I’ve just been let back in by Luciana, who has a spare key to our place. This morning I locked myself out. So the blog is looking a little thin on updates, as a result of not being able to sit here in front of the incandescent screen. But that’s good news for tomorrow – cos while I was locked out I had lots of adventures. Stay tuned…

[apologies also to Sunny, Tully, and Bec. I know we walked the Stanmore/’sham border last Saturday, and i WILL update on that adventure soon…(lazy alternative: feel free to write your own reports n I will post em up here!)]

Some days the desire to get out and hit the streets just aint there. Its drizzly and grey outside, and it’s a public holiday to boot. My internet’s running slow, I’m bored with all my music. What to do? Just go with it eh? Have a bath and read a book maybe. An invite from the ‘sham scrabble club would go down a treat right now…
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What a day! Five events on a single Sunday. Life in the ‘sham is certainly subject to cycles of compression and relaxation. After yesterday, I felt like hiding away at home, pulling down the blinds, vacuuming the loungeroom, having a bath, clipping my toenails. I was thinking to call up Lucy for a visit to her garden, but I’ve put it off for another day. I’m no superhuman when it comes to social interaction.
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Vince is a town planner for the Marrickville Council. I first met him at the resident feedback session some weeks back, where he gave me the big printed maps I’ve been using to chart the boundaries of Petersham. I decided to pay him a visit down at the council offices on Fisher Street.

The council has a cool ticketing system for when you need to talk to them about your rates, pay a fine, or get your dog released from the pound [see footnote]. It’s a bit like down at the RTA, except there are only about three chairs, so my guess is that enquiries would be processed just as well with a less sophisticated queueing system. Be that as it may, I was pushed right to the front, given my exceptional foresight in having phoned ahead for an appointment with Vince.

While I waited for Vince to fetch me, I nosed through the array of brochures on display near the incredible coffee and tea machine at reception. I’m serious: it’s the kind of appliance my Dad had at his corporate office in 1982, with individual chutes for tea, coffee, sugar and milk. You turn a knob (a bit like the channel selector on an old TV set) and a measured quantity of your choice of beverage powder shoots out into your polystyrene cup. My visual memory is not sophisticated enough to recall the exact colour of this labour-saving device, but if pressed, I would hazard a guess at solid orange, with brown-tinted transparent plastic holding the powders.
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On Wednesday night Bec came home late from work. We watched a bit of TV together. On Lateline, there was a report about the booming price of petrol. It’s now pushing $1.40 a litre, and there was the treasurer, looking somewhat amazed that the hike in transport costs hasn’t really resulted (yet) in a general lift in inflation. “So far, so good,” he said to the camera.
Bec: “We really are going to run those oil supplies down to nothing before we start thinking about different energy sources, aren’t we?”
Me: “Well, it’s just human nature. For instance, in theory it should not be difficult for us to predict when we are going to run out of toilet paper or washing powder at home. But we always do, we run em down to nothing and then there’s a minor crisis before we get around to doing anything about it. The oil issue is more or less the same thing on a larger scale…”

Sure enough, yesterday, my dirty clothes were piled high in the basket, and my stubble was moving from “designer” to “vagrant”. There was nothing for it. It was time for a visit to the chemist. I got washing powder and shaving cream. To show how highly evolved I am, I even splashed out on toilet paper, although we still have a roll and a half to go.
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Wednesday:
Things are returning to a more manageable pace. I had coffee with Anna from the council, down at Sweet Belem. She hurt her back at the Cook’s River Festival last week, and is only just beginning to recover. The most exciting news Anna had for me was that a pair of Filipino artists is heading for the ‘sham! They arrive in early May, here to set up an installation for the Sydney Biennale. As part of their residency here – above the Petersham Town Hall – they are required to do some kind of public presentation. This is great news. I suggested we join forces and do a slideshow down at the bowling club, with drinks and Fiona’s catering and music and all. I reckon the Filipinos will have some amazing tales to tell. And for me it’s a good chance to answer that curly perennial question: “So, what kind of art do you do?”

[Speaking of the Bowling Club, this Sunday will be a good time to check out how the noble game actually works, how many folks are needed for teams etc, in preparation for our big North versus South ‘sham bowl-off. After this research, I will set a time and date and we can start training in earnest… Do get in touch if you’d like to join in the tournament. I reiterate, no prior experience required…]
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It’s come to my attention that I am writing too much. I need to cut down, see if I can say what I need to say, but in fewer words. Because of my excessively verbose accounts of some recent events, a lot of great stuff has dropped through the net. Here are a few brief “vignettes” to get us all up to speed…
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OK, here’s what I do.

I wake up really early every morning, make myself a strong black coffee using the aluminium stovetop percolator, and I boot up the computer. In my dream like state, the words just flow out of me, my fingers machine-gunning the keyboard until all of my memories from yesterday are vomited up into the blog. This process takes about an hour, and then I’m free to go about the day however I please.

Hmm. That’s the theory at least.
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Bec offered to drive me, if I’d look up the address. I went out to her car to grab the directory. Marie and Chris were across the way, still fixing up Barbara’s flat. They waved me over.

“Hey, where are YOU going?” Marie asked. “We-e-ell”… I began. How could I do this? They were onto me.

The only thing for it was to come clean. I explained my dilemma, the importance of spending the day with my Dad, the idea of the blindfold as a “legal loophole” in my own rules. They thought about it. Chris felt it could work. “It’s true, family comes first, you should definitely go. But you HAVE to keep on the blindfold the WHOLE time.” Marie was less sure: “If you ask me, leaving is leaving, no matter whether you cover your eyes or not.” They were still debating it between themselves as I sat in the passenger seat putting one of Bec’s silk scarves over my eyes. I waved to them blindly as we drove off.
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