While Not Working

Having settled in to our house sit, wooed George from under the bed, and caught up with the family over Christmas, I decided that it was time to go for a bicycle ride.  Unfortunately NSW is so rude as to not allow bicycles on footpaths unless one is accompanying someone under the age of 12.  Not having any convenient <12 year olds on hand, I was forced, bitterly complaining all the while, onto the street. Not trusting NSWs hit -and-miss bicycle infrastructure, I had to stick to quiet back streets. On the busy front streets I simply got off my bike and walked, as becomes a country rider in the big smoke. I think my bike has been stashed out the back of our house sit for far too long. There was surprisingly little traffic on the streets, due I think to a combination of a) everyone who can has gone to Queensland for the Christmas-New Year break; b) the ones who couldn't go to Queensland are staying at home because of the plague;  and c) the rest of them are sitting somewh...

George has come out from under the bed. She has decided that we are acceptable human beings worthy of her attention and, occasionally, her time.  Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, she struts from beneath the bed to greet our bleary eyes in the morning light.  "What's wrong with you?" she seems to purr.  "Why the slow start?" What me?  Hide under a bed?  Never!   George is now so comfortable with us that she has taken to midnight gymnastics as a way of letting off steam and celebrating life.  At odd hours throughout the night we wake to George casually scratching the filing cabinet as a precursor to her calisthenics.  We lie awake in the dark, holding our breath, waiting...  ... and off she goes, a thunder of paws from the kitchen, through the living room, past our bed, a rapid u-turn outside the bathroom door and back the other way; and again; and again... George is invigorated by her midnight mazurkas.  During the day she assumes a pos...

The streets of Newtown were quiet on Christmas morning, the number of empty parking spaces bearing witness to Christmas mornings being spent somewhere else.  Three distinct groups of people were on the streets: the dog walkers out early because a dog's need for a patch of grass trumps all other needs first thing in the morning; the parents, coffee clutched in their bleary fists, nobly pushing strollers with children too young to demand presents while the other parent (presumably) revelled in a Christmas morning lie in; and random people like me who went out for a walk because they were awake and the sun was shining and they could. While out walking I found gates dressed in festive red. On Christmas Eve we stood out in the street and waved to our daughter as her plane came in overhead to land, such is the wonder of Flightradar, the interwebs, and someone else picking her up. On Christmas Day we had a delightful lunch with the full family, who of course are the best family that anyon...

Some time in the months before Christmas, somewhere near Newtown, a shop had a sale of inflatable Christmas dinosaurs. Lots of people thought that a large inflatable dinosaur was just what they needed for their 2021 outdoor festive decor, so they bought the dinosaurs and then discovered that, once inflated, they were very big. Not as big as a real dinosaur would have been, obviously, but certainly big enough to be inconvenient if you happen to live in a trendy little terrace house with a handkerchief of front lawn and second story verandah almost the size of half a vegemite sandwich.   Dinosaur #1: taking up all the available verandah space I imagine that at this stage the dinosaur purchasers may have considered the size of the dinosaur (inflated or otherwise) in relation to their rubbish bin, but were likely prevented from this course of action by children who, enamoured of dinosaurs, had welcomed the creature into the Christmas fold and called it something festive like Rudolph, o...

I don't know if you've noticed, but Roger and I like riding the trains: while we were in Adelaide we rode the entire suburban network.  Now that we're in Sydney we looked at the extensive suburban network and realised we needed to be a little more selective, just riding the train lines that looked interesting. Thus is was that, after a very pleasant family morning tea, we hopped on the southern train line which passes through the Royal National Park, skirts around industrial Woollongong and Port Kembla, and dawdles beside the sea all the way to Kiama. Off we go then! The train was almost empty: good for people who are wary of catching the plague. It took a shade over two hours to get to Kiama, with the excitement of some tunnels along the way:  one of these ensured that we didn't get to see the Sea Cliff Bridge which remains on my to-walk-along list.  Once at Kiama we went for a walk. Past the ocean swimming pool, and up to the rocks where lots of people were busy igno...

Enough about the cat. We are staying in Stanmore, just a couple of streets away from the suburb of Newtown, about 4km as the crow flies from Sydney City.  In a masterful stroke of dumb luck, we're on the happy side of the regulated parking area which means we've been able to find a spot in the street for the car and we don't have to race out and move it every two hours.  We're very reluctant to move it at all, in fact, given the difficulty of parallel parking a car with a reversing disability.  Instead of driving, we've been exploring the area on foot and by bike. The local area is chock full of old terrace houses and grungy shops; human and avian bin chickens ferret through the rubbish every morning;  walls are covered with street art, graffiti, and often an arresting blend of the two.   There are a surprising number of parks for such a densely urban area. Avian bin chicken to the fore.  Human bin chicken to the rear.  At least he's weari...

George has become a sometimes cat.  Sometimes she comes out from under the bed and sometimes, while I'm working, she sits on the window sill behind the lap top screen and watches me out of the corner of her eye. The slightest sudden move sends her back under the bed. She tolerates Roger only if he is perfectly still. There is none of Buddy's sloppy adoration in this house. George is also wary of cameras.   On Monday we went out for lunch with a different son and daughter in law, coming home stuffed full of Turkish cuisine. As we lolled on the couch, digesting, George came out from under the bed and watched carefully as we attempted to coax her with her favourite feather toy.  She could not be drawn to play. Pretending there's nobody there. On Tuesday she conceded that I existed, because I was right there beside the bed all day, beavering tediously away at work. On Wednesday she became a contrary sometimes cat, asking for the bedroom door to be opened whenever I was on the...

Sydney traffic can present difficulties with a reverse-challenged car so we took advantage of the free street parking outside our house sit, parked the car with a forward exit, and used our legs and the trains to get around. Yesterday and today we helped our son and daughter in law to move house, volunteering the car with its capacity to put down the back seats and carry lots of stuff.  This created several driving challenges for us - first we collected Son from work, having conducted reconnaissance yesterday so we knew where we were going and relying on him to provide local knowledge to get him home.  Over the two days we learnt very specific routes around a very small part of Sydney, and became reacquainted with the fact that a musician can never have too many instruments, and that the downtown vibe in Lane Cove is quite different from that of Newtown. Wrong turns were involved, one of which took us terrifyingly over the Harbour Bridge.  All I can say is, thank goodness...

George is not impressed. Her owner has flown off to lands unknown and instead of leaving George in charge she has given two total strangers the run of George's home. They sleep in the bed under which George hides and clatter about in the kitchen where her food and water are to be found. They smell, look, and sound wrong. They have put little treats out for George. George is a cat of strong (if timid) character: she will not be bought. There is a stalemate in George's home. Today the strangers went out in the morning, allowing George some blessed peace and quiet in which to do cat things and think cat thoughts. Unfortunately they came home again, banging grocery bags on the bench and yabbering on about what a short walk it was to Woolworths and how they better bring in the washing soon because it was going to rain. Rain it did. There was thunder and lightning but George was safe under her bed. The temperature dropped with the rain, the strangers grumbled about the cold, but Geor...