Rubbish, radio, food, electrician, drugs

The last week or so has been rubbish.

It kicked off on Friday night (a week ago) with a pair of unpleasant texts from a work colleague and improved shortly after with a request from a friend to forgive our mutual comrade. Forgiven, but the week has been draining.

I was on the radio again, or at least recorded a podcast.

This weekend has been busy, if not all of happy face. W and I swept up all the leaves under the fig tree, mulched the Japanese maple, fed the citrus, pruned both the fig and the lavender and fed curry to the chickens.

I also cooked like a demon, at least like a relaxed wine-glass-in-hand-cooking kind of demon, taking the long, slow road to:

• lamb shanks with root vegetables;
• cassoulet (the spell check is suggesting "cassowary"); and
  
• the filling for a chicken, bacon and mushroom pie to have during the week.
  

This afternoon we went for a walk along Darebin Creek. Nothing like a marathon length, except in the mind of the dog, who clearly wondered whether it would ever end and whether we'd have to eat the wounded. Al and I installed a new bathroom light/heater/fan on a whim and had to race to get it done before darkness. Note to self: never do anything that requires turning the power off late on winter's afternoon.

It did make me realise that replacing a light fitting without an electrician is the closest I get to setting out to break the law these days. My wild-and-crazy credentials have been lost in the mail; my anarchist epaulets stripped and replaced with an honourary cable-knit cardigan (and bar). The last time buying drugs gave me a thrill was when the pharmacist gave me cold and flu tabs with real pseudoephedrine (as opposed to fake pseudoephedrine, which I suppose is ephedrine). All this conspires to make me feel that I am both older and well into my anecdotage. Did I tell you about the time that Binky, Fluffer, Fatty Narwhinkle-Smith and I set fire to time?

But, as the magistrate said to the lads he was sending to the cells following joint-and-several acts of public indecent affection, "you should take this time to pull yourselves together." So I'll try and pull myself together. In a mental health kind of way, he hastened to add.