The always lovely Ildi and I met at GOMA yesterday and spent the next 4 hours marvelling at GOMA’s 10th birthday party. The installation by an Icelandic(of course) artist who has a name like something complicated from IKEA but fortunately for Anglophones goes by “shoplifter” had to be stroked to be believed, and there was an installation in a dark gallery made simply of lighting and a smoke machine that played with your mind – in a good way. We agreed that every cent of our tax dollars that it costs is well worth while. Do yourself a favour.
It had already been a hectic and strange – even for us – day in the Cabana of Chaos. Gigantor and I were chilling as Australia came in to bat against the Pakis, when he dragged me outside to look at “the amazing sunset”.
With vibrant orange illuminating puffs of cloud, it was no sunset. The bush behind the houses on the street running along the end of ours was ablaze. I checked the police feeds and sure enough, a fire that started west of the Sunshine Motorway earlier in the afternoon had jumped the road and was heading for us.
When I saw a map on Facebook that included us in an advised evacuation zone, I had to stare at it for a few minutes until the streets that I had driven and dog-walked resolved into any sense.
Gigantor has obviously watched enough American Preppers because he had his bike – and school supplies, bless – in the car while I was still wandering in circles trying to find the cat carrier (still on loan to a friend). In that time the wind dropped, the apocalyptic glow had moved north-west of us and we decided to stay put.
I’d like to thank the crews, and relief crews, of firies that battled all night to defend us. Most of those blokes – and sheilas, if applicable – are volunteers, who, as Gigantor said, would have been having a beer or so watching the cricket until called to risk their health and lives so we could continue to enjoy ours. I was given 3 copies of the Firies’ Calendar this Christmas and wasn’t sure what to do with the overflow. Now I don’t think that was enough! Thanks, fellas. Nice work.
Less than two weeks until the Clan gathers in our formerly peaceful beach town. The shopping’s been done, the seafood has been ordered, now the panicking can commence.
Krampus is coming, dear readers. Pray for my soul, such as it is.
In response to Q and Catty. If that makes no sense you may have typed the wrong url into Chrome.
Just sold a story. Contracts not yet exchanged so details to follow, but a real-life sale of my stupid work will soon eventuate. Who thought this day would ever come?
OK, not our actual house but you know what I’m like with taking photos. The enclosure we got is very similar, but it has marine carpeting to the base, also. And an extra high shelf with ramp. The tunnel to TGP’s window is shorter and there is a lockable cat flap.
I went with this mob because they coat the metal with something that’s said to be stronger than galvanising and meant to last 10 years plus. As you know anything metal here usually rusts out in under 6 months and although I love Q’s Cat Max, I was concerned the fittings would crumble.
The good news is poor agoraphobic Flotsam can now venture out for a sunbathe. The other good news is Dad paid for 2/3 of it. Huzzah!
Better late than never? The darker coloured squares are the lovely silk/wool that Spotlight didn’t re-stock (bastards). The multicoloured wool is the Noro wool/silk – you can see in the pic how it’s a bit slubby but it feels gorgeous and is lovely to knit.
Now what shall I knit?
Ok, sure, there were crowds and queues and you couldn’t sit down – but it was fabulous. Neon-lit lion dancers, lanterns everywhere, dozens of strings of cranes hanging from a pergola thingy, and most magnificent of all – Doughnut Time!
We wandered up the road to see if there was anything on at the flicks, and wound up at San Churro having hot chocolate, because there wasn’t. It was like a night in Bangkok, except for the absence of ladyboys and poisoned cocktails.
Self-portrait having endured election campaign.