With the Americans in tow, we have driven all over Victoria in the past few days – up into slush country at Stanley and along the top of the northern lowland slopes west to Bendigo. Maybe we were too busy talking about the bleak weather, but you could count the birds we have seen on a couple of hands – a White Winged Chough or 5, a couple of Kookaburras and a small magpie lark that careened off the windscreen on the Midland. As I left for work this morning, an Eastern Spinebill flitted amongst the foliage of one of the only non-native shrubs on my property. I have dreamed of this event for years and when I saw that flash of buff and the twisted curve of a beak, it was my natural high of this week.

Once again I find myself stuck in the synthetic world of the Telstra dome – with Dave on my left and Dad on my right – a man who lets out regular whoops of joy when Carlton score goals. And he whoops a lot tonight. In one of the few positives, maybe it’s my imagination, but the ads on the scoreboards have been lowered in volume thesdays. And suddenly the Roar meter has gone – maybe we’re so bad they should have a boo meter? The Tigers got flogged again and it was depressingly familiar – I think just to make things interesting I should try sitting in a different part of the stadium next time. And at a different level. Why do I sit in the same forward pocket every time? Or I should go back to wearing Richmond jocks again like in the mid 90’s – we won a lot of games back then. Hardly a success in the bedroom, but they got results on the field.

Today I chaperoned some tired Americans around some of Melbourne’s biggest landmarks, such as the Northcote Plaza and CeeBee Motors in Oakover Road. We shopped for food, bought some Cheezymites and bravely sought out 6 bottles of Hobart’s finest light beer. Dave told me that the northern suburbs reminded him of Hamilton, Ontario – and I’m not sure he meant that in a totally flattering way. The dogs have been civil; the day held just enough sunshine to give a favourable impression and the mechanic asked all the right questions. A great start to the visit.

Yikes, they arrive in 12 hours and there’s still dog poo all over the back deck. I have suddenly discovered how hard it is to wipe off 2 years of dust that sleeps on the fridge. The dogs have been trimmed and washed so our visitors won’t hate them and their spoilt ways. I have told them to be civil, to only speak when spoken to, and if in any doubt, to drop and obey their one great master. The Kenney’s have already brought joy to our household because they MADE ME PANIC ABOUT HOW CRAP MY HOUSE IS, and so I painted a wall, fixed a toilet and a car (indirectly), and did all the things Kim has been telling me to do for years. I feel great about this. I should invite more visitors to stay and next time it will spur me to do something crazy – like adding on an upstairs extension or moving to a new house so they could enjoy a change of scenery.

Tonight the dogs got short shrift and were guiltily left at home with a choc-drop each for their trouble as Kim and I visited the wind tunnel that is New Quay for a feed. It was a modern glass fishbowl called Live Bait set right on the water with an entrance atrium made of a thousand oyster shells glued to raw cement sheet and it looked just terrific. Despite 300 degrees of glass surrounding us, it was almost overly warm and yet the food was terrific – we talked the usual things: life in an apartment in the city, just how good was this olive oil and bread, why Rutherglen’s bakery is overrated, how funny it sounds when Kim makes Fergus imitate a coyote. The oysters were soft, the vegetables hearty, and the Riesling to die for. We paid $135 and felt it was good value. For something different, I had a Tokay instead of dessert and it was smooth and smoky.

I’ve been anticipating this baby for 4 days. Reading the forums and learning from the 19 year old experts on Weatherzone. And believe me they are experts. It rolls in with a magnificent wash of magenta and yellow bearing East, ready to float my house down the street like on December 2nd. And then it dropped away as if the northern suburbs just weren’t good enough. I could hear my Native Frangipani sighing in disbelief from the front bedroom. I’d had a couple of wines so I dropped a few expletives as I waited the 10 minutes between each radar update. It never occurred to me to go outside and look and listen. [More]

Once again my dog Fergus has escaped from the backyard. Our friendly neighbour Lyn reminded me tonight that it had been 5 TIMES NOW. I don’t know why she’s complaining – she ended up with a bottle of 1999 Coonawarra Cab Sav out of it, so that should have settled things. Whilst in class at Epping, I got a call from Kim that I later described as “a domestic emergency” before leaving class and ran for the train. $45 at Bunnings later, I emerged with 5 tightly coiled metres of some KICK-ASS RABBIT MESH that would stop a horse if applied in enough layers. 90 minutes of hammering in the warm night air (6 degrees above normal for June today) and I’d developed a bad back, and probably the ire of half Scotia St. Good luck tomorrow Fergus.

To all you get rich quick types who are whacking in grape vines and planting olive groves – I THANK YOU. Because you greedy lot are all going hell for leather trying to make a buck and ease the transition into retirement, it means that the glut has reasonable wine going for 4 bucks a bottle. We polished off 3 bottles in the last 4 nights and slept like babies. Having said that I haven’t seen Kalamata olives being sold from caravans on the side of the Calder recently, but that time will come – and I will be ready, antipasto platter in hand.

Well, since I got out of prison, I’ve taken to puttin down my thoughts to help me see clear. With that memory loss issue I got after the iron bar incident in there, this is my only way of catchin’ up on what I did last week. Here goes boyo.