Winkle escaped today. I wouldn't have known if it wasn't for the
bloke two doors down coming and knocking on the door to alert me to
Houdini's antics. He'd tried to grab her but she'd given him the slip.
(Of course I would have realised eventually except for
the small technical fact that she came home and was crying to get back
in before I could even get my shoes to launch the search). She knows
there's no place like home. It was something I thought about in the
afternoon when I saw Detroit
by final year QUT acting students. This was part of the Contemporary
America Theatre season. Set post global financial crisis, it was all
about the decaying American dream. But over and over again it talked
about how people don't know their neighbours any more. How no-one would
knock on the door next door to borrow a cup of sugar because we probably
don't know our neighbours and wouldn't want to disturb them if they
did. Well, let me tell you something. In my neck of the woods we talk to our
neighbours. The women up the road this morning dropped a handyman's card in my letterbox because she knew I was in the market for a few odd jobs . On a walk with the dogs to the UQ lakes, I ran into another couple from up the street with their dogs and we had a chat. I probably would drive down to the Nite Owl if I needed sugar but when the chips are down - like when one of my precious dogs escapes - I know my neighbours will have my back.
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