Well, there we go. I’ve moved. Not very far, but far enough that it involved most of Sunday packing up my belongings, lifting them onto Peter’s truck, and shipping them into the new place. It’s also involved most of Monday trying to work out where the hell everything is and trying not to be too disgusted by the mess.
It’s quite an adventure for me, living on my own. Never done it before. I’ve discovered that nothing happens unless you do it yourself. This is quite a revelation to me, I must admit. Perhaps I never appreciated the effort that goes into the creation of dinner, the tidying of the livingroom, or the washing of the dishes.
But not to worry. With practice I’ll get a handle on it.
I had said to Catherine that I’d meet her at the St Kilda Festival after moving all my stuff. It ended up being about 9:30pm by the time I got down there, when the beach concert was winding up with the last act, and drunken youths and empty bottles and cans were about all that was left on the streets!
It took about half an hour to reach Catherine on the phone – with all the people down there the networks must have been overloaded. We had a quiet drink in a noisy pub in Fitzroy Street before walking around for a bit and heading home.
