I have been watching quite a lot of tennis recently, and the Australian Open is being played in Melbourne. Despite the irritating verbiage often spouted by the commentators, a lot of the viewing is engrossing. But I do think the commentators ought not babble on non-stop, and someone (me?) should give them lessons in how not to say the bleeding obvious very often, and how not to sound fatuous and sententious all the time. They seem to really enjoy the sound of their own voices. As a blogger, I can sympathise, but there should be limits.
Last night's match, which kept me up until 2 am, was between Novak Djokovic and Stanislaus Wawrinka. It went for five sets, and the tennis was wonderful. I am no expert, mind, not having excelled at the game myself, and with my dodgy focus I miss things. All my sisters played far better. Were an eagle to have had eyesight like mine, it would long since have starved to death.
Anyway, there I sat, glued to the TV for hours. Five, I think. Finally Djokovic won, and his winning shots were superlative, and all viewers must have gasped with admiration.
All this compulsive viewing was very exhausting, but I rose up this morning and went for the walk. Not such a long one today. Often I follow the foreshore, walking under a very large bridge, which some years ago was widened by the construction of another span. Once into the park, there are a number of different routes to be tried.
This morning when I walked underneath the bridge, there was an extremely large and ugly graffiti on it - a nasty big face, all in black paint. It was not there yesterday, and must have been done at low tide, as otherwise you cannot get across to the pylon. It is interesting to look at the water and see the sand at low tide, and all the rocks, covered with oysters, which would very probably be too polluted to eat.
In the park there is an area which has some exercise equipment, and a noticeboard. One notice advertised the telephone number of the graffiti removal people. Accordingly I rang them up and notified them of this latest defacement of the environment. It took a while to get through. Then the young man had never heard the word pylon, so I had to spell it for him, and tell him what it meant. And provide him with all my particulars, including my date of birth.
Being a good, albeit sometimes grumpy, citizen is hard work. I shall await the results of my telephone call with interest.
Why not getting to sleep until well after 2 am should make one feel sick all day long is a mystery. Instead of going back to bed I have tidied up the bookshelves near the kitchen, which may perhaps make some things easier to find - the sticky tape, the tape measures, pens and pencils, the various tools and other things which excel in generating chaos. Perhaps all this paraphernalia breeds overnight. Perhaps there are elves.
My sister seemed tempted to tidy me up. She is a tidy soul. But no thanks! I am the way I am.
This morning I rang Fernando. Christmas and New Year are over, and so it is time he came back, as promised, to prop up the joists, so as to stop the floor bouncing as you walk through. He promised to come soon: let's hope he means it.