Not about anything much

I should really go to bed, but feel the day is not yet finished. Nor have I done any reading today.

This is my 'busy' day. I fly out the door early to catch the bus to the city to get to the Italian class. Our teacher, who always used to arrive late, has been startling us with his punctuality this term. There are a couple of new people in the class, and so far they seem to fit in very well, and may even belong to the race that knows Joseph.

After this class I go to an art history lecture, which are generally excellent, where I meet the friend with whom I travelled to Italy. It was pleasant to discuss the trip and how much we both enjoyed it.

By the time I arrived home, I really did not feel like doing anything much. So I didn't. Dr P finished off the pea and ham soup, and I had pasta, then sat down to vegetate in front of the TV. My mind was not greatly improved by this.

We had friends over for lunch on Sunday - a spur of the moment thing organised on Saturday. Because I had an all day choir practice on Saturday I had no time to cook anything, and so decided to buy salads, cold meats and smoked salmon on Sunday morning. When I left to go shopping I checked the walls of the house (I always do this because I am now justifiably paranoid) and found there were four large graffitis, three on one wall and one in the lane. It took me an hour to clean them off, and they are still visible. One was so high I had to stand on a chair to reach it. It took more than one bottle of graffiti remover.

All of this did nothing for my sweetness and light levels, but I soldiered on personfully, and did the shopping in record time, and set off for home. This took twice as long as usual - BECAUSE - the traffic was jammed a long way back, due to the fact that some idiot (possibly the Premier?) had approved an event which involved closing the Sydney Harbour Bridge for hours, in order for TURF to be laid across its length and breadth, following which 6000 allegedly fortunate but possibly psychologically disturbed people could have a picnic on the Bridge. After the picnic the turf had to be removed, of course.

I cannot comprehend why anyone could possibly think this event was a good idea, and the pages containing the letters columns in the newspaper have been spontaneously combusting from the outraged comments of those who were inconvenienced by the closure, and from the rest of the people who think it was just plain stupid.

(When we arrived in Brescia the piazza in front of the cathedral was being transformed into a garden with plants, seats, stage and catering facilities for a fashion and design event. To restore the piazza to its original condition took the next two days, but at least they were not blocking off a major traffic route.)

Notwithstanding the graffiti and the traffic jams, we had an excellent and enjoyable long lunch, and there is a lot to recommend going out and buying ready prepared food, especially when Dr P opined that although he enjoyed the potato salad, it was not as good as mine. (Of course not.)

In other news the nasturtiums have gone mad, the fuchsia is blooming, everything is growing, but the kaffir lime tree yet again is not setting its fruit. Why not?

The day has now finished. And so to bed.