This is sad news but still the argument about few or fewer items at the English supermarket checkouts goes on.
Little Jo at 12 and half has entered her sullen teenage years, although after asking Sister on the way to yesterday's birthday if I would have an Advent Calendar for her, she was so pleased when I gave her the paper bag containing the calendar. I used to buy them from Germany and they were beautiful but the postage was costing more than the calendar.
Sister pushes her to be communicative, Little Jo, speak more loudly for Nanny (Mother), push your hair away from your face. Speak clearly. Tell the uncles what you did Friday night. She performed in a band. I connected with her a bit in that she sang a Billy Idol song. It was like extracting teeth and I thought Sister should just lay off her and let her be in her sullen teenage years.
A benefit of using public transport is hearing snippets of conversations. I find the most interesting conversations to eavesdrop on are private school boys, because they speak so well and they talk about interesting things. Private school girls are the opposite, horrible nonsense, shrieking, and overly loud talk. I hate it when a large group of them are on my tram.
The other interesting people to overhear is older women chatting together, as was the case today. 'It needed some sweetening. Maybe some jam or strawberries'. I think they were talking about stewed rhubarb but I am not sure. Stewed rhubarb was mentioned, 'great on your breakfast cereal, but not too much'. 'My brother finds marmalade too sweet so he puts it in a pot on the stove and mixes in some bitter oranges then puts it back in jars'.
I like how older women speak to strangers on public transport. I used to hate it. 'Hey, don't you realise I have earphones in and don't want to talk?' Now I am happy to talk to anyone. Today on the route 30 tram along Latrobe Street, I noted a tourist looking couple, the man taking photos with his serious camera of what I think is the oldest house Central Business District. I moved seats and plonked opposite them and asked them if they knew about the house. I didn't realise until after I spoke to them their English was not great, but they understood a little about the history of the house as I told them. I felt sorry for them as they left the tram at the Docklands terminus and faced a cold and biting wind. I felt sorry for myself, so after taking a couple of photos, I was back on a tram with nowhere to go in mind. I left the tram at So Cross Station and et some tucker and thought I will catch the first VLocity country train leaving to somewhere. I ended up at a rather uninteresting place called Deer Park and I was back at So Cross Station within an hour. As soon as I left the train at Deer Park I realised it was not a place for me to linger and a return train was due in two minutes. I correctly predicted what would happen. I touched off my public transport card and tried to touch on again to return, but the display said, you have already touched off. Once back at So Cross Station I couldn't go through the gates as they indicated I had not touched on for the trip. I went to the gate with staff in attendance and I was let through without showing anything.
At yesterday's lunch, I was talking to Sister across R, who was also nagging me to help Mother who was on the other side of me with her meal, like arrange it so it would be easy for her to eat, while Mother was nagging in my other ear about her son, Tradie Brother's meal getting cold while he was outside smoking. Fed up with her carry on, I called TB to tell him his meal was served. I am of fairly even temperament, but truly, had R had said anything later about not helping my mother with her food, I would have punched him on the nose.
While R was volunteer driving the oldies (as he calls them when many of them are younger than him) around yesterday, he came across a woman's purse dropped on the street. He took it to the local police station and he and the boy copper (R's words) jointly counted out the 15 dollars in the purse, full of credit and other cards. R filled in a brief form and the boy copper asked him if the purse had not been collected within the required time because the person's identity could not be discovered, would he like the item, including the $15. Perhaps it is a question that has to be asked, but given the purse was full of cards with ID, it was a pointless question by the boy copper.
A better photo of Ben in less drug fucked years.
More, what is the style of writing on a body called? A font? What a hot font you have, badboy Ben.
You think I am done yet? No. A few days ago from the balcony ago I counted 19 cranes within sight. They were all all angled. Tonight in the cold stillness they are all standing vertically. Off duty, they angle against the wind. No wind, no angle.
Not finished yet. Ex Sis in Law, Oldest Niece and her two daughters and son were coming to visit today. They would park here and we would all catch the tram to town and see the (boring) Myer Christmas window display, then see the decorations at Crown Casino and have lunch. It was on, and then off, then on and then off, and then on and now off.
C'est la vie. I amused myself.