the next weekend in a life

A weekend in the garden. I trimmed the triffid wisteria that seems capable – wilful – of endless growth. Doesn’t it know that it’s Autumn? If you stand still on the deck for a whole cup of coffee it will lasso you and turn you into compost.

The gardenias are flowering again too. This is the sweet perfume of a planet in ruin. Climate change is happening.

Luckily oil and coal companies don’t rule the world. Our elected governments will battle them bravely for a sustainable future.

I hope so. I became a great uncle again today! Dylan Harry Taylor was born a 9lb 7oz Englishman at home in Eversholt, UK. That is SO wonderful. Two girls and two boys in the household now. Three Australians and one Englishman. We’ll be over there in May to help write the backyard rules.

Harry Taylor is a star in the backline for Geelong so Dylan is already and forever Harry to me.

And it’s Mardi Gras weekend here in Sydney. Perfect weather. Love to everybody!

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3 thoughts on “the next weekend in a life

  1. A totally unrelated story but …

    I’ve notice on my last few medium to long hauls from home that I become totally disoriented and do really stupid things for the first day or two. I left my travel wallet on the aircraft; not an uncommon event for me but this time I did something I never do which is keep both passports in it. The condition known by the medical community as “tit in a trance” requires a backup passport. As usual, I realised before I was off the jet bridge and had to swim upstream like salmon returning home to retrieve it.

    Even though I had an extra three hours to sleep I woke groggy and couldn’t shake that for half the day. I met a colleague at breakfast at 07:00 and after being seated we went our own directions to hunt breakfast down at the sumptuous buffet.

    I’ve decided on this trip that I’m going to eat sensibly and maybe leave a couple of kilos in China. So I gave the fried products a swerve and headed for the cereal which was all nicely prepared in bowls arranged in ice to keep them cold. I selected a mix of bran and bircher muesli with sliced bananas and headed back to the table. The bowl sat at an odd angle and I checked to see if it was propped on a knife which it wasn’t but rim was cut at a jaunty angle like fedora tipped to one side which I thought was quaint.

    Enough examination – I picked up a spoon and dug in. About 1/4 of the way to the bottom I thought “man, this is a lot of cereal”. 3/4 of the way there I didn’t know if I could finish it and I had skipped dinner the night before in favour of spending time in an endless queue at the border between Hong Kong and mainland China.

    But I made it and cast the bowl to one side and leant back holding my stomach in desperate need of a lie down.

    On the way out I noticed my bowl had been replaced and another patron was scooping the contents out into a much smaller bowl.

    Tomorrow for breakfast I’m going to have that tray of lobsters I had my eye on.

      • There was a pretty sizable leg of baked ham with my name on it but after the incident with the muesli they unkindly assigned a guard at that station who was armed with a carving knife.

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