like a sheepdog. Covered in sand and wet with salt water Rigby had a wonderful time.

Late in the day I headed out again, this time minus pooch. This time I had coffee with another woman, a dancer, we sat in the rear courtyard of a Smith Street cafe and as we talked, as I looked around I wondered again what tune should be playing now. My lips moved, I spoke, I heard my voice spill into the warm air and thought far away of this and the day and the times we live in and if there had to be one song for me, for everyone perhaps, then it must be Bittersweet Melody. True enough.

Another Sunday in the rack.

Friday I'm a bum

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How many Brazilian bars in Melbourne? Well, actually two that I know of, and quite possibly more, and I went to one on Thursday night.

It was advertised as a party night, invitations were sent out and distributed and a big night planned. Live music was on the agenda, not to mention caipirinha's and hopefully some sassy and authentic Brazilians.

I was in the city early for an appointment. My plan was to head home afterwards, have some dinner, feed Rigby and change into a more appropriate outfit. As it happened I got a call from Whisky as I came out of my appointment, at the Mitre, come down for a beer, he said. Well I was in the mood for a beer and so I cut across town and slid down Bank Place to where the crowd had spilled into the outdoor area of the Mitre.

I met up with Whisky and a mate of his and had a Kronenburg and then another and his mate left and Whisky said why don't you hang around and I said I can't I need to feed the dog, and besides I'm not dressed for it and he said neither am I and so we went upstairs to the restaurant of the Mitre and had a very good steak each.

I might have slipped away after that but instead we met up with a couple of girls finishing their dinner at Segovia, in the Block arcade, and had another wine each as each of us engaged in conversation and mild flirtation with the girl sitting next to us.

Then we hooked up with another guy and headed for the bar. It was nearing 9.30 by now and it was crowded in the bar and first off we had the mandatory caipirinha while the Brazilian percussion band played up front and the middle-aged South American bartender amiably served us. On a big screen on the back wall the Buena Vista Social Club was playing, sound turned down but with the sub-titles flashing on the screen. I watched it in between conversations, imagining the great Cuban jazz that was its soundtrack. Then more people arrived, Pablo from Chile and then Donna who I claimed to someone was from Paraguay. Why Paraguay? someone asked when the game was up. I like the name I said, like para-medic. I know nothing about Paraguay. I like it, but she would never pass as Paraguayan they said, as if it was self-evident, and I looked at Donna with her dark Spanish hair and thought, really?

By now we were on half-litre bottles of imported beer, as if that wasn't obvious. It was warm in the bar and so I took off the coat I was wearing, revealing the rugby top beneath it. Now I wouldn't normally be out in a rugby top, but what do you do? Then the English girl I had been speaking to earlier spotted my top with the Old Sydney RFC crest on it and asked if I had played. She came from a sporting and competitive family even if they are English and asked with genuine interest and so of course I said yes, I did. Were you a prop she asked. I was still trying to remember what a prop was when I nodded my head, thinking I should have said I was a full-back.

Then the conversation blurred and the place started to empty until there were just a few of us and I was wondering why it is that I'm the last to leave when one of the late-comers piped up, I wonder what it means when I'm always the last to leave. I nodded my head sagely.

Then we went our separate ways, Whisky, Donna and I to Brunswick Street first where we got an ordinary cheeseburger 1 o'clock in the morning then Donna dropped me home and Rigby jumped all over me and I fed him and then watched the cricket.

That was not the end of it really. Next day, yesterday morning, I woke up and thought let's stay in bed. Outside the wind was howling and when I did get up the power went off and I took that as a sign from God, stay in bed H, and so that's what I did. As I told anyone who bothered to ask, Friday I'm a bum.

Northern tipple's

Took the day off yesterday and drove up to Heathcote. It was a last minute thing, Whisky rang the day before and suggested it might be good. I had nothing on and after thinking about it for about 5 minutes decided to do it.

Whisky is living in Rose Street now, in Fitzroy, and I drove first thing, parked the car, then wandered down the road with him to Brunswick where we sat down to a cooked breakfast at Don Vincenzo. Back in the day when I worked around the corner I would often get into work early - before 8 - check my email, and then amble down to Don Vincenzo's for breakfast. It was a very enjoyable way to begin the working day.

We drove north, up the Hume Highway and turning off at the Northern Highway heading towards Bendigo. It was a cool day yesterday, and in the sky at different times were arrayed brooding clouds that promised rain that never arrived, and patches of clear blue where the sun would brightly spear like shafts of gold.

We drove through the countryside of low hills and lush green fields. We were surprised at how green it looked. In patches on the hills and along the side of the road gums grew in straggly clumps. The road was quiet but for the odd car and once, an APC from the nearby Army base at Puckapunyal. There was an altogether different feel to be doing this midweek, a mellow, unhurried sense of enjoying life for its own sake rather than needing to this thing, or that.

In Heathcote we stopped in the local information office and grabbed some maps and chatted to the volunteers there about the local attractions. Accordingly we drove to the lookout, passing by a bunch of tame kangaroos, and looked out over the town; then drove to the nearby 'pink cliffs', which were not particularly pink, nor where they cliffs, however...

The major reason we visited that it is a major wine producing area. Neither of us could think of any number of wineries there as quite are quite small, but there are a lot of them - 87 and and counting one person told us yesterday. They're best known for their Shiraz, of which there are some great examples - the Heathcote winery Mail Coach for example, but many others too.

In town we stopped at the wine centre, tasted some wines, and had a plate of cheese and cold meats. We chatted to the women there, very helpful and friendly people who were happy to stop and take the quiet on a quiet Thursday. While there we checked out the local Tempranillo that had recently been rated the 3rd best in the world. We walked up the road, tasted some more wines, bought some local produce.

It was getting on past mid-afternoon and we had not properly eaten and so we got in the car and started back the way we had come. We stopped at the Tooborac hotel brewery, a small settlement by the road about 20k's south of Heathcote. We struck out on any food - the cook had gone home -  but happily had a glass of the local brew, which was good. It seemed typical of many country pubs I've dropped by over the years. It was cosy and warm, an open fireplace faced the pool table in the adjoining room, on the wall pictures of the local football team over the years, and behind the bar little knick-knacks and mementoes acquired over a period pinned or stuck to the wall. The bartender was a friendly blonde who was probably a local fixture, and the clientele locals come in after working on the land or on the road. There was even one guy who had been out prospecting who spilled on the bar a couple of small nuggets he had dug up, gnarled pieces of dull gold that between them were just over 2 ozs - a couple of thousand dollars worth at today's prices.

We popped around the corner then and stopped at Shelmerdine winery. There we tasted a few more wines and had a coffee. We had an outstanding Rielsing - a variety I am very fussy about - and a Viognier, a variety I don't normally drink at all. We both bought a bottle each. What was really outstanding was the Merindoc Shiraz.

We headed home then, taking the Lancefield road this time. While we compared gossip we passed through this beautiful and strange landscape, rolling hills dotted for kilometres by a scattering of rocky outcrops. Some of these were huge boulders sitting atop each other or clustered together. More often the rocks seemed to grow from the ground without any apparent reason. They broke up the pattern of the ground, and made you wonder how they had come to be there.

All in all it was a very satisfying day. It was good to do something random like that, doubly so to do it during the week. There is a food and wine festival in Heathcote in October which sounds pretty good. We're thinking of booking a romantic B&B and driving up with the women of the moment to have an indulgent and fun weekend.

Drinking again

I went out last night, last minute, picked up JV and drove to my old stamping ground of Carlisle Street, where we had a quick dinner of a cheap but tasty hamburger, then wandered down the road.

Went to The Local, my old local when I lived in East St Kilda. Back in those days - about 2 years ago - it was largely a student pub with an interesting clientele, transsexuals and other St Kilda types. It was the place where the Israeli guy tried to pick me up, the venue that JK and I would meet after one of his regular calls, fancy a drink he would say and my willpower being what it is I would grudgingly accept, walking down the street and around the corner to meet with him some time after 11 midweek, staying put until closing time.

I think I've been once since I've moved out of the area, and not since they'd finished their renovations. It was always a pleasant place to drink and so I was happy to roll-up last night and curious to see how it had been changed. It was somebodies birthday, JV's hairdresser, and so we climbed the stairs to the upstairs that was never there before and to a very comfortable bar area - an outdoor terrace with an enclosed fireplace that would be great in summer, a little bar area with a plenitude of beers to choose between, and a dining area out the back done up in plantation style, shutters and wicker light-shades and classic beer posters framed on the wall. It had a powerful and pleasant ambiences.

We sat out the back area occasionally venturing to the front terrace for JV to have a fag. In between we talked a little to the people there we didn't know and caught up with the scores, cricket and football, on our mobile phones. There was one girl there I fancied but in the end didn't stay long enough to make a move on. We had about 5 beers and then headed off.

We went back to JV's place in Prahran and watched the end of the footy and the cricket from Cardiff, where the Aussies were powering ahead. I left after an hour and headed home through the quiet, dark streets. Rigby was waiting for me, his snout under the side gate expectantly, jumping all over me as I opened the back door. I watched the cricket for another hour with him nestled in my lap before hitting the sack.

Today it's Saturday and so I can be a slob - and I will be.

Imperfect worlds

It was inevitable, and the bad day I predicted came yesterday.

Like most days I woke with a full agenda of things to do. I had to review some documents sent to me, add in my recommendations and then forward them on. I had to pay for a contacts database. There was a white paper I wanted to edit. In the back of my mind I hoped to actually do some creative writing. And I needed to work on my PC's.

I haven't made mention of this till now, but I upgraded from a PC to an Apple iMac last week. That entailed some excitement for me not just because it was new, but because it was unfamiliar. I've always had PC's, always worked on a PC, but always taken a great interest in Apple and everything it does (who doesn't these days?). So anyway I'd been mulling over the option before signing on the dotted line, and I've got no regrets. It's a lovely machine in every way and I hope to write a lot more about sometime soon.

I may have gone to the light side but I can't totally divorce myself from the world of Windows. If for no other reason I need Windows so I can run MS Office, essential in my line of work, and very puny in the Mac version. Cut a long story short that means I had to create a virtual desktop where I could install Windows and my Windows programs side by side with Leopard. It's quite easy, and pretty elegant.

So I've spent the week transferring files and setting up programs and so on, and all was tickety boo. That is until the Windows update runs overnight and I find my virtual desktop wont open. Twice this has happened, and each time I've had to start from scratch and recreate the desktop and re-install my windows programs. Very frustrating. And something I had to do again yesterday.

Unfortunately for reasons I've yet to understand I've been unable to reinstall Office. This is more than frustrating, it's a problem. I tried all sorts of tricks, done Google searches, rebooted etc, and so on - no dice.

At the same time I'm setting my old PC as a Media Centre PC which I'll hook up to the TV to record programs and connect wirelessly to the home network. That's the idea anyway. Unfortunately there is some issue with the BIOS which means the Media Server CD can't be read for installation. Ok, I think, why don't I reformat the PC and try and install from blank? Fine except no matter what I do I can't seem to reformat the HD for the above mentioned reason.

So I'm doing these things in parallel yesterday morning, turning from one PC to the other and totally neglecting the more important tasks I'd set myself. Unfortunately my nature is that I can't let things go. I seem to take these obstacles as a personal affront and the more I'm denied the more I want to beat it. That's how it was yesterday morning. I was fierce to the point of distraction, and sadly, found no solution - yet.

Some sense prevailed in the afternoon and I attended to at least some of the tasks I had to do, I reviewed the documents and sent them off, I started on the white paper. Then I organised to pay the bill for a contacts database I am renting - $750 - and discovered to my shock that I had about $8,000 less than what I expected in my account. Upon investigation I found that some EOFY prepayments had gone through automatically without any reference to me. And then discovered that these organisations had sent the relevant correspondence to my previous address despite being advised of my current address.

Well, I was fuming. I was also worried. It leaves me with a skinny bank balance with about another $4,000 committed to different things and reliant upon rent coming in and any work I invoice between now and then to cover it. 

I needed a drink. Whisky came by and picked me up and drove to his new home in Fitzroy. We wandered down the road and had a couple of beers at a bar called Libation in Brunswick Street. It was about 5.30. Then we hopped on the tram and got off at the corner of Gertrude and had another couple of full strength beers at the Newport Workers Club. We walked back the way we had came, picked up a kebab on the way, met up with JV, and then proceeded to Polly, where we had a couple of bottles of good red between us.

I was meant to go to the football, but somewhere in all the drinking that slipped away - just as well really, as it turned out. I pulled up stumps at about 11. It was damn cold. I jumped into a cab stopped at the lights and directed to Hawthorn. 

Every time I go to Fitzoy I have a sense of nostalgia. It is all very familiar to me over many years, but particularly because of that year I spent working around the corner from the main drag. I don't feel greatly sentimental, but I do remember things, and at times find myself sliding off into some kind of reverie. Funny how times change and life moves on.

Last night it was perhaps keener than usual. I think it's probably because it was Friday night and it reminded me of the many times we would go to one - or a few - of the local pubs for our end of week drinks. At one stage sitting in Libation I almost felt like sending Amy an SMS: Having a drink in Brunswick Street. Come and join us. I even speculatively checked my phone address book while Whisky was in the gents, only to discover I don't have her number any more. Probably just as well.

In the end my nostalgia was more general than particular. It was as if the memory of Amy had set off other, similar memories. At the same time the return to these familiar places reminded me of those times in my life time stamped by those occasions.

A few weeks back heading for Red Hill for the wine tasting I was powerfully reminded of the matching visit 12 months before, and how much as changed since. Last night walking by the Black Pearl I remembered a night 18 months ago when I had a very large night ending there at about 2am, remembered the money splashed around on wine and cocktails. Once more I thought, how times have changed.

I guess that's the thing I realised most last night, or perhaps was reminded of - that no matter how settled and stable our life may seem we are always really in a  state of perpetual flux. Things change, that's the nature of life, challenges are thrown at us and people will come into and leave our circle.

I was reminded of a lot of things last night, but it was this last point that resonated strongest with me. How odd it seemed, that we could become so closely connected with a person to the point that we cannot imagine them out of our life, only for that to actually happen. There were a roll call of names and faces. I didn't feel sad remembering - I'm past that - and I don't think it was even regret. More than anything I thought in a perfect world I could make my peace with those I parted with unhappily. It's strange to me that that is the thing that lingers most.

Today is another day, and all this soon forgotten and that fleeting desire for reconciliation dismissed as irrelevant fantasy. End of the day it doesn't change anything really. I've got these PC's to mend.

Yummy mummies

I travelled into the 'burbs last night. Not only did I venture out of my usual way I attended that most domestic of suburban events, the primary school fund raiser - in this case a trivia night in the school hall. And you know something - I had a great time.

I was recruited to add some intellectual grunt to the table as I have a great mind for trivial things. Pretty well everyone else in the room was a parent, and most - obviously - parents of someone attending the school. Our table was no different. I was invited by Ant, but the Chesses were in attendance also. The rest of our table were more parents, or other friends, and this was typical of the rest of the room which was jam packed and lively.

Unbeknownst to us there was actually a 70's theme for the night, which probably made little difference to us, but added a lot of colour and humour to the evening. Many of these suburban mums and dads had gone to a lot of trouble with lairy, luridly coloured outfits and big wigs. Many of the women particularly looked very striking, and I found myself wistfully appreciating a good number of yummy mummies. Yum indeed.

Everyone had taken the opportunity to make a big night of it, the kids with babysitters and a full spread of cheese and dips and antipasto and chips and chocolate, not to mention beer, wine and bubbles. We had so much on our table it was hard to find a clear space to write in.

Around the walls tables were set-up with donated goods wrapped up for silent auction. People cruised around the edges checking out this variety of pretty handy offerings and jotting down their bid when so inclined. The school must have made a fortune on the night.

At the end of the night there were also live auctions, which proved to be my undoing. One of the goods for sale was a signed and framed guernsey of the 2009 Essendon footy team - my club. I had eyed it off naturally, but thought it would go for something more than what I was prepared to pay. I kept silent in the early bidding as the price ratcheted up in ten and twenty dollar increments. But then with Cheeseboy sitting opposite and egging me on I succumbed, as much from competitive fervour as anything else. With a reluctant and weary gesture I threw my hat into the ring right at the death knell. Another bid against me and I could have bowed out with good grace, theoretically anyway, but having entered the ring I wasn't going to bow out now. And so, bitterly almost, I cast my last bid - $380 - and won it. As Cheeseboy said to me, "if they win the premiership this year it'll be worth a fortune". If...

I also won a prize during the night by being first in with the correct answer to a who am I question. I won a bag of vouchers and a selection of bath salts, which go down well in this household. The answer was Normie Rowe, btw.

Before all that though was the trivia contest, the main business of the night. There were 8 rounds on a variety of topics. Early doors we were behind having made a poor tactical choice I think, before surging home to tie with three other teams. I didn't want to lose, but eventually that's what happened in the tie-breaker. I was off paying for my guernsey and didn't even hear the question. C'est le vie.

All round it was a great night and quite a revelation to me. So this is what happens. It was fun but it was also very nice. Proud parents, decent people, and a sense of community and generosity. It was heart-warming, and I have to say that I began to wonder what I've been missing out on...