The Dank

After a hectic afternoon of work and house, I rode into town to catch up with Tim, Cowan, James, Mark and Sam.

One of the pitfalls of getting old is realising young people don't recognise Simpson's references, which reveals you rely on them for many of your internal cognition.

Case in point, I visited the new Empire Pool Lounge tonight and while it was pretty similar to the old location on West Terrace it certainly seemed a lot brighter inside than the old one. They'd gotten rid of the dank, and half the clientele wouldn't have been thinking that in Carl Carlson's voice.

Another post-forty pitfall is potentially... Gout. Do I believe I have gout despite my good diet, limited alcohol, and healthy weight? Not really. Do I have unexplained ankle and big toe pain? Gout might actually be the best option. So, I've stopped drinking alcohol completely as it was the only thing on the entire gout list that I actually consumed. This made Empire feel even brighter, and I worried that I might never win a game of pool in my life again.

Shockingly, after a few terrible games I managed to actually rediscover some muscle memory and make some shots. I think the music got louder at the same time. Maybe I should buy a pool table for the new house.

I rode my bike home in the dark with my head torch on. Initially it felt a bit risky, but because I was sober I guess that riding at 10pm in February is no more dangerous than riding home from town at 6pm in June.

I also wore a high vis vest for extra responsible safety, the opposite of dank.


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The woman with the fake tan stepped into my office, sat across from my desk and lit a cigarette.
At least, she would, sometime in the next 20 minutes. Smelling the future has advantages, but precision isn’t one of them.


Nash Day

Onwards into her twelfth year, Nash had a great today.

Starting with getting pats from strangers on the way to the cafe, she then slept from 9 to 5, before an evening walk along a very dry river with Vanessa and mother. Also featuring many servings of chicken, and four turds.

Now well past retirement age, Nash is still yet to be introduced to adult concepts like house repairs, finances, insurance and cleaning.

She has been a jerk many times, but always forgiven.

Epilogue

I came to the end of The Shepherd's Crown today, marking the end of my re-reading/mostly just reading of the Discworld novels that began back in the first winter of COVID, 2020.

Sir Terry has been dead almost a decade now, but with him being one of my writing inspirations since I was thirteen years old, I did feel fresh sadness as the book came to an end. And also when it started. The story itself deals a lot with death. And the writing, technically not even complete due to the ravages of Alzheimer's, and a bit under-cooked, was also a depressing reminder of mortality and the tragedy of dying with unfinished stories.

I can't think of any heroes that I have, but Terry Pratchett's writing was close. I started on his biography right after so that I can separate man from art, as I suspect all humans are not worthy of hero status. But stories might be. The narrative could be my hero. A hint of comedy, a clever twist, a satisfying conclusion, an endless string of sequels. Royalties. The fresh smell of paperbacks.

Anyway, no conclusion about or remedy for mortality in this article. I just thought it was worth trying to write 400 words.


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Merrijig

Australia Day (Observed)

Lavender clouds over towering hilltops. Kangaroos, cockatoos and deer. There was just enough time after sunrise to walk down the hill and back up it before the heat kicked in. A lazy morning followed: weet bix, coffee, board games, lunch, a nap.

To break the afternoon heat, we drove back down the hill and waded up the creek to a shady spot in the currents of alpine stream, camp chairs and coolers in hand.

In the dappled sun, blackberries strangled the foliage along the banks. I was wary at first, of the wading in thongs across the rocks in the throng, and of the berries themselves. The idea was to collect enough for a compote, and we slowly filled a tub, and I gave into temptation. Reach up for a berry, pluck it from between the thorns. One for the tub, one for the niece, one for me. The juicy ones in the direct sun tasted the sweetest.

The tub was filled, the creek farewelled, we returned to sit inside and eat dinner. The sun set and flashes of lightning heralded a cooler breeze. When I closed my tired eyes it seemed that the drupelets of the ripe, black fruit filled my vision top to bottom, left to right. Something instinctual had been awakened in me, but now it was time to sleep.

Yep

I took a walk this morning with Vanessa and Nash. We bought coffee from the cafe across the road and drank it on the walk home for our 8:30 meetings. I tilted my head back right before the last corner so I could swallow the final taste of flat white, and I really liked the look of the clouds.

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