...if it ain't got that swing. Thusly we learneth to swing dance. My poor motor cortex absolutely siezes up whenever it is required to do much more than move legs in perambulatory fashion and not walk into things, so this will be a long and slow process, people. Perhaps the Curmudgeon should invest in steel-capped boots.

But eventually, with liberal addition of pep, pinstripes and beret, we'll be just like this:

A few years back, I went to some salsa dancing lessons with a friend of mine. It didn't last long, mostly because all the blokes there were short which has two serious dancing repurcussions:

   1. they can't spin me because they can't bloody reach my arm when I lift it (kinda like when you torture small children by holding a lollypop just out of their reach. Not that I do that. Much.)

   2. their eyes are at... ermm...  chest height. Awkward.

But my Curmudgeon is nice and tall. Hurrah.

I got a phone call from Ma this morning saying it was snowing at her house. Further evidence for Global Weirdening. Little Johnny take note.

It's not often that I burst into tears while walking the dog in the morning. I cry easily when emotional - not something I'm delighted about, but there you have it - and seeing my Curmudgeon standing at my front gate at 7.30am, all dapper in his coat and holding a big bunch of red lilies, started up the waterworks. He also brought me a beautiful and thoughful shiny thing that I adore, and took me out for breakfast at Babka. 

I met him a year ago today. And remarkably, he's still here! He puts a little dance in my step and a big stupid grin on my mug, and I'm so glad to have him around.

Happy anniversary, Grumpy One.

I was walking Squid recently, and she was bumbling along in her typical chunky, slightly uncoordinated way. A man on a bike passed us, spotted Squid, smiled, circled us, and stretched his arms out so that he rode on doing an excellent aeroplane impersonation. Then a woman on a bike passed him and grinned. It was splendid to watch.

A similar thing happened this morning as I emerged from the underground train station and headed up the stairs. A Big Issue vendor suddenly bellowed "GOOD MORNING! Smile on this incredible Monday morning, everyone!!" His cheer was virulent and contageous, and us working plebs, trudging towards a day in the office, were lifted out of the everyday.

The Gods smileth upon me again. Poor Curmudgeon, though; he always seems to be with me when I find treasure upon the curbside, and his gallantry means that he feels obliged to carry it for me. In this case, it was a fabulous and ancient office hat-rack that was in a skip outside a building being gutted. The base of it was cast iron so that puppy weighs a lot, especially when you're carrying it hope at midnight after a night out. But how splendid it looks in my hallway. And how happy are my hangables, like rain jacket and dog lead.

The were nice to me at Camberwell Market this morning too, although I nearly incited a family riot when Daughter told me the thread spools were 5 for a dollar, and Mother expanded at length, passionately, colourfully, and in rapid Greek, that they were 50c EACH. Fortunately Daughter appeared to have final say and Mother stormed off, probably to write Daughter out of the will or somesuch.

*CONFESSION/DISCLAIMER: I broke all the rules of NaBloPoMo by not posting yesterday and putting this in retroactively. I just wasn't near a computer yesterday. But I wrote it in my head, which sorta makes it OK...

Heheh, I like a surprise. I like to surprise my Ma most of all. Yesterday I loaded Ferris, my trusty and beloved bike, onto a V/Line train and trucked out to the station closest to her country estate. Then I rode Ferris for an hour and a half to her house and happily noodled down her driveway unannounced. She was pretty stoked and I was very pleased with myself for finally testing out the bike ride. It's a little gruelling, as it's uphill most of the way, but the scenery is lovely and the passing traffic was mostly very thoughtful and cautious. There was even time to stop off at the church op shop as I rolled into town - a solid gold op shop it is, too, where I have left many a gold coin, because that's all that anything ever costs.

So I played with Maggie the collie, who has filled out nicely so that you can no longer feel razor-sharp hip bones protruding and xylophone ribs, and knows how to work her charisma and goddess-like beauty. Ma and I toured her garden and ate lunch and gasbagged. I napped on the couch and drank tea. Then she loaded Ferris and I into the car and took us back to the station (as a return ride was completely out of the question for me!!).

I think I'll reward Ferris for his uncomplaining and faithful service over the past 9 years with a superdeluxe tune-up, and a spanking new set of paniers,

...why a car is a useful and good thing to have around.

One of them is for when you go on a late-Thursday-evening IKEA run to find a frame for the gorgeous 1970s Victorian Education Department poster of the life cycle of the apple tree that your very thoughtful friend with a great eye for things you'd like gave you, and you smash the frame while trying to haul it home on your bike.

Ooops.

It's the Curmudgeon's last day at his 'suboptimal' (I'm trying soooo hard not to be slanderous) job today. He starts a New and Improved Employment Adventure the week after next. I'm terribly excited for him because his old gig has made him quite unhappy for some time. I've been trying to get him to be all sloppy and irresponsible on his last couple of days, such as not shaving off the significant beardage he grew over the long weekend, and answering queries and requests with "Nup. Leaving. Do it yourself." After all, what repurcussions could there be? But the bloody man has this irritating consciencious streak and trotted off to work yesterday, smooth of face and crisp of shirt, and is being all grown-up and leaving gracefully. Bah.

The bloke who shared my lane at the pool this morning had 1.5 arms and 1.5 legs. Speed and stamina-wise, he left me for dead. Now, if he can swim like the Dickens, surely I, with my full complement of limbs, will eventually be able to do the same. 1.7km and counting...

After a couple of months of the cultural smugness one is permitted to display when one doesn't own a telly, I am once again besmirched by the presence of a hulking eejit box in my living room. Oh how it gobbles time and provides a droning soundtrack to my domestic life. Suddenly I find myself caring about fictional people again, when a few weeks ago I couldn't give a fig. Grrr.

The Curmudgeon and I went on A Nadventure today... a bike ride from Hurstbridge to St Andrews and back. I confess we took the shortcut back because we overestimated the fitness of ourselves and our bikes. Mine hasn't been quite the same since I got hit by a car, and his hasn't been the same.... since about 1994, and having spent the intervening years out in the elements and starved of lubricants. I had a good time. He hated it. But we both enjoyed the muffin from the Post Office Cafe on the train home, and we were lucky to see an echidna and pulled over to watch it snuffle about in the rocky soil.

I get Squiddy back tomorrow and I'm glad. I'm missing the little thug. The wind blew the dog door last night and my subconscious registered a chunky puppy entering the room. I was disappointed to find she wasn't there.