Wallington was sick today and was at home to call me and report that our TV reception was still crappy. Dig. it. al. breakup. For years we’d put up with a rabbit’s ear aerial on the floor, even with our smart TV. YouTube through a rabbit burrow. It was wild.
But eventually we got ShiTV* to install a roof aerial. It worked. It started not to work. No-one knew what was wrong. It was like cancer. More tests.
I’d stayed at home in the mornings when technicians called. I’d come home from work early when technicians called. The last one, Irish, Declan, arrived last Friday afternoon and was keen to technic and then put in a nine-hole golf round on his own at Moore Park before he played on the weekend with his mates. ‘Secret practise, like.’
He didn’t fix our shiTV, like.
Sickie Wallington was home when they came back today. They stood on our roof and decided that the multiple cranes at the multishitbox multi apartment Mirvac development down the hill on the old Harold Park Paceway might be the cause of our dig.it.al breakup. They pointed the aerial a little further to the west to avoid the nest of cranes. So far so good.
On a brighter note, this colourful, out-of-focus indoor antenna says ‘who needs TV, or the internet, or the future’. Truly, that’s what it says. Live now.
While the technicians were still standing on our roof I was walking home and saw this fit young bloke in black shorts and singlet that, miraculously, I’d also seen as I arrived at work that morning. What are the chances? Sydney is a village. Get your zucchinis here. He was waiting at the lights, jogging on the spot, white earplugs, and on his muscular calf was a tattoo: Quilting is forever.
Quilting is forever! How true. Much better than a girlfriend. And the streets are much better than imagination.
To politics now and if Scott Morrison – Minister for Mysterious Operations, minion for our functioning inarticulate – won’t tell us much I’d prefer he told us nothing at all. Ban him from public life. I don’t want to see or hear from him; that will fit his short brief. Leave it to the ABC to find out and report on what is going on.
Meanwhile England has capitulated pitifully to Australia in the final version of cricket that they can capitulate in. Sweetness. Every fan of the million that attended the Summer – yes a million – should get a free five minutes (on production of a ticket, I’m no anarchist) to choose a time to go and sit in the stands and reflect quietly on this glorious Summer. Maybe they won’t be quiet. Maybe they will applaud in the emptiness for five minutes, or cheer. Or weep. It’s a long way to the top if you want to bat and bowl.
* Not a real company. But I think it’s a very good company name and someone should grab it.