Dinner is done. Grace is eating her m'essert (two squares of chocolate). My head slumps onto the table, what am I going to blog about tonight? I moan.
What you ate for dinner, says G. He cooked dinner and it was nice, broad bean pasta, but I'm not sure I could write a whole blog post about it.
Six thirty,says Grace. A bit enigmatic. It's certainly not the time we're eating. Especially given that I came home on the seven o'clock bus. The last bus for the night (note to self - Darebin bus review).
I open the real estate section of the local paper and realise that the house next door to where we used to live is on the front cover. Or maybe it is the one two doors up, come to think of it. Now my mind is playing tricks and I'm not sure which one it is. I look at the pictures of inside the house. Very strange to see the inside of a house that you've passed many times but never visited.
Tonight was warm. And I'm still not wearing socks. Perhaps we are finally at the change of the season. Finally.
Now, coming home along Royal Parade. It means catching three trams and a bus instead of a tram, train and bus, and it's slower. But there is something soothing about the long trip up Sydney road. I always get a seat and I can read my book or just stare out the window at the sun filled elm trees coming into leaf. People seem happier and much less dour than on the train. I don't know why that would be the case, but it makes for a pleasant journey.