What to Do With Stuff.
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...