March 7. Day 66. Nice girls do

There's this scene from Wicked where Glinda, the Good Witch, tells her then room-mate Elphaba that she is going to give her a make-over.
"You don't have to do that , you know?" the completely underwhelmed Elphaba says with more than a touch of irony.
"I know, that's what makes me so nice! ... " Glinda replies.
...That's what makes me so nice. I thought of that today when I took my neighbour Margaret shopping for new orthotic shoes and her favourite brand of make-up her local pharmacy no longer stocks.
 Wherever we stopped and shopped Margaret took great joy in telling everyone who would listen that I was her neighbour. Repeatedly people would look at me and say something along the lines of "isn't that nice of you?". Seriously, we were going shopping. I wasn't exactly donating a kidney. Navigating the maze that is the Myer Centre is something now out of Margaret's comfort zone. Shops, I can do. Charity doesn't just begin at home. I think it makes perfect sense to extend it next door. In the end, it's as simple as this. Treat others as you would want to be treated. Some times, nice girls do.

March 6. Day 65. Pouring a bucket of cold water on it

It wasn't that long ago that people were paying large amounts of money to sponsor their nearest and dearest to have buckets of ice water thrown over their heads. Frankly, there would have been plenty around town this week who would have taken that bucket of ice water for free. In fact in the uncomfortably hot and humid autumn weather we've been having I wouldn't be surprised if people would pay to take a bucket of cold water over the head. Of course, if a refreshing bucket of water is your thing, the water play area at South Bank is about as good as it gets. The large buckets fill with water and tip randomly on the squealing kids playing underneath. Now here's the thing. It's only ever the kids. We might all be feeling hot under the collar but the adults are too "mature" to take a wall of water to the head. How dumb is that? In the 30 plus hot steamy weather we should have been queuing up. Be charitable to yourself, people. It begins at home, right?

March 5. Day 64. Desperately Seeking Susan

It takes a lot to leave me lost for words but today it happened after the weirdest case of mistaken identity ever. I was sitting alone in a cafe, a cafe I've never been to before, a cafe in a part of town I've never previously visited. A bloke carrying a motorbike helmet and wearing a bike jacket enters and comes up to me.
"Susan?" he asked.
"Yes," I answered.
So he sits down. Takes off his jacket and says he's Paul and is sorry he's late. He chats a bit about his journey and the fact he doesn't have a car which is okay unless it rains.
At this point, I can stand it no more
"Um, I'm sorry," I say, "I have no idea who you are."
He says, "You're Susan? Susan Marshall." No," wrong Susan.
We look at each other awkwardly for a bit and then he picks up the helmet and jacket and himself and walks off. Later I see him at another table with a woman of a similar age, with fair hair and wearing glasses.
Seriously, how weird is that? Two women called Susan alone in a cafe.
Later I went and had my hair cut and dyed and changed my identity. Paul, you won't be making that mistake again.

March 4. Day 63. A new day dawns

My body clock is seriously disturbed and it is messing with my head. It's like I have jetlag but without the benefit of travel. Or I sleep like a shift worker despite the fact I have a day job. Thus it was that I went to sleep about 1am and was walking around South Bank before 6. Despite the fatigue it really is a special time of day to be out and about. The light is especially nice with shadows darker than the rings under my eyes. And as an added bonus getting things done early means in the heat of the day I can nap. Like a shift worker. I just wish my ability to sleep like a baby would continue under the cover of darkness

March 3. Day 62. As the crow flies

Crows. They have something to crow about and it is nothing to do with the completely annoying sound they make. I love crows because of their unparallelled desire to get food and their refusal to let anything come between them and their next feed. Look at this bloke. Busy West End street. Road kill that just reinforces how dangerous the road is and a crow who couldn't care less. I see food. I eat food. That's a crow's life for you. It's pretty much my motto too. Never eat more than you can carry. A completely annoying noise frequently comes out of my mouth too - especially if I haven't eater. Ask my family.

March 2. Day 61. Bird brain

I blame the fatigue. The more tired I am the more likely I am likely to run around like a chook with its head cut off. Today was not my finest hour but like the little trooper I am, I tried to soldier on. Bad move. It has been said that Rumple likes to be carried, parrot-like, on my shoulder for at least part of our walk. But at the end of the day walking the dog actually involves the dog walking at some point. This means a lead is pretty much a necessity. Today I drove down to South Bank with the intention to launch our walk and photography session from there. Problem 1. No lead. A convenience store sold me rope which nearly cut off circulation in my hand but worked. Problem 2. A camera with a battery almost devoid of charge. This was my fall back shot. I tend to take a photo or two when I set out so if I see nothing else at least I go home with something. As it turns out this is also wise if you camera is about to die and the spare battery you always carry is in the other bag. Yep, not my finest hour in face I was more than a bit bird brained

March 1. Day 60. Not this little black duck

There are some stoic individuals who refuse to take pain killers. Not this little black duck.
Frankly I don't understand statements such as "Yeah, I've got this really bad headache but I don't like taking drugs ...." Well here's the thing. What I don't like is feeling as though internal combustion is happening in my skull accompanied by a chorus of a jackhammer choir. I don't actually "like" taking painkillers either not in the sense that I like going to the theatre or eating tiramisu. There is no joy in popping non-recreational drugs. The joy is in making the pain go away. I felt the freight train of a headache steaming towards me this afternoon and I made a beeline for the medicine chest. Before the glorious combination of Ibuprofen and Codeine phosphate could work their voodoo magic I was lying in a darkened room with a pillow over my head. But then the relief started to kick in leaving a sort of pain shadow. That's a feeling I like much better than the alternative. So with drugs on board I was off to walk the dog at South Bank and explore the duck pond. That's something I also like.