Now that I have my own parking in the Bay's shopping centre, visits into town are a breeze. We left early for a dip in the pool which always makes us feel better: both for the warm water that softens up our old bones, and because of the other visitors whose even more advanced state of decrepitude makes us feel ever so slightly better about our own condition.
We were back in the car, refreshed and freshly groomed, well before my weekly meeting with a fellow-German who is always keen to refresh his German and his memories of Germany, and so, before settling in at the local coffee shop, we briefly stopped at our favourite op-shop which was still doing a brisk trade after its Grand Re-opening last Tuesday.
Padma picked up a couple of dresses in her size which the local shops don't sell - with obesity raging, XXXL seems to be the prevailing size - while I found an interesting non-fiction book, "Comrades - Communism: A World History", and "Cupid's Poisoned Arrow - From Habit to Harmony in Sexual Relationships". I will never find out whether it is fiction or non-fiction, as at my age I bought it purely for academic pursuits.
The thing about buying books is that it has its own gentle obsession, a quiet alchemy of hope and anticipation. Some people collect wines and tuck them away in dark cellars, each bottle a promise waiting for the right moment. I do the same with books: I pile them up on the floor and later stack them on shelves, letting them breathe, saving them for the day when the world feels too horrible, or too dull, or simply too much.
The books I buy today are a future me saying, "You’ll need this one day". And so I gather them, spines like vintages, editions like terroir, each with its own flavour, its own year, its own mood. I may not "uncork" them all at once, but knowing that they're there is a comfort to me. What is also of comfort to me is that BHP, after having dropped down the lift for four consecutive days, is slowly climbing up the stairs again.
Of course, no day is ever entirely perfect: just after I'd come home, the phone rang. A pleasent-sounding male voice inquired, "Are you selling your property at Riverbend?" Having replied in the affirmative, he then continued, "We produce a television program of unusual properties, and we would like to include yours in it". Guardedly, I asked, "So what's in it for you?" "Before we start with the filming, we want to make a number of improvements for which we'd ask you to pay us the money up front".
"Would that be into a local bank, or one in Nigeria?" I ask. He hung up on me!!! Why??? If you want to lose some money, call him on 0411 843 887.
