Wednesday: A friend was gloating over her clear view of the mountains (and you know who you are - grin) and just at that moment the wind blew up and rattled the windows, which normally wouldn't bother me because my windows at home are chronic and persistant rattlers, why, they'll rattle if someone down the block sneezes never mind constantly with the heavier traffic these days, but these windows at work aren't the sort that are supposed to rattle. Anyways, I was hoping it was the cool change but when I nipped out for some much needed fresh-ish air I was blasted, absolutely blasted, by a hot, dry desert wind, the sort that sucks the air out of your lungs, burns the metal rims of glasses uncomfortably into faces and can be used as a mitigating factor for homicide. My plants, I wail, not that's there's anything I can do about it now. Guess who'll be on bucket duty tonight (as I tip the contents of my grey bathroom water onto thirsty pots).
Actually, smog bound as it was this morning, it was a rather spectular acid mustard coloured sunrise through the smog, with yellowed shafts of sunlight illuminating the towers of the oil refinery so it looked like some matt painting from Farscape or something. Well, I thought it did and cursed again that'd I'd forgotten digicam. I need a wee one that I can carry one for everyday use, as my dear one is old and so big people laugh at it openly. Sigh. Poor digicam. Does the job but still gets laughed at cause it's got such a fat arse. I know how it feels. This rude gent felt he had every right to push me off the footpath and into traffic as I was strolling along what's left of the boulevarde, just because I was fat. Luckily people fearing for their no claim bonus braked. If I was black there'd been an uproar, but as I'm not I'm just a silly cow who brings this upon myself, never mind that I'm fainting with hunger right now, my allowance of two plums having been eaten over eight hours ago. Whimper.
Ooops, sorry, that was a hormonal woe is me post, ditto the hunger pangs. Really, I'm pleased with the way some of the sites I've redesigned have scrubbed up. I shall endeavour to leave at a decent hour to see if I can save my plants.
Thursday:I keep getting hung up on things. I'm wearing a top that is festooned with bows and ribbons in every conceivable and inconceivable place, a malicious gift from a friend who knows my loathing for same but I was cold, it was the only thing to hand in the washing basket, so looking like insane xmas tree it is.
Yup, I was cold. Yesterday I went home in completely fanforce ovenlike conditions, deciding to hop off the battered old bus and walk because it was actually a couple of degrees cooler outide the bus rather than in it. Yes, okay, I caught the bus part way home, didn't want to make my keeling over of heatstroke an absolute certainty now, did I? By the time I get to the local shops it's splattering rain and lightning is striking the ground in a most spectacular fashion all around, against dark black boiling clouds as a storm rolls in. I shelter in the shop for a bit, then brave the wind home. Lines of evil Santas (still up) are flapping furiously in a most menacing manner. It's like the start of an episode of the X Files or something.
So I manage to squeak home the next four blocks before it arrives properly overhead, only mother has forgetten things on the shopping afterall (she never phones so I can pick them up on the way) so it's back out into the tempest I go. Leaves and branches are whipping through the air, enormous recycling bins are tumbling down the road and I realise this is an evening news storm and apparently the gusts are up to 125km and I'm certainly being buffeted. Mother says she sent me down because I was less likely to be blown over. That's adding insult to injury, that is. My birds, gripping grimly to the whipping trees, all squawk and blame me for the storm, because everything is always my fault, doncha know. The clouds split open and I get soaked to the skin by smacking heavy drops (but I still resolve to give my pots their buckets) and I'm crunching in ankle deep leaves and rubbish inside the shops as mini whirlwinds swirl around us, again, actually inside the shops that are open to the street (it's an Oz and Asian thing, to have the shops looking like an open garage that you just wander into, rather than tiny wee doors in the front, which always confuse me - it's like you have to commit to opening a door, rather than just leaning close to peer at the merchandise as you wander past). Manage to run my errands and make it back without being struck by lightning, cars or flying debris though that widowmaker I'd seen up in the trees (a large dead branch up in the gum trees about 20m off the ground and the size of a large baseball bat) thumps to the ground just behind me. If I'd dawdled, yesterday's post would have been the last (qv Seven Little Australians).
After that I braved the bucketing rain to splash my own buckets about - being under the trees my pots stay surprisingly dry, as I was, though sheltering under the trees isn't my desired spot during a storm, especially that time a few xmases ago now lightning struck the hills hoist I was nearly working under, sawing up branches to fit in the garden waste bin, and I saw the brilliant white plasma dripping from the metal clothes lines. Mum (in a supervisory position) saw it too but nobody believed us. That was The Xmas We Were Nearly Killed By Lightning. You've never seen us bolt up the back steps so fast.
So, inside, unable or rather unwilling to turn on any electrical device I value, it was dinner (saurkraut und sausages), washing up and Buffy and Angel on the old tv. Missed most of Buffy while I was washing the dishes but no matter because it was a Dawn episode and there's nothing like a Dawn episode to get me doing housework: (sings) There is nothing like a Dawn, nothing in this world, there isn't a greater yawn, than that idiot they call Dawn (okay, so the original lyrics scan better, I was justing singing as I washed, and singing better than any of the cast can, I might add).
Angel:It was the episode where Wesley goes all Shining on Fred, and too bad he didn't chop her up into bits, but it's one of their great foreshadowing episodes, where we get to see that dark side of Wes' that's been hinted at for so long, and great speeches about Wes belonging to the team, no matter his actions. Remember that speech, huh, Fred? No, the stupid little cow. Anyways, Alexis takes his scenes and runs with them, as he should. He really does a fine line in creepy British, and reminds me a lot of Roddy in that movie the other day. Rather similiar character, actually. Things that make you go hmmmm. Anyway, lots of Alexis screen time (as opposed to the usual 2 minute ration), so I was a happy puppy.
So this morning it was a blood red dawn and the sweet smell of incinerating gum trees has become more throat bitingly acrid, which means not trees have also been burnt. Being an insane tree hugger I weep at the loss of the trees, but I have a peverse love of the smell of the sweet smoke, I think it's a residual summer holiday memory thing.