I hate my skirt
Yesterday I was travelling up the highway in the middle back seat of the rental car being driven by Rachels in laws. We were travelling to markets and asked if we'd be finding anything at the markets that was, handmade, locally made, home grown. Negative.
Then I spotted, like a beacon amongst all the consumerist materialist shop windows the sign "I hate my skirt" and I yelled "That's where we want to go". Kindred (fashion) spirits and all that.
Speaking of kindred fashion spirits, I spotted my favourite Bellingen teen last week, rummaging through Vinnies for more clothes, and realised he is the son of my former workmate. Hmmm.
At the markets I scowled my way through an early morning coffee and read of the paper-all curmudgeonly of a Sunday morning before 10:30am, before realising I need to Put Myself Out More. But I was so keen to find any limited newspaper references to Australias newest pole vaulting championship (Rachel disocvered him first, headband and long hair and all) that I just couldn't extend myself. Then finally I did, and Adz found me lurkin at the book stall and told me about the book stall that was closing down-everything $1 or #2. He was carrying around a plastic bag full of Penguin novels (problematic as he was travelling the next day on JetStar with the carry on luggage option only) and walked me to the superior corner of the market. There was even a superior cafe stall, complete with courtyard garden oasis, somehow created out of an outdoor concrete car park market... And I bought a biography of Jane Bowles, her letter writing skills are fantastic.
The previous night Rachel and I were asked about how we are friends. And we confessed to meeting at an engagement party in Melbourne for a mutual friend that neither of us have seen since... but we remember him fondly. Then I tried to justify my snubbing of the Hoodoo Gurus gig at the Cooly Hotel. Andy suggested that if I heard them on the radio, I'd suspect I was tuned into the wrong radio station... So that's why I didn't go.
Then I spotted, like a beacon amongst all the consumerist materialist shop windows the sign "I hate my skirt" and I yelled "That's where we want to go". Kindred (fashion) spirits and all that.
Speaking of kindred fashion spirits, I spotted my favourite Bellingen teen last week, rummaging through Vinnies for more clothes, and realised he is the son of my former workmate. Hmmm.
At the markets I scowled my way through an early morning coffee and read of the paper-all curmudgeonly of a Sunday morning before 10:30am, before realising I need to Put Myself Out More. But I was so keen to find any limited newspaper references to Australias newest pole vaulting championship (Rachel disocvered him first, headband and long hair and all) that I just couldn't extend myself. Then finally I did, and Adz found me lurkin at the book stall and told me about the book stall that was closing down-everything $1 or #2. He was carrying around a plastic bag full of Penguin novels (problematic as he was travelling the next day on JetStar with the carry on luggage option only) and walked me to the superior corner of the market. There was even a superior cafe stall, complete with courtyard garden oasis, somehow created out of an outdoor concrete car park market... And I bought a biography of Jane Bowles, her letter writing skills are fantastic.
The previous night Rachel and I were asked about how we are friends. And we confessed to meeting at an engagement party in Melbourne for a mutual friend that neither of us have seen since... but we remember him fondly. Then I tried to justify my snubbing of the Hoodoo Gurus gig at the Cooly Hotel. Andy suggested that if I heard them on the radio, I'd suspect I was tuned into the wrong radio station... So that's why I didn't go.
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