While Not Working

 I put out queries to several movers about moving Stuff from Melbourne to Adelaide.  A cheery woman from Instamovers rang me back.  She didn't think any of it would be a problem, in fact she had a truck going that way on Monday and all my Stuff could hitch a lift.  She quoted a price which, while more expensive than that offered by PEA Logistics, was quite reasonable should it actually come with action attached.  She was so efficient in fact that by the time I had finished talking to her the receipt for my deposit had already popped up in my email. I warned my home owner that a moving van would arrive to collect my Stuff.  "If the neighbours contact you about it," I said, "Don't worry. I'm just getting rid of my Stuff.  I'm not the slightest bit interested in any of yours."  She seemed OK with that but then again she was on her way to the airport and had entrusted me with her precious fur babies so she probably didn't have the option to fire me a...

 Spring arrived in Melbourne.  Ornamental cherries bloomed in the nature strip and the wisteria in our street put on a bold display complete with a halo of buzzing bees. BD conquered the metro/train system and moved on to independent use of level-floor trams.  She started looking for places to live and I started thinking about going home, at which point it became evident that I had a problem.  Two problems actually, not counting international shenanigans which may or may not result in diesel rationing. My first problem was the capricious citreon which still refused to start whenever things got a little hot and sweaty, and randomly lost and regained functions at the mercy of its demented little electronic brain.  I had learned how to live with the citreon while Roger diligently researched its replacement and as such it was a problem now under management.  This has nothing to do with citreon-related trauma, but there's a word for when a dog (or other hungry b...