Magical Music List

Held a party on Friday night with my flatmate. Bit dodgy doing a party on Friday night when people have other things, like to go to the pub, might have their work do, etc. But honestly, who wouldn't prefer a party at home to the risks of an office pash or the desperation of trying to score at Syrup? (maybe Mr Tabloid).

Anyway, lots of fun, but shamefully I didn't make it to the end. I woke up at 3:30, with no memory of how I'd moved from the south end of the bed to the north end, no memory of taking my contact lenses out, and no memory of how the party ended. Checked my contact lens case which was full, and my eyeballs felt normal, so it was okay.

Apparently I had farewelled the last person from work, I had managed to wake up an almost asleep 3 month old baby (Smile Sofia! Kick your legs Sofia! Now go to sleep) mere minutes before I "fell asleep". Saturday felt hopeless as we drove up to Friendly Beaches, but the amazing views of the beach did cheer me.

Sunday was spent walking along Wineglass Bay, swimming in the clearest green/blue water, trudging along the sand. The Hazard peaks were always by our side, and I thought often of Skins, the novel by Sarah Hay that won a literature prize a year or so ago. It's about early 1800s English migrants who get shipwrecked on an island off Western Australia and are stranded with only the whalers, who refuse to give them a passage out.

Comments

Anonymous said…
And where's the mention of 'Golden Brown'. And you'reincluding 'I Still Call Australia Home'? Ye gods. That plus Shannon Noll... you're scaring me, George, you're scaring me!
4:28 pm
Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Anniversary of Grandad

When my youngest was young, eldest thought he was Grandad reincarnated (same day of earth arrival). As it happens, Grandad died on my nephew's birthday, which we celebrate this year at a pub that is okay but nothing special, compared to gaslight , as enthusiastically recommended to Guy.  Nephew agreed people who barrack for the Crows are like flat earthers. I like Melbournite's admiring my Tigers scarf.  SIL came by to pick up youngest who offered to help with chores if I didn't make him leave and told her he'd made himself baked beans and a chip butty, like a before character on a heart attack advertisement.  Meanwhile eldest unhappy ever since he headlined, I feel like a bad parent for sending him to a Car clew camp. Right now, he's chatting on the phone about something being 'bad', his friend is asking 'how bad' he's saying, 'pretty bad', but I can't tell if he's talking about his pash rash or cello practice or a faux pas.  (Up...
Read more

Little gems

This evening, I was reading to the kid. Every book I read at night time (and many books I read in the day) are about going to sleep. The message is getting through. When I read out the catchphrase "Do you need to go to sleep?" he closed his eyes and made pretend snoring sounds. So much fun! He had a busy evening rearranging baking trays and lego displays and trying to build the tallest lego tower that wouldn't fall over and eventually I found art invites and lego in the oven. I also decided to empty my handbag. Open bills. Sort my life out. Try and get back on track. This is all prompted by asking a colleague for something from her handbag (I shudder to think what-hopefully money, hopefully not a tissue) and seeing her sort through clutter that included the voting slip from 2010 Federal Election. Anyway, I found a diary entry, scribbled on paper, which I may have written here in different form: "Different films I've liked that have been 'mood' number...
Read more

Little Women and Family Albums

I was watching Little Women, the Greta Gerwig version with Laura Dern and a cool girl that plays Amy, production captured the organic texture of houses and textured colours. This version is not linear, and I was multi-tasking by taking to family photos with the scissors, not to excise people, but resize photos taken by a rellie pointing camera blindly, collecting from store with high hopes, only to discover they're no Max Dupain. 
Read more