I suppose we had stepped over the invisible line into South Yarra, a posh area, and so it is to be expected.
I was with Sister and Little Jo at the playground in Fawkner Park. Sister was busy picking at her feet in the early morning sunshine while I monitored Little Jo. We were surrounded by young blonde women with their hair tied back into ponytails and with their kiddies in expensive perambulators. Ha, these women have married well, but I know that such marriages can come at a price.
Not sure why, but my thoughts turned to Africa, where ten children die every minute. Or is that one child every ten minutes. Does it matter?
I whinge, moan and complain about many things, but not too much about myself personally. I am an extremely privileged person living in a western country where no one needs to starve to death. How can we let children Little Jo's age starve to death or allow them to die from easily preventable diseases? At times I need to remind myself of the fact that the world does allow this, and I expect most, nay, all of you do too.
Photo is of my indulged, spoilt by my standards, loved and nurtured niece at play. She is a long way from Africa.