Tuesday, 22 October 2013
I delayed it as long as possible, but five thirty found me tapping out the end of Day One on The Golfer's side verandah. With things up to date around six fifteen and no one else on the horizon, the rain room beckoned, but when I made my way into the boudoir Madam claimed first go there.
I was conversing with The Golfer when the phone rang. The immediate suspicion centered around The Dalby Doylamo, who has been known to call at odd hours, but it turned out to be Miss Behaviour, letting her brother know the power was out over her way.
That required a bit of investigation, so once Madam was showered I took my turn and was about to start chasing up the coffee when The Golfer returned with the news that it was an electrician's job.
Nothing like a bit of early morning excitement to add a dash of spice to the day. A healthy dash of Tabasco added a bit of spice to the bacon and eggs for breakfast. Actually, as the range of options was rattled off I was inclined towards toast and a substantial splash of vitamin B. frequent references to bacon and eggs swayed me, and while they were getting the fry pan treatment Terry revealed that he only gets to eat bacon and eggs when he has visitors.
Obviously, my presence was an excuse to indulge. That's a fact I've slotted away for future reference.
Breakfast was a leisurely affair, and once it was out of the way the procedure that lead up to the crosstown drive was a leisurely affair until we crossed Ross River Road and found ourselves in the early morning rush that comes with an arterial road on a working day in a major city.
Still, we were there in plenty of time for a 9:20 departure and things from there on were pretty unremarkable.
As they should be. You don't want remarkable occurrences on an airline flight, do you?
The main consideration at this point was the choice of reading matter over the next few days, particularly the transit section. I'd downloaded a free copy of John West's History of Tasmania, figuring it was something that could be dipped into for travelogue purposes, but a detailed tome written in 1852 isn't in transit reading. Research material, yes. In flight, I don't actually want to be thinking too much. Reading? Definitely not.
I had, however, bought a Kindle version of Clochemerle, Gabriel Chevalier's wonderful little masterpiece set in the Beaujolais region of France. Perfect fit for these purposes. I'd read it already, didn't have to finish it if I started, and there's some wonderful character depiction that might rub off on some of my own fiction. Just what the doctor ordered.
In fact, I was too engrossed in Clochemerle to notice the couple of handcuffed juvenile offenders being escorted onto the flight before the rest of us boarded. On that basis, I'd suggest I got the reading matter right.