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We got a lift into the Den of Iniquity. We walked and walked and walked up and down and round and round til we found a sign directing us to choose the Diversity Awards or the Electrical Switchboard Manufacturers function. It was a tough call.

The Bloke photographed the sign on his phone. The lighting wasn’t great and he was trying to look like he was texting. Experienced photographers will be surprised to hear that unfortunately it didn’t turn out well enough to read.

Tragically, the traffic jam in Spencer St made us too late for drinking bubbles, so we headed straight in to the meal. We had people sitting next to us who had been employed to do some sort of visual representation of the evening. I don’t know why. They had sketch books and nice fineliners. I was tempted to ask, but the people on the other side of them asked, and I couldn’t hear the answer and I didn’t want to ask them to explain it all over again. The Bloke was also tempted to ask, but then he caught a glimpse of the results and decided not to. Suffice to say, it’s amazing what corporates will pay good money for.

The food was ok as mass catering goes, the service wasn’t exactly seamless, but ok, the awards were distributed, the winners looked happy, the runners up were gracious. The music that accompanied the winner’s trips to the stage had been lifted from the Golden Globes circa 1984, and I kept wondering if it was The Golden Girls or MacGyver that was coming on next. Once that thought had come into my head ever single award made me giggle. GLBTI inclusiveness? Giggle. Mature age workers? Giggle. Migrants? Giggle. Recognising Today’s Youth as the Future of Tomorrow? Well that one got a giggle all of it’s own, seriously, today’s youth have a value as people right now, not just because they’re going to be grown up later, also, “future of tomorrow”?

There was excellent didgeridoo playing, there were bagpipes with a smoke machine (presumably evoking the misty Scottish weather) which were ok as bagpipes go, I prefer them outside. Preferably in Scotland. It was a shame that the Bloke had worn his suit rather than national dress as suggested. The Rev Tim didn’t speak for long and introduced Sir Bob, who spoke for a while and said the stuff you’d expect. It was generally ok without being rivetting, he threw in a few lecherous old pop star remarks that undermined the inclusiveness of the event by objectifying all the women present, and got a big round of applause. It was a bit ‘meh’, the corporate drawing ladies beside me thought it was great.

Now for the beach packing: we’ve had two days of hot weather here in Melbourne, so now that it’s raining I’m getting the gear together to head for the seaside. Typical. But hey, rain is good, and novel.


Now that I’ve finished the Masters, and the kid has started making a domestic contribution…


In between finding a job, and somewhere to live, I’ve got a list full of other stuff to do.

Today there was a lot of laundry, then I opped:


The kid assured me he didn’t need a nap, so he may never need the sheets I found.


Which is just as well because I’ve already started thinking of other things to do with at least one of them.


There are also six green tea cups (sans saucers, which is fine by me), 3/4 ball of pink wool/cotton blend (doll’s clothes in potentia), embroidery thread (in colours that co-ordinate with the felt I was given a little while ago) and the lad’s find.



More laundry, a haircut, and a search for a belty type thing to wear to dinner with Bob Geldof.

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