by any other name

I haven't done a Friday night meme for a while, and I miss them. Memes seem to be a bit out of fashion at the moment, but I love them. I keep meaning to do one each week, but of course I get waylaid, by life and other diversions. This one's from Kerryn, I think she might like the odd meme too.

1. My rock star name (first pet and current car)
Sophie Commodore. Sounds kind of disco, which our car definitely is not.
2. My gangsta name (ice cream flavour plus cookie, or biscuit)
Chocolate Gingernut. Mmm maybe not. How about Coconut Yo-Yo? Not much better, I don't think.
3. My fly girl name (first letter of first name, first three letters of last name)
J Igg. Yep.
4. My detective name (favourite colour, favourite animal)
Green Elephant. This.just.keeps. getting. better.
5. My soap opera name (middle name, city of birth)
Margaret Melbourne. Boring.
6. My Star Wars name (first three letters of your last name, first two of your first name)
Gri-Ja. Hey-yah, does karate like move in slow motion... I am Gri-Ja.
7. My superhero name (second favourite colour, favourite drink, add “the”)
The Pink (diet lemon) Soda.
8. My Nascar name (first two names of my two grandfathers)
Ernest George.
9. My stripper name (favourite perfume, favourite sweet)
Soap Chocolate. Or maybe Lavender Snake. As in sour snakes and lavender because I quite like the smell. Can't wear perfume anymore because it makes my eyes water. Did I used to wear Joy? Joy Snake. That sounds good. No, it was another perfume in an opaque blue bottle with a maroon stopper. It will come to me.... yes? (Edited later to add, Doh, It's Lou Lou, thank you Melinda! Lou Lou Snake, oh yes.)
10. My witness protection name (mother’s and father’s middle names)
Grace William.
11. My weather anchor name (fifth grade teacher’s name, a major city beginning with the same letter)
Graham Gympie.
12. My spy name (favourite season/flower)
Spring Heliotrope.
13. Cartoon name (favourite fruit plus garment you’re wearing, with an “ie” or “y” added)
Cherry Uggsie. Actually, I quite like that one.
14 Hippie name (what you ate for breakfast plus favourite tree)
Pancakes The Gums in The Park.
15. Your rockstar tour name (favourite hobby plus weather element, with “the”)
The Sewing Rain at Dusk. Or The Gardening Sunshine. Rock out.



Well. There you go. Now I can go to bed and be up bright and early for househunting day. Which starts off with a visit to what I've nicknamed The Stinky House. Because it really smells. So bad that Grace ran screaming into the street last week. Until another bubby turned up. And then she wanted to play in the old sheds out the back, one of which looks like a birdhouse. It's pretty bad, but it's in a good location for us and I can see potential charm once the carpet has been lifted, the odour neutralised (there are chemicals for this) and the kitchen issues addressed. Will try and take photos. We went to an auction last week of a house I knew in my heart would go way above our limit, despite the agent telling me otherwise. I know, they want a crowd at the auction, which is fair enough because they are in the business of selling houses and if I was selling at auction, that's what I'd want.  Absolutely fantastic location, needed heaps of work but had period charm and great wallpaper. I wish I'd taken a picture. Anyway. For a heartstopping moment I thought it would go just beyond our reach, giving me hope for that particular location. But the bids just kept coming. I have to remember that wishful thinking is not the best use of our househunting time and reframe my expectations. Our house is out there.

yellow



SpcHmm well, I had lots of ideas about taking a picture at work (with my name badge on even), but every time I got up the nerve, I rushed so much that I didn't set set the camera correctly or used the most unflattering angle possible. This was taken a week or so ago, one night before going home. Pre-haircut. Which I still like, eventhough it doesn't look anywhere near as glamourous as it did after the hairdresser styled it. And really, I think I'm doing pretty well if I wash my hair and remember to brush it when it's dry. Next time, I'll get them to cut it a bit differently to take that into account, but I'm not losing sleep over it.

So what can I say about the bathroom at work? It's very yellow. There are signs reminding one to use the brush if required, and handy cupboards. A shower in case you ride your bike to work and a hand dryer that dries hair very quickly. Apart from the usual business, it's where people come to cry or have a moment alone, away from the public. There are of course other spaces; the tea room, the sick room (which is also used as a prayer room), the smoker's area outside, the filing bay, the carer's room (for when you need to bring your child to work), the forms area (which would be a two year old's evil payground) and my favourite, the big cupboard of recycled folders, out of date stationary and odd bits and pieces. The other day I found a pile of beer (or soft drink) coasters with the logo on them. Mmm, this is the same organisation that has shorts as part of the coprorate wardrobe so you're actually allowed to wear shorts and sandals to work, but not blue denim.

I didn't get caught in the act but what would I have said if I had? The blog isn't a secret but I don't talk about it at work. Sometimes I go for a walk at lunch time and take photos and I don't mind if people see that. But taking a picture of yourself in the bathroom, now that's just weird! 

More bathrooms here.

new do

It's been one of those weeks at work. Not a bad week per se. Just emotional. Which I guess is part of the deal for me working for an organisation that touches peoples lives the way it does. Sometimes I really wish I could talk about work in more detail. Suffice to say, on Wednesday, I had a long interaction with a customer that at one point had us both in tears. In the middle of an open plan office, rather than at my desk up the back where I sit every other day. It was like we were in a little bubble. I did manage to collect myself and go on to do the necessary tasks with bureacratic efficiency. Which is important, because at such a time, you really don't want to get caught in some bad administrative loop.  After the interview ended, I went to the tearoom for a mental health moment and for the rest of the afternoon I was pretty good. I was fine on the first tram home, but when I got to the park, to catch the second tram, I just sort of dissolved. I took some photos and thought about my customer and thought about my own sadness. And I thought about how, five years on, I'm really not sad anymore. Except for at odd times, and when I hear about the sadness of others. Especially people who are beginning a journey of sorrow.



It has to be a good thing that I'm not still sad, but there's part of me that is surprised about that. Or a bit uncomfortable. Even though there will always be a deep feeling for our son Frank in my heart, letting go of that big sadness is hard in itself.There were quite a few tears in the park and when I got in the tram to go home, my eyes were still sort of leaking quietly.

So I'm on the tram, thinking my sad thoughts and my I'm not sad any more thoughts. Thinking about writing a book one day, after buying a house, after settling in, one day... The light is streaming in through the scratchy windows. I look across at a woman talking on her phone. And I think, right out of the blue, I want that haircut, I want her haircut. And I want it soon. No more bobby pins, or hair elastic. It's time to go short. The next day at work, I asked around for a hairdresser in the area and found somewhere that was reasonably priced and that could fit me in today. And ta-da... From the deep, to the most extraordinarily shallow...


The colour's still fresh, it's full of product that smells like coconut and has been ironed with what looked like a flat version of the old fashioned curling wand. The hairdresser thought it most amusing that I'd never had my hair flattened/ straightened and that I don't own a hairdryer. No doubt it will look a bit different once I return to my scruffnut ways tommorrow. But it feels really good to lose the hair. I'm really pleased with how it looks. And how it feels. Different. Lighter.


And it really is OK to be (mostly) not sad anymore. Maybe one day soon, I'll be able to not cry at work when I hear sad stories and just be helpful and considerate. Without crying. Which isn't really helpful. But happens. I am in awe of how people in some professions do it, you know nurses, social workers, shrinks... etc

underground



Spc_2These underground toilets in Elizabeth Street have just been heritage listed. They're not on my usual map of the city but I popped in to have a look last Friday afternoon in town. Quite convenient, as it happened. Apparently they were a major engineering feat back in the day. Clean and less cramped than the Myer ladies. The decor is a mishmash of various eras but the terrazo floor is quite spesh, as is the "No Spitting" sign. I also rather liked that there was a row of stools to sit on rather than the usual battle for mirror space above the sink. And somewhere to put your stuff. Not a bad place to drag a brush through your hair or reorganise your bag.

There was hardly anyone there and I felt OK about playing with the camera for a little while. This one was taken from the top of the hand dryer across the room, using the timer. And the LCD screen that is now upside down when you swivel it around to frame a shot. Which is OK from a distance, so I've discovered. The light was difficult and although I've recently learnt* how to set the white balance on my camera for diffrerent types of indoor light, it wasn't so comfortable down there that I felt like faffing for ever. Back home of course, I wished that I'd spent just a little more time taking the pictures but I am more confident of taking photos in public that i used to be. Last night I tried a few different effects in photoshop elements to try and improve on the original , but ended up liking the infrared black and white the best. I think it captures the underground and slightly seedy feeling of the space. But like I said before, it was quite clean. Something that has been noted about Melbourne public toilets before. Apparently.

Visit more bathrooms here.

*CAE photoshop elements course, highly recommended if you're a beginner and interested in that sort of thing. I learnt so much, now I can halfway understand what the books and manuals are talking about. Opening the door to a whole new world of faffing.

making pancakes

Yesterday morning, Grace was insistent that we make pancakes. But I was keen to be out and about, looking at houses so I promised her that we'd do it on Sunday morning.  So this morning, I go to get her up and she says; porridge, mummy, porridge and sultanas. I explained to her that tommorow I have to go to work, so that if she wants pancakes, today is good. Pancakes it is then. She refuses to wear her dressing gown and demands the red coat, with the hood. And pink shoes, no socks, no, no, no, no socks. I think they're on the verge of being too tight and she has other shoes, but it's always the pink shoes.

Anyway, pancakes are a hit. She knows the drill, tells me what to do next and even believes me when I say that the yucky banana that she wants to put in the po-po (compost) will be nice in little pancakes.




She helps me cook them (under close supervision) and we talk about how the stove is hot, and what happens if you touch the stove, ow, ow ow. She likes to watch the little bubbles form and talks about the sound the butter makes, sss. I turn a blind eye when she eats them from the plate in progress. Breakfast is breakfast, whether you eat it hot from the stove or sitting at the table. Today, before sitting down to eat, we take orange juice to daddy in bed and go up to the servo with new dolly in the pram to get the paper. On the way home we go down bumpy lane. By the time I put the coffee on, she's really had enough. Forsaking me for chloe (her name for tinky-winky), eh oh. How I love the teletubbies, really I do. Leaving mummy to read the auction results from yesterday, drink her coffee and eat her sunday breakfast in peace. As I annotate the pictures of houses in the local newspaper, for my file, lots of thoughts about houses and the whole process flit through my brain.

I could go on and on, but I should go to bed. Work tommorrow. Cold is pretty much gone and I'm ready to be back in the world.

If you're happy and you know it

It feels so very un-australian (a favourite cliche) but I think I'm going to have to write a list of things that make me happy and/or that I am grateful for. Because I'm over myself and just can't think about still having a cold or that I should go to work on Monday and therefore I have to feel better. (Sticks fingers in ears and goes la la la la). I also need something to go between the potty portraits. So:

1. Spending time in an undergound, perhaps to be heritage listed (really) ladies room taking self-portraits. Not so sure about the results yet, but it was fun, in a seedy sort of way.

2. This picture. It makes me happy. Eventhough, when G turned up with this particular toy, I thought to myself, we really don't need another thing in the backyard. He finds all sorts of abandoned playthings on his walks, brings them home and fixes them up. I do like that about him though, it's quite endearing. Grace really likes it too.

3. My new to me Saba fine black 100% wool ribbed jumper. Below hip length with long, long raglan sleeves. So very me. From Savers, the day after the sale. Destiny.

4. Taking Grace to the zoo. It was so exciting catching the tram and seeing the trains. Of course she had to sit on the elephant statue, and of course we had to take her photo. (There was a queue almost). However, this is the first time she's been interested in the animals, joining the line of toddlers standing against the glass watching the primates. It was worth the tantrums at the end. We're still having excited breathy conversations about the tigey tigers, 'raffes, elephants and the butterfies eating. It's opened up a whole new world of books too.

5. The way you can see the blossom give way to fruit on the apricot tree and it's been raining. The longer it rains, the better.



6. Eating lettuce, radishes and snow peas from our neglected vegetable patch. And parsley, spring onions, garlic shoots, rosemary and thyme. And the sage is about to bloom. It gives me great pleasure to have beds of useful plants that are also pretty.

7. The thought of starting a new garden. There may well be months and months of househunting and being in a weird sort of limbo first but that's OK. I'm ready to begin again, I have my list for tomorrow. I have a feeling eight's too many, three or four might be more realistic, but I'll see how we go.

8. Orville has a new friend.

9. Thanks to modern medicine, my tooth no longer hurts. It's been hurting (just a dull ache) so long that I had forgotten what a totally painfree mouth felt like. As soon as I can breathe properly through my nose, I'm going to book that root canal. Yep, I'm really pleased about that. Why did it take me so long to commit?

10. Our local supermarket has this cheap wine that's not too bad (except the shiraz cabernet which is a stinker IMO) and there's been really yummy strawberries, also cheap and have you tried the new Coles belgian chocolate (so called) with mint chips? Mmm. At least the strawberries are good for you.

shopping centre angel?



SpcUgly isn't it? These are the ladies public toilets at our local shopping centre, the one we can walk to. I rarely use them, indeed I think I only discovered that they existed during the later stages of pregnancy. When I carried around a mental map of every public convenience in my suburb and beyond.

This was taken sometime on the weekend, at the peak of snotfest '07, during a brief excursion out of the house for provisions. I had intended to try and sneak one in at work this week, but I've missed two days already and won't be back until next week. Today I saw my favourite hippy(ish) doctor at the community health centre and we talked about my tooth that needs root canal treatment (once I can breathe through my nose again) and how some years there are those flu seasons when you seem to go from one bug to the next, which led to a chat about the confluence of mind, body and spirit. He didn't seem to think that soldiering on was a sensible strategy at this point. So time off work, lolling around at home. I feel heaps better already but I'm being good; resting, drinking lots of fluid and taking my medicine. Can you see my halo? 

And I have to say too, that I'm rather enjoying this month's challenge and plan on photographing a different bathroom every week. Oh, I'm so easily amused. Visit a whole world of bathrooms here.

snotfest '07, the recovery

We spent the whole weekend resting. No housework, no outings (except to see Steve on Friday night but we were home by seven), Grace has had two naps a day and I've had one or two myself. Simple healthy food. We're trying to be nice to each other too. Not always easy when you're sick and grumpy and a bit tired of it all. Or you're only two and you don't understand why you can't run all the time.

I decided not to go to work today. And felt a bit guilty. Then when I rang one of the teamleaders this afternoon to say that I was taking tommorrow off as well, I found out that four people had called in sick today, which in a small office like ours is quite a lot. So if I'd gone to work, it would have been really hard, more guilt. But basically I felt like shit unless I was lying down. Lying down is OK. As is looking at Flickr, messing with the camera and reading blogs, but only for a little while. Anyway my teamleader asked if I'd been to the doctor, he has to ask because we have an attendance strategy, and I said that I couldn't get an appointment until Tuesday. But that if I miracloulously felt better, I'd ring in the morning and let them know that I was coming to work. I then told him that I'd been sick for three weeks (he's been on holiday) and that I was well and truly over it, that I seemed to be catching every new bug that walked in the door, and that Grace and Gerard had it now as well. And that I was beyond soldiering on. He sighed.



But truly, I worked out tonight that I've actually had this cold for four weeks. I know I'm not the only one, the supermarket this afternoon was full of people who looked like the walking dead. Why do we keep going? I know a cold isn't that serious for most people, but this soldiering on for weeks is rubbish. A few days, OK. If I'd stayed at home in the first place I mightn't have passed it on, I wouldn't have let my system get so run down. I wouldn't have had so many weeks of feeling like crap warmed up. It's crossed my mind that if there was a really serious influenza outbreak that it'd probably start like this, with everybody still going to work, still going out and about.



Being sick is innately depressing too and I was starting to feel my moods slip below what's normal for me. Little things were throwing me and big things were devastating. Now that I've had four days in a row with at least ten hours sleep (8 at night, 2 napping) my mental state has gone from precarious to fine. I still feel physically ill and a bit sad because it's September, but I don't feel on the edge. In fact, I'd say that lightness and a sense of optimism are returning. Happiness even. Alongside the sadness. Indeed I seem to be able to feel the sadness properly, if that makes sense. Let this be a lesson to me.

And can I just say a heartfelt thank-you to those who commented, emailed or otherwise shared about my last post. Sometimes it all tumbles out and it really does help to have a place for it to fall.

's spring

Sort of like a meme I suppose, September seems full of s's round here. And most of them 'aint good.

Like sadness, (which is why I have a special category for it). September is the month our son, Frank was born and died. Sad day, as we call it round here, is next week and has sort of crept up on me this year. I thought I might get through the month with dry eyes and just a few sad thoughts. But yesterday, just before I left work, I rang G as usual to see if he wanted anything from the supermarket and he told me some heartwrenching news concerning some friends of ours in Tas. They've just found out that their baby, expected in about two months, has died and will be born this weekend. I sat at my desk in the corner of the nearly empty office and cried. I so wish there was something I could say or do that would make everything better for them, but I know there isn't. You are in our thoughts.

Shadows. Eventually, I went and washed my face and said my goodbyes and walked out onto the street with my blurry eyes behind the big sunglasses and just missed a tram. So I decided to walk a bit. I kept on walking, thinking, watching the light and seeing the shadows everywhere. Took some pictures, my camera being a smoking substitute when I'm stressed. Walking is also good, I need to do more of it. I was halfway composed when I got home.

Snot, sinuses and soldiering on. I'm on week three of my cold. I seem to get better and then catch something else, or else it's mutating. Half the office is sick and soldiering on, the customers and the interpreters are ailing and the checkout girl at the supermarket didn't look to good either. It's everywhere. Grace is on week two and G has just caught it and although he says he's getting better, he sounds and looks pretty crook.  It's starting to affect my moods so I've decided to stop soldiering on. Today G went back to bed in the morning and I lay on the couch and watched videos with Grace, and then had a nap in the afternoon. Next week if I'm not better, I'm taking some time off work. Bugger it.

Smoking sucks. Tonight we had an early dinner with a friend of ours who is on his second round of lung cancer. He used to be a furniture maker which may have contributed, but definitely smoking is a factor. I didn't think he'd want us to come and share our lurgies but he seemed to think it wasn't going to make any difference. He's thinking of his life in months now. I can't tell you how sad this makes me. Or how it feels that my my mother won't give up smoking, or even cut down, which would be a start. I know it's hard, really I do but then so is dying before your time (and I know I need to lose some weight, glass houses and all).

Sunshine. The air is full of it. Jasmine and blossoms of all different kinds. Even though it brings hayfever, the air feels soft and scented, a promise of warmth to come. We need more rain, but the sun on your shoulders in the park of a morning is pretty darn nice. It isn't all doom and gloom. The warmth that still feels gentle, even though summer may well be really harsh. It's nice to delude yourself for a while. I like it that the days are getting longer.

Sweetness. Chocolate self saucing pudding. Ridiculously easy to make. Yummy even if you leave the egg out because your brain isn't working as it should.

Ah, spring.

bathtime



SpcA new month, a new theme. September is about bathrooms. This will be the third self-portrait I've taken in our small and not very flash bathroom (one here and one here). Although I must say, it is a lot nicer since G put in the shelf and the little cabinet and I made a new shower curtain from seventies material from the opshop (it's Sheridan, I have a pillow case in the same design but orange and white). Maybe I'll explore other bathroom settings, like perhaps the one at work. If I can get over my fear of someone finding me taking my picture there.

I don't know if you can tell, because I look as tired as I feel, but this is one of the nicest parts of my working day. If I get home lateish, G gives Grace her dinner while I get changed and have a little time to myself and then we all hang out in the kitchen for a while. Then I give Grace her bath. As you can see, it's not particularly onerous. Once teeth and face are done, we have a chat, count bath toys and then Grace washes dollies hair. Dolly always gets soap in her eyes and cries, heh heh heh. Sometimes there's a moment when seven o'clock rolls around and it's time to get out of the bath, but we're moving to an understanding that if she gets out of the bath herself there's one two, three, whizzy (a jump off the side of the bath with mummy holding her hands). Getting dressed is OK as long as Grace is allowed to do most of it herself. Including choosing a nappy and getting it ready for putting on (thankfully she has at last accepted that she can't put a nappy on herself). If I try and do anything that she can do herself, it's an almighty battle. That can last until bedtime. Surprisingly, bedtime is not a battle. Tonight at seven thirty, I asked Grace what time is it? and she replied, bedtime. Got off my knee and went to kiss Daddy. Five minutes later she was tucked in with seven of her favourite toys and off to the land of nod.

Lots more bathrooms here

yesterday was father's day

I asked G what he wanted for father's day and he said, a sleep in. Fair enough. Grace even took him a glass of orange juice and then dutifully dissapeared to watch TV. But he didn't sleep in that much, so we went to Coburg trash and treasure for a spot of shopping. It was quite excellent. Grace wheeled Pooh bear-bear up and down the isles and was generally pretty good company despite having a bit of a cold. And needing to have her face wiped frequently. We scored bigtime as there weren't that many people there, being father's day and windy. Also we haven't been for a while so there's been a big turn over of stuff.

I bought a rather special yellow dish and a tea strainery type thing in a little stand. Both of which delight me in ways that are impossible to express. Also a big bag of trashy mags (I don't care if they're a couple of years out of date), some retro and modern kiddies books and a swag of old photo phamplets. Oh how I love buying papery emphemera!

Grace chose herself a rather revolting pink barbie wallet in which to put her library card (actually a Carlton blues thingo from a chip packet, a very treasured possession although she does also have a real library card) and a doll which she chose from amongst many. A stallholder was selling her large collection of childhood dolls. I've started calling this doll Dolly Parton. We washed new dolly, as Grace calls her, in the bath last night because she probably hasn't had a bath since 1970. And she was pretty stinky. Luckily G was able to get her head back on. But apparently, the best thing of all are her shoes. Which are also in the wash, alongside the rather goovy little outfit which includes bubble underpants. G scored himself a robotron at-2 (a boy's doll?) which apparently blows smoke if you fill it with household oil or somesuch.



I also spent some time photographing the colours at the trash and treasure which I never think about until just before we have to go. But really it's one of my favourite aspects of the day. Up there with fish and chips for lunch and the unpacking of various bags and parcels and the showing each other all the stuff we've scored. It was a pretty good father's day outing, really. A little oasis of pleasure amongst the stress of househunting (which I never thought we'd do but I'm really pleased and grateful that we are) and the trials of cold and flu season. Grace had her first visit to the doctor in well over a year, she's hacking a cough and streaming snot but doesn't understand why she feels so terrible and can only run around for half the usual time before falling in a heap. Gerard did a sterling job of looking after her today, but you know, I kind of take that a bit for granted on a day to day basis. Which is actually pretty nice.  It makes me very happy when I think of that. It's not coming out right, but he is a terrific Dad and I really do love and appreciate that about him.

one that got away

Late this afternoon I was doing a spot of sewing while Grace watched videos (spot's party, gumby and more elmo) and thinking about the post I was going to write tonight. As you do. I was all hyped up about the auction this morning, so proud that I bid and that I didn't melt into the ground. That I was a contender, if only for a few moments. Still confident that there is something else, maybe even something better just around the corner. Now I've had a few glasses of wine, looked at realestate online and cruised blogland to cheer myself up. And I'm still a bit maudlin.

It's nothing serious. Just that I really liked that house. I could see it, could see us living a happy life there. I'd polished the floors and obsessed about fixing the chipped soap holder in the bathroom. I'd gotten really fit walking up the hill from the station (and never ever complained about that hill, oh no, because this is a dream). I'd planted trees and used the mysterious concrete tubs to grow lettuce. And I knew that this house was a good buy; appreciating area, close to transport and amenties et cetera. Practical sensible considerations. But it was the parts of the house that someone else may well tear down and that probably aren't worth anythig much in a financial sense that I really liked. Like the linen press in the hall, the crazy ceiling in the lounge and the greenhouse. And the shed, you wouldn't buy a house for the shed, but I loved that shed. We looked at another house on the way home from the auction, but you know, I just wasn't ready. I need a few days, I think. Anyway. Here, have a look at some tritella from my garden. The one in the here and now.




I woke up this morning feeling, oh dear, oh heck, we might buy a house today. Halfway between what if we do get it and it's not the best one and then what if we don't get it but it's the only one. But I did feel mostly that it would be a good day to buy a house. Grace was saying, house, house as I buckled her into her carseat. All the family turned out and we hung out under the blossom tree. With Dad on one side and Nina on the other, everyone else milling around behind, I did bid. It was very, very exciting. Especially knowing the house had passed the reserve, which was lower than I expected. But I got to our limit. Then another bidder fell away. Then it was between the last two in excrutiateingly (sp?) small bids. Down to that fierce competition to see who has the most money to spend and who wants it the most. Afterwards, the auctioneer came and told us what the reserve was. He seemed surprised that it had been so low. No doubt we'll be bumping into him again.

This afternoon as I was fixing the wrap top I made last week, I was thinking about auctions and how efficient they are at reaching that intersection between money and desire. It's really quite crass. As a rule, I would rather not talk or even think about money. I like living within our means but I like the mechanics of it all to stay in the background. I don't even like to think too hard about the connection between work and being paid. Although we do need the money to live and I proably wouldn't do it for free, the work is worth doing well in itself. But I did rather like the feeling of going off in the morning to buy a house, maybe. I also thought about being in the vortex of the auction, and the feeling that it would be really easy to get caught up and keep bidding. Which I guess is why you have to decide whether or not you really want the house before deciding to bid. Which probably means falling in love with a house and then having to let go if you don't get it. I knew all this. But it's differerent living it.

And mad property prices. A kind of spring fever. Oh well, the streets are full of houses. We're moving on. Really we are.  Expect more pictures of houses in the coming weeks. I might have another glass of wine. And try and catch up on my photo sorting, time to archive winter's photos and make some new directory folders for spring. And maybe clean up my hard disk. Or go to bed. Or something.