A good start

It is a beautiful sunny morning in Adelaide. I was up at dawn and have had a good start to my day, and my week. It is just about 9.00 and I have done the washing and hung it out, tidied the front garden, fixed the flat tyre on Lynn's bike, answered a bunch of emails, and had three cups of tea. I have harvested some beautiful, fresh, green spinach from the vegetable garden, I think we will have palak paneer for tea. I also brought in some mandarins and lemons.
I am about to have my breakfast while I watch last night's Giro d'Italia highlights.
Then it will be time for me and Monty to go a-walking.

Beats working!

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Unchained malady

After a fairly easygoing Thursday, it was entirely appropriate that I put a bit of effort into my weekend. Unfortunately I woke up on Friday in no small amount of pain. I'd done something mysterious to my hip and anything more than standing and walking represented a huge challenge. Just getting my right sock on was an exercise in agony, although it probably would have looked hilarious to anyone (un)fortunate enough to see me rolling around on the bed, like a fish out of water, yelping with pain. And all for a sock!
Still, time waits for Norman and, my name being David, I couldn't afford to let the grass grow under my feet. Excessive physical labour was out of the question, so it was a few days of writing articles and reviews, developing a set of 100 quiz questions (that's another story), doing some music administration, and playing FIFA Football. Oh, and there was the small matter of watching three hours of the Premier League Darts Final on Friday.
Given that I could stand OK, I did manage to do a bit of cooking and a few house/garden chores. I have cleaned up the music room; June stands a very good chance of being a musical month. Shabby Road Studio is ready to go!
My copy of the new album from Andy White (that's him, on the left) arrived, so at least my standing around was accompanied by some mighty fine music.
I am pleased to report that my hip is much better today, and that I hope to be stretching and crouching with the best of them, come tomorrow. We shall see.

Oh, and RIP Dennis Hopper. What a ride...

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Kind of Blue

Some things in life are just brilliant. This morning, as I settled into my early routine, I looked for something to listen to. I selected Miles Davis' Kind of Blue. Wow.
What a fabulous record. Now, I know almost as little about jazz as John Howard knows about grace and humility but, as the saying goes, I know what I like. If you wanted to explain jazz to visitors from another planet, you'd play Kind of Blue. Or, at least, I would.
It made me want to crack open one of my Kerouac books and just read along. Which would have sounded awful, but there you go. I wanted to put on my sharpest, darkest suit, smoke Gitanes and drink strong coffee while I appreciated the beauty of ordinary things.
But I just made breakfast instead.

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Stuff. And nonsense.

Days come. Days go. Repeat. Again. Joy.
It is another normal week in the suburbs. The bins have been collected and we can all sigh a sigh of relief as our collective waste has been shipped off, spirited away to an undetermined location - another mountain of rubbish somewhere. The postman has been, unwittingly delivering goodness and/or despair to householders. Somewhere, who knows, milk may have even been delivered. Whatever happened to the bread man?
I am here, just chipping away at things. I've managed to wrestle a few more chapters of Ulysses into submission, watched some cool films, and rehearsed a bit. I've been shopping for vinyl, Beatles DVDs, guitar stuff and other things. I am eagerly awaiting the delivery of the mod revival book that I contributed a great deal towards, as well as the brand new Andy White album ,to which I contributed nothing. I've been for a bike ride, mowed the lawns, and continued in my quest for perfect household order. Me and the dog are tight. I played the blues last night, we had home made gnocchi tonight, and I am off to perform in half an hour...
It's Lynn's birthday tomorrow, so 24 hours of celebration are planned!

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Talking about the weather, who says it's boring?

In a little over two weeks it will be winter. The days will be short, skies grey, the wind will bite, and the rain will surely come. Adelaide will become increasingly more miserable, and its denizens will follow suit.
Right now, that's hard to believe, given the glorious weather I have been enjoying for just about the entire duration of my leave. Blue skies, sunshine and birdsong. I go walking most mornings, sometimes with the dog, sometimes solo, and it is impossible to put into words the joy and goodwill that is almost palpable as I pound the pavement.
Leaves are turning various shades of orange and dropping to the ground, but that only adds to the autumnal glory. The grass is often damp underfoot in the early part of the day. The nights are getting cold, and the heater has become a regular, and welcome, evening guest. It is usually about six degrees when I get up in the morning. All of this is quite acceptable when the days are so magnificent.
I know the cold, bleak days aren't far away, but I am making the most of this. Sitting under the front verandah in the afternoon sun, accompanied by a glass of wine and a good book, I watch the honeyeaters dance around the feed trays and the birdbath.
I think they, too, are enjoying this weather.

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The days just melt away...

As the autumn sun sets on the third week of my break it seems appropriate that I reflect on my experience thus far. In the last few days I have shifted, probably in the wrong direction. The initial sense of euphoria of not being at work has subsided, giving way to a very familiar feeling - that I have so much to do, and so little time to do it. The hours slip by. I am battling a sense of failure, no matter how much I get done. This is my next challenge - to accept that on any given day it is realistic to expect that maybe a couple of things will get done. Not everything. This lingering feeling of inadequacy is a legacy, I guess, of the way we members of 'normal' society are programmed to chase achievement after achievement and acquire all we can...
The roads are filled with cars, charging in and out of lanes. Frustrated drivers heading from one dissatisfying aspect of their lives to another. Shops are crowded. No-one says hello. If something stops working we simply throw it away and buy another one. The bins are full. There is noise everywhere. People race from home to work and back again. Pushing food into our faces as quickly as possible so we can get to the TV in time for Idol. Wishing it was the weekend. Wishing it was summer. Wishing it was Christmas...
I am going to consciously slow down, smell the roses, and try and remain true to my reasons for running away from the madness in the first place.
This too shall pass.

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The Young Ones

I have been watching The Young Ones on ABC2 over the course of its current run. I mainly tuned in because I wanted to see if these versions would be uncut. There have been numerous changes, for either music license or pathetic sanitisation reasons, to some of the DVD releases. I am happy to report that these current broadcasts seemed to have been spared the Nanny State's butcher knife.
Anyhow, that's all an aside. Despite the fact that I watched the show to death when it came out, I can honestly say that these 12 episodes are as good a comedy show as anyone, anywhere, will ever see.

Well done to all!

And please guys, resist any urges to try and recapture the magic. The last thing I want to see is a 30-year reunion. Especially you, Elton, because you've been found wanting ever since.

It's great, but it's gone.

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