Last night, I spent the better part of 10 minutes trying to scrub some crud off a glass baking dish, only to realise the crud was on the other side. We need to buy a dishwasher! Such are the banalities of Melbourne ISO_2.0. We are now two weeks down. Theoretically, 4 weeks left of this six week lockdown. But.....well, who knows? It could be more, given recent COVID case numbers.
I never thought Id say this, but seeing the football on TV in recent weeks has brought some sense of normality to me. Ive never followed it, but it has always been there in the background. It is a constant, something you can depend upon, like the up each day, or Ross inserting a joke into polite conversation, or Kelly Osbournes next single being shit. Dad and my brothers watched footy teams thrash it out on TV in the late 1970s. I recall the inevitable conflict on a Sunday night; I wanted to watch Countdown, of course, but they wanted the football, and in those days, we just had the one TV
and no internet! Now, during this warped dystopian time, stuck at home, with an empty city and news reports screaming about daily case numbers, the footy is still there on TV. God knows when or where they are playing, if they are playing to a live audience or a crowd of bizarre figures. But there it is, on the TV. Ross follows the doggies in the AFL, and had it on TV last Friday night. There they were, kicking, running and chasing as normal, to an apparent cheering crowd. A sense of normality, like nothing was wrong in the world. It was to me. Though I did a when said during the match:
Fantasia just passed the ball to Ida Slappda, I said. Who has sashayed down the field to pass it to Barbara Quicksand. Oh, Quicksand is tackled by Miss Candy. That was a tackle, the bitch.
But look, Courtney Act and Sofonda Cox are having a cat fight under the goal posts. Feathers are flying.
To keep some sanity, I try to get out on my bike when the weather permits. Just near Chapel Street is an intersection that I regularly cycle along. There is a set of traffic lights that always makes me frown. Someone decided to place a traffic light directly behind a power pole. Or, conversely, some astute person decided to place a power pole directly in front of a traffic light. Either way, the traffic light cannot be seen to traffic. (See first photo above.) I guess you can always look at the light on the other side of the road, but it too is at least partly obscured by a telegraph pole! Why, Ross Stuart? Wires or pipes underground dictating placement?? Anyway, yesterday the gloomy clouds cleared and I went for an afternoon bike ride. My usual route, from Prahran, through the city to my former workplace, the Royal Childrens Hospital, is about 11km one way. The city was eerily deserted. Imposing Flinders Street train station, normally inhaling and exhaling vast hordes of
people - workers, tourists, shoppers, - now stands dismally silent. There were a few people scurrying along, heads down, sporting Even those arty statues of the three thin businessmen on the corner of Swanston and Bourke Streets are now wearing (Check out the photo opposite.)
Cycling back home, I often pass through Fawkner Park, opposite The Alfred Hospital. Each afternoon, I see people with their dogs. The owners typically form a wide ring. Their hounds, without such restrictions, happily frolic and jump about with each other. The dont give a toss about no corona, they are happy and joyous and blissfully oblivious to the human angst. Yesterday, there was a mix of labradors, spaniels and terriers – and one funny little black sausage dog, whose woosy little legs would not allow it to keep up with all the others. I believe sausage dogs (dachshunds) were initially bred in Germany to hunt badgers and rabbits out of holes. So, they have been selectively bred for long thin bodies - and short stout legs that would not hamper tunnelling and moving through burrows.
Characters
Write Comment
