Post 1: Wentworth election, muffy-head dog and built-in obsolecense

Welcome to my blog, or, as WordPress is wont to describe it, my ‘very own little corner of the internet’, which seems strange as I’ve never considered the internet to be box-shaped at all. Anyway, in this ‘ere little blip of digital space I will spill meandering musings in a somewhat disordered and haphazard fashion, and with that said…here goes…

Watching ABC news 24 blabbing on about the Wentworth By-election on a wet Saturday morning in Victoria, Australia. A live cross to the action and now back to the studio. Then back to the action – footage of the ‘money shot’ of the Labor candidate casting his vote (who is he? Answer: the one who won’t win)

And back to the studio of my life: the physical space from whence I sit and muse. This red chair from the Salvos and my allergy-plagued dog, his muffy-head flopping over the edge of the 1950s arm-chair that used to furnish the house next door, owned by the one and only friendly-neighborhood axeman, the chopper of wood, the pleasant thwack-crack of hardwood splitting as I boil a brew in my galley kitchen.

My house is a ‘tinker house’. Built during the first world war by non-professional builders. Bricks plunked straight onto the ground apparently. And without the courtesy of foundation it cracks and moves with the live clay earth, it bends and twists and fills with crumble-dust. For I have no funds to fix it (being asset rich but pension-poor) but oh so lucky to be the owner of inner-city bricks and mortar.

I spent last night watching TV in bed – the hardware a ten year old desktop computer currently suffering from a growing case of obsolescence, services freezing in unsupported browsers – no more Foxtel, Iview, and now SBS is showing signs of saying bye-bye. Only Netflix and YouTube remain stable friends – my nightly immersion into the world of screen, prostrate on my nesting bed, padded by my grey, sheepskin rug.

By day I write my unfinished books, wrangling them into strangled versions of their original soulful, selves. Editing story lines to comply with motivation and justifying abandonment with the promise of the new.

I was asked a question on Wednesday (the day my home-help arrives each fortnight to change my sheets and open the peanut butter lid), and the question was this: What job would you choose  if you could have your time again? I said I’d be a scientist or an architect, or something more ‘serious’ than the dabbler I’ve become, but the truth is I am happy in my daily strivings…

And so, until the next rambling tumbles from my hungrybrain, adios amigos I do bid you farewell…