'When your little boy is given a fast-food voucher by football players visiting his school, you've got talkback radio programmes you can ring,' Adelaide said then sniffed. She twisted the ring on her finger around and around again.
'But when you take your children to perform a song at a cultural event and the manufacturers of the sticky black drink thrust a can of sticky black drink in their hands after the children come off the stage...' Adelaide took a breath, sniffed, cleared her throat, then spoke. 'There's nowhere you can go.'
The mothers, fathers, grandmothers and carers Adelaide was addressing nodded their heads.
The children thrust their cans at their mothers, fathers, grandmothers and carers and said can you open this then took their first sips of the sticky black drink as their mothers, fathers, grandmothers and carers looked on.
'Life,' Adelaide said, 'is a decaying slope.'
Friday, March 31, 2006
Tuesday, March 28, 2006
the places jealousy takes people
Adelaide carried the cup of tea to her husband. She had put one and a tiny bit spoons of sugar and topped it up with a cold water splash. Just the way he liked.
'Thanks love,' he said. He did not look away from the TV. She put the plate with his cheese and biscuit on the table next to the lounge, then took a seat.
'You know I just love that Tony Jones,' Adelaide said. 'I think he's gorgeous. I'd marry him.'
Adelaide's husband blew on his tea, then took a slurp.
'Even though he wears a wig?' he asked.
'Thanks love,' he said. He did not look away from the TV. She put the plate with his cheese and biscuit on the table next to the lounge, then took a seat.
'You know I just love that Tony Jones,' Adelaide said. 'I think he's gorgeous. I'd marry him.'
Adelaide's husband blew on his tea, then took a slurp.
'Even though he wears a wig?' he asked.
the second list
After installing her new desk (which would inspire creativity and greatly improve efficiency) and cleaning her study for three days, Adelaide still could not find a home for:
1. Three pairs of old glasses, one in a good and robust case. All unscratched, but unflattering
2. Large box of rubber bands
3. Anne Geddes gift bag - really not Adelaide's cup of tea, but still in very good condition
4. Coaster...ooh, that fits just nicely next to computer
5. UniSA photocopy access card from brief encounter as an academic several years ago
6. Cassette of INXS: the swing, still in its original case
7. One child's sock
8. Two bookmarks from Griffith Review Making Perfect Bodies edition
9. One lipstick best described as off-coffee. Unmelted
10. One 45c Christmas stamp
11. One large bent paperclip, one large unbent paperclip
12. Child's coathanger
13. Small rusty photoframe
14. Ticket for London buses
15. Several copies of two different types of business cards
16. Two wooden dolly pegs
17. One packet of very, very small rubberbands
18. Assorted rubber bands likely to break the next time they are used
19. Four hair bands
20. Various coins from far-off shores
21. Roll of cheap, thin sticky tape
22. Two snowmen from the carriage of a Swiss-made Christmas train which was carried all the way back to Australia by a loving Granny
23. Hungry Hippos marble
24. Backup disk of a much-loved, but going nowhere, long piece of fiction
25. Adelaide(confidential) contact details ripped from the pages of The Advertiser
26. Two written, addressed, stamped and unsent Christmas cards
27. Line up of the usual suspects of badges (it's timor's oil; peace in the world begins at home; vote 1 greeens etc etc etc)
28. Photo of The Mister one sunset at Death Valley
29. Frequent flyer points card
30. Decaying plastic peg (faded blue)
31. One cassette of Chinese pop star bought twenty years ago on first overseas trip
32. Business card of one old friend Adelaide had bumped into at the market one day and who had said we must catch up soon with such confidence Adelaide had thought perhaps they might
1. Three pairs of old glasses, one in a good and robust case. All unscratched, but unflattering
2. Large box of rubber bands
3. Anne Geddes gift bag - really not Adelaide's cup of tea, but still in very good condition
4. Coaster...ooh, that fits just nicely next to computer
5. UniSA photocopy access card from brief encounter as an academic several years ago
6. Cassette of INXS: the swing, still in its original case
7. One child's sock
8. Two bookmarks from Griffith Review Making Perfect Bodies edition
9. One lipstick best described as off-coffee. Unmelted
10. One 45c Christmas stamp
11. One large bent paperclip, one large unbent paperclip
12. Child's coathanger
13. Small rusty photoframe
14. Ticket for London buses
15. Several copies of two different types of business cards
16. Two wooden dolly pegs
17. One packet of very, very small rubberbands
18. Assorted rubber bands likely to break the next time they are used
19. Four hair bands
20. Various coins from far-off shores
21. Roll of cheap, thin sticky tape
22. Two snowmen from the carriage of a Swiss-made Christmas train which was carried all the way back to Australia by a loving Granny
23. Hungry Hippos marble
24. Backup disk of a much-loved, but going nowhere, long piece of fiction
25. Adelaide(confidential) contact details ripped from the pages of The Advertiser
26. Two written, addressed, stamped and unsent Christmas cards
27. Line up of the usual suspects of badges (it's timor's oil; peace in the world begins at home; vote 1 greeens etc etc etc)
28. Photo of The Mister one sunset at Death Valley
29. Frequent flyer points card
30. Decaying plastic peg (faded blue)
31. One cassette of Chinese pop star bought twenty years ago on first overseas trip
32. Business card of one old friend Adelaide had bumped into at the market one day and who had said we must catch up soon with such confidence Adelaide had thought perhaps they might
Sunday, March 26, 2006
the first list
Things in Adelaide's life which have not delivered on their promise:
1. Tea towel holder: there's more to life than looking good
2. MP3 player
3. As many tertiary qualifications as you can count on one hand (excluding the thumb). Could it be time to make a decision?
4. Microfibre cleaning cloths: constructed from the latest technology to be used with nothing more chemical than water and bought at no small expense - as Adelaide's friend had advised 'someone still needs to flap them around the place'
5. Belize: a zillion tourists a year love it, one or two do not
6. Any number of organisational things bought from seductive stationery stores
7. Anti-cellulite cream, anti-ageing cream, fat reduced cream
8. Our ABBC: just because it's studded with English accents doesn't make it high quality
10. Quantum physics for dummies: whether that book has been published or not is irrelevant
1. Tea towel holder: there's more to life than looking good
2. MP3 player
3. As many tertiary qualifications as you can count on one hand (excluding the thumb). Could it be time to make a decision?
4. Microfibre cleaning cloths: constructed from the latest technology to be used with nothing more chemical than water and bought at no small expense - as Adelaide's friend had advised 'someone still needs to flap them around the place'
5. Belize: a zillion tourists a year love it, one or two do not
6. Any number of organisational things bought from seductive stationery stores
7. Anti-cellulite cream, anti-ageing cream, fat reduced cream
8. Our ABBC: just because it's studded with English accents doesn't make it high quality
10. Quantum physics for dummies: whether that book has been published or not is irrelevant
Saturday, March 25, 2006
grandmother's advice
Adelaide had never regretted that she did not follow her grandmother's advice to marry a man with money.
But she sometimes wondered whether a grown man should spend quite that much money on milk rock.
But she sometimes wondered whether a grown man should spend quite that much money on milk rock.
one small step
Adelaide had just worked out what she was doing wrong on bloglines, and it was quite obvious once you realised. In actual fact, it wasn't that hard.
That meant that she could now check for blog updates using bloglines.
Which meant that she would no longer be opening all her carefully bookmarked favourites using the exceptionally useful separate tabs facility in firefox several times a day.
Which, for her, meant that blogging was going to be more efficient and less time consuming.
And which, for everyone else, meant a decline in site statistics.
That meant that she could now check for blog updates using bloglines.
Which meant that she would no longer be opening all her carefully bookmarked favourites using the exceptionally useful separate tabs facility in firefox several times a day.
Which, for her, meant that blogging was going to be more efficient and less time consuming.
And which, for everyone else, meant a decline in site statistics.
Friday, March 24, 2006
dishes
Adelaide was unsurprised to discover that the 'ecological' powder for automatic dishwashers was more expensive and less effective than other brands. Could it be there was no such as an ecological dishwasher?
setting limits
Ever since she became a school mum, Adelaide had been trying to find the latest possible time she could get out of bed and still make it to school on time.
8.20 was too late to do it with dignity.
8.20 was too late to do it with dignity.
Thursday, March 23, 2006
were you listening to a single word I said?
Adelaide was out of the carpark, at the very end of North Terrace, over every intersection on West Terrace, past Officeworks and that building with the sign that reads the temperature (32 degrees - no wonder she was more than a little flustered and she had known not to wear these heavy jeans), past (always, always past and never, never in) the world's largest furniture showroom and the Hungry Jack's where her best friend had got her first job after school, and well into the Anzac Highway palm trees before she cottoned on.
That was the boxing they were broadcasting on the radio.
That was the boxing they were broadcasting on the radio.
Oh dear. Oprah made sense
Adelaide, who watched Dr Phil because it was safer than seducing the postie again, was watching Oprah while the Commonwealth Games were on. It meant delaying her lunch by an hour, but that's the beauty of working from home.
And so it was that she was able to catch up with the man who had brought He's Just not that into You to the rest of the world. It was a book - a trend, a movement - which had previously passed Adelaide by. As these things so often do.
Adelaide took a spoon of the reheated pasta she was having for lunch as she listened to the women asking this experienced man for his advice.
'We've been running in the mornings for about two months, and he emails me every now and then, but he never asks me out,' one woman says.
'Well,' the man - whose name Adelaide hadn't quite caught - leaned forward in his seat. Goodness, Adelaide thought. What wise words is going to offer this woman? The man spoke. 'He's just not that into you,' he said.
Oh, Adelaide thought. It seems so brutal, doesn't it?
She scooped as much mushroom onto her spoon as she could. It was a good decision to buy the small swiss buttons this week. She took another spoon. And she was glad she had changed from Bulgarian to Danish feta this week. It's hard to break out of shopping ruts, but it's always worth the effort, she thought.
Adelaide listened to the next couple.
'He says that he loves me, but he's not in love with me,' the woman said.
'It's timing as much as anything,' the man said. 'I think I want to marry her, but I'm just not sure.'
It was obvious what the author man was going to say. But it was Oprah took Adelaide by surprise.
'It's okay to have doubts,' Oprah said (or something quite close to that). 'If you're having doubts it usually means no.'
Oh dear, Adelaide thought. Is this the light bulb moment Oprah was famous for.
'Remember how yes feels,' Oprah said (or something quite close to that).
Adelaide looked into her bowl. There was enough for two spoons left. Should she eat the last of the mushrooms first? Or the last of the feta first?
''Yes' resonates,' Oprah said.
Oh, Adelaide thought. Could it be as simple as this? Could all the sleepless nights be left behind after just half an episode of Oprah?
What if yes resonates in your heart and your soul and in your very depths. But your brain - which knows all of the dangers - is screaming no?
Adelaide chose the spoon of mushrooms and chewed them slowly, waiting for the ads to come on.
She couldn't wait for the Commonwealth Games to finish. Dr Phil never made Adelaide think like this.
And so it was that she was able to catch up with the man who had brought He's Just not that into You to the rest of the world. It was a book - a trend, a movement - which had previously passed Adelaide by. As these things so often do.
Adelaide took a spoon of the reheated pasta she was having for lunch as she listened to the women asking this experienced man for his advice.
'We've been running in the mornings for about two months, and he emails me every now and then, but he never asks me out,' one woman says.
'Well,' the man - whose name Adelaide hadn't quite caught - leaned forward in his seat. Goodness, Adelaide thought. What wise words is going to offer this woman? The man spoke. 'He's just not that into you,' he said.
Oh, Adelaide thought. It seems so brutal, doesn't it?
She scooped as much mushroom onto her spoon as she could. It was a good decision to buy the small swiss buttons this week. She took another spoon. And she was glad she had changed from Bulgarian to Danish feta this week. It's hard to break out of shopping ruts, but it's always worth the effort, she thought.
Adelaide listened to the next couple.
'He says that he loves me, but he's not in love with me,' the woman said.
'It's timing as much as anything,' the man said. 'I think I want to marry her, but I'm just not sure.'
It was obvious what the author man was going to say. But it was Oprah took Adelaide by surprise.
'It's okay to have doubts,' Oprah said (or something quite close to that). 'If you're having doubts it usually means no.'
Oh dear, Adelaide thought. Is this the light bulb moment Oprah was famous for.
'Remember how yes feels,' Oprah said (or something quite close to that).
Adelaide looked into her bowl. There was enough for two spoons left. Should she eat the last of the mushrooms first? Or the last of the feta first?
''Yes' resonates,' Oprah said.
Oh, Adelaide thought. Could it be as simple as this? Could all the sleepless nights be left behind after just half an episode of Oprah?
What if yes resonates in your heart and your soul and in your very depths. But your brain - which knows all of the dangers - is screaming no?
Adelaide chose the spoon of mushrooms and chewed them slowly, waiting for the ads to come on.
She couldn't wait for the Commonwealth Games to finish. Dr Phil never made Adelaide think like this.
Monday, March 20, 2006
a note on sport
In the last little while, Adelaide had opened a letter from Port Power reminding her the first game of the season (the real season, we don't count that pre-season rubbish) was just around the corner, and a thrill had pulsed through her veins.
She had taken her youngest child to a gym-type thing where together they had balanced on beams and bounced on trampolines.
She had been to school athletics and helped to teach five year olds how to fling a discus.
And she had watched several hours of the Commonwealth Games.
And it was strange for Adelaide to have her days filled with sport, because Adelaide was the kind of athlete who had been picked third to last at school games (she couldn't run, or hit or catch, but she didn't have bugs).
Adelaide was the kind of athlete who won best team player because she volunteered to stand out when her netball team made the finals.
Adelaide went to possibly the only school in the world with a house colour of purple. And Adelaide was the kind of athlete who had been the direct target of the chant purple's as slow as a turtle. More than once, more than twice, more than thrice.
Adelaide's mother had offered Adelaide this as consolation: we are the only ones who get to be in the race and watch it too.
Like much of Adelaide's mother's wisdom it was good for a laugh at dinner parties, but useless when you were ten.
She had taken her youngest child to a gym-type thing where together they had balanced on beams and bounced on trampolines.
She had been to school athletics and helped to teach five year olds how to fling a discus.
And she had watched several hours of the Commonwealth Games.
And it was strange for Adelaide to have her days filled with sport, because Adelaide was the kind of athlete who had been picked third to last at school games (she couldn't run, or hit or catch, but she didn't have bugs).
Adelaide was the kind of athlete who won best team player because she volunteered to stand out when her netball team made the finals.
Adelaide went to possibly the only school in the world with a house colour of purple. And Adelaide was the kind of athlete who had been the direct target of the chant purple's as slow as a turtle. More than once, more than twice, more than thrice.
Adelaide's mother had offered Adelaide this as consolation: we are the only ones who get to be in the race and watch it too.
Like much of Adelaide's mother's wisdom it was good for a laugh at dinner parties, but useless when you were ten.
Sunday, March 19, 2006
the consolidated liveblog post
In what Adelaide believes is a unique experience...liveblogging the South Australian election (although Adelaide isn't sure what liveblogging actually means).
ABC 891 is off to a shaky start. Hello? Yes, boys, it is the evening. Tim Noonan out at South Australia's most marginal seat.
Adelaide makes a big call: either Vini or Nigel will win (remember you heard it here first).
And it's still the eminently watchable Michael Smyth on the television (from what Adelaide can hear over the top of the Hungry Hippos - Adelaide asks, not for the first time, how can greatness be achieved?).
Adelaide is still disappointed that Antony Green can't be with South Australia this evening. Apparently, things will be more interesting down there in Tasmania.
broadcast interrupted to stop children jumping on each other's backs - Circus Oz had seemed like a good idea at the time
!!In a serious blunder never made on election night before, Adelaide realises she has already finished the last of the wine, leaving only (red) bubbles in the fridge.
Adelaide predicts: the liveblog will end in a mess. Adelaide has, at least, fed herself (and her family of course).
Anthony Green's voice can be heard, but it is 6.23 and he has nothing useful to say.
Kerry O'Brien has arrived. Adelaide's husband will be home soon. Two Chrises on the radio. Kevin Foley and Nick Minchin on the television - Adelaide is hard-pressed to pick the difference between the two. Adelaide searches for glasses, but nothing becomes any clearer. Dean Jeansch is there too.
6.34
First figures in. 1.1%
Enfield - Green vote strong. Slight swing to the Libs according to Chris Pyne.
Collinswood - 239 votes counted.
We are not at the business end of the evening, Adelaide reminds herself.
Dean Jeansch talks about the .1% counted in Stuart, and Gunn is looking good. Adelaide says: too early to call.
erm...Adelaide notes that hers is the lone female voice commenting on this election...and no one can hear hers. Adelaide struggles with the cork on the bubbles.
Chris Pyne's scrutineer rings in. The Brighton booth (in Bright) has been won by Chloe Fox. A swing of 11% to the ALP. Chris Schacht has a note of urgency in his voice. Chris Pyne says it doesn't sound good. CS says the ALP hasn't won that booth for twenty years. Adelaide concedes that Possum Magic is a good book. The radio is interviewing Chloe Fox.
On the television, Dean Jeansch is telling Kerry why they haven't got the results from the metropolitan results yet and they can't comment on Bright. Adelaide wonders isn't anyone in the television studio listening to the radio?
Still, the thing about television is that you can see Vini resplendent in pink, but we have no idea what Chloe Fox was wearing.
6.52
Adelaide calls it: Labour to win. It's a Rann-slide.
Adelaide publishes to make it official.
(part two)
Adelaide's husband has returned. Hooray. With some effort, he gets the cork off the bottle. 'You win the prize,' Adelaide's children yell.
Meanwhile on the television, they are talking about Chaffey. Someone needs to tell Foley how to pronounce that woman's name. Given that she's going to be in Cabinet.
Wonder what the ALP backbenchers think about her place in Cabinet, Nick Minchin asks (not unreasonably).
Of course, looks aren't everything in a political commentator, but Adelaide believes that a man with a beard should also have a moustache (note: Adelaide is not wearing pearls).
Still no word on Unley, Adelaide notes, and what a pity that we don't know anything about the Upper House.
Vini appears to be holding Norwood. Which is a pity, because if Nigel Smart won, Adelaide had intended to write 'and who said an arts degree didn't get you anywhere'.
Adelaide sets herself a task:
Describe the difference between Nick Minchin and Kevin Foley in 25 words or less. Kevin Foley goes for Power?
News on Unley. People will vote for Vini and not Michael Keenan? Adelaide shakes her head.
Adelaide receives notice that she has had stunning ebay win (mild compensation for having lost on a Trixie Belden auction earlier in the day).
Stunning revelation of the night:
Angus Redford what happened? Why did you lose?
Angus Redford: I didn't get enough votes.
Matthew Abraham makes a Possum magic joke about an hour after Adelaide first made it. How ace is this blog? How cutting edge? How on the ball?
Adelaide can not keep up with the radio and the television, and wishes that she had wireless which worked.
Adelaide publishes the post. Is this how liveblogging works?
(part three)
Congratulations to you-know-who and to her magic, magic team. And to people who might have stuffed envelopes for her in the past.
7.51
It's all over, and there's still half a bottle of red bubbles to go. The wise thing would be to leave them where they are.
Hartley is swinging, and Nick Minchin is looking glum.
This is objective coverage, so Adelaide makes no comment.
Leon Bignell has won with a slogan of ticketty-boo. South Australian politics at its best.
8.06
Adelaide teaches her child to sms.
Joan Hall has lost! Adelaide wonders whether she heard right.
Nick Minchin is looking even more glum. Chris Pyne is sounding glum.
Adelaide - who knows a thing or two about Stuart - isn't sure how she feels about that being Lib retain. Should election night make your heart ache? Grief is a complex beast.
Oh. There's Dominique Schwartz. A rather credible female voice. Perhaps more credible than Adelaide's.
Adelaide posts.
(part four)
erm, that bloke who stood against Dorothy Kotz will be embarrassed about this interview when he hears it again.
Paraphrased:
I'm just some bloke who found a good electorate.
Do you have anything else to offer the electorate?
Well, we'll see over the next four years...to be honest I never thought I'd win.
Adelaide predicts that fella is up for media and communications induction on Monday afternoon at the latest.
Adelaide's husband asks for the remote.
Oh no! Jane Lomax-Smith has just said 'we've sung from the same song sheet'. Adelaide bangs her head on her keyboard and then on her desk and then on her kitchen bench.
Nick Xenophon might get two up. That little map of SA in the middle of his forehead obviously worked (yes, Adelaide wishes she were liveblogging from Tassie right now). Adelaide had considered that little map of SA to be a little Hansonesque, but what would Adelaide know?
Adelaide's mister still isn't drinking the red bubbles. Adelaide shudders at the thought of Sunday but takes another sip all the same.
Adelaide listens to Kate Reynolds and remembers the night that Janine Haines was so jubilant. It was a while ago, but not that long...
Adelaide's mister has just revealed the way he voted and Adelaide purrs.
9pm
Kero is about to concede.
He is not live from Crystal Brook which is a shame.
(part five)
Kero has conceded.
The red bubbles are almost gone.
This is goodnight from Adelaide.
ABC 891 is off to a shaky start. Hello? Yes, boys, it is the evening. Tim Noonan out at South Australia's most marginal seat.
Adelaide makes a big call: either Vini or Nigel will win (remember you heard it here first).
And it's still the eminently watchable Michael Smyth on the television (from what Adelaide can hear over the top of the Hungry Hippos - Adelaide asks, not for the first time, how can greatness be achieved?).
Adelaide is still disappointed that Antony Green can't be with South Australia this evening. Apparently, things will be more interesting down there in Tasmania.
broadcast interrupted to stop children jumping on each other's backs - Circus Oz had seemed like a good idea at the time
!!In a serious blunder never made on election night before, Adelaide realises she has already finished the last of the wine, leaving only (red) bubbles in the fridge.
Adelaide predicts: the liveblog will end in a mess. Adelaide has, at least, fed herself (and her family of course).
Anthony Green's voice can be heard, but it is 6.23 and he has nothing useful to say.
Kerry O'Brien has arrived. Adelaide's husband will be home soon. Two Chrises on the radio. Kevin Foley and Nick Minchin on the television - Adelaide is hard-pressed to pick the difference between the two. Adelaide searches for glasses, but nothing becomes any clearer. Dean Jeansch is there too.
6.34
First figures in. 1.1%
Enfield - Green vote strong. Slight swing to the Libs according to Chris Pyne.
Collinswood - 239 votes counted.
We are not at the business end of the evening, Adelaide reminds herself.
Dean Jeansch talks about the .1% counted in Stuart, and Gunn is looking good. Adelaide says: too early to call.
erm...Adelaide notes that hers is the lone female voice commenting on this election...and no one can hear hers. Adelaide struggles with the cork on the bubbles.
Chris Pyne's scrutineer rings in. The Brighton booth (in Bright) has been won by Chloe Fox. A swing of 11% to the ALP. Chris Schacht has a note of urgency in his voice. Chris Pyne says it doesn't sound good. CS says the ALP hasn't won that booth for twenty years. Adelaide concedes that Possum Magic is a good book. The radio is interviewing Chloe Fox.
On the television, Dean Jeansch is telling Kerry why they haven't got the results from the metropolitan results yet and they can't comment on Bright. Adelaide wonders isn't anyone in the television studio listening to the radio?
Still, the thing about television is that you can see Vini resplendent in pink, but we have no idea what Chloe Fox was wearing.
6.52
Adelaide calls it: Labour to win. It's a Rann-slide.
Adelaide publishes to make it official.
(part two)
Adelaide's husband has returned. Hooray. With some effort, he gets the cork off the bottle. 'You win the prize,' Adelaide's children yell.
Meanwhile on the television, they are talking about Chaffey. Someone needs to tell Foley how to pronounce that woman's name. Given that she's going to be in Cabinet.
Wonder what the ALP backbenchers think about her place in Cabinet, Nick Minchin asks (not unreasonably).
Of course, looks aren't everything in a political commentator, but Adelaide believes that a man with a beard should also have a moustache (note: Adelaide is not wearing pearls).
Still no word on Unley, Adelaide notes, and what a pity that we don't know anything about the Upper House.
Vini appears to be holding Norwood. Which is a pity, because if Nigel Smart won, Adelaide had intended to write 'and who said an arts degree didn't get you anywhere'.
Adelaide sets herself a task:
Describe the difference between Nick Minchin and Kevin Foley in 25 words or less. Kevin Foley goes for Power?
News on Unley. People will vote for Vini and not Michael Keenan? Adelaide shakes her head.
Adelaide receives notice that she has had stunning ebay win (mild compensation for having lost on a Trixie Belden auction earlier in the day).
Stunning revelation of the night:
Angus Redford what happened? Why did you lose?
Angus Redford: I didn't get enough votes.
Matthew Abraham makes a Possum magic joke about an hour after Adelaide first made it. How ace is this blog? How cutting edge? How on the ball?
Adelaide can not keep up with the radio and the television, and wishes that she had wireless which worked.
Adelaide publishes the post. Is this how liveblogging works?
(part three)
Congratulations to you-know-who and to her magic, magic team. And to people who might have stuffed envelopes for her in the past.
7.51
It's all over, and there's still half a bottle of red bubbles to go. The wise thing would be to leave them where they are.
Hartley is swinging, and Nick Minchin is looking glum.
This is objective coverage, so Adelaide makes no comment.
Leon Bignell has won with a slogan of ticketty-boo. South Australian politics at its best.
8.06
Adelaide teaches her child to sms.
Joan Hall has lost! Adelaide wonders whether she heard right.
Nick Minchin is looking even more glum. Chris Pyne is sounding glum.
Adelaide - who knows a thing or two about Stuart - isn't sure how she feels about that being Lib retain. Should election night make your heart ache? Grief is a complex beast.
Oh. There's Dominique Schwartz. A rather credible female voice. Perhaps more credible than Adelaide's.
Adelaide posts.
(part four)
erm, that bloke who stood against Dorothy Kotz will be embarrassed about this interview when he hears it again.
Paraphrased:
I'm just some bloke who found a good electorate.
Do you have anything else to offer the electorate?
Well, we'll see over the next four years...to be honest I never thought I'd win.
Adelaide predicts that fella is up for media and communications induction on Monday afternoon at the latest.
Adelaide's husband asks for the remote.
Oh no! Jane Lomax-Smith has just said 'we've sung from the same song sheet'. Adelaide bangs her head on her keyboard and then on her desk and then on her kitchen bench.
Nick Xenophon might get two up. That little map of SA in the middle of his forehead obviously worked (yes, Adelaide wishes she were liveblogging from Tassie right now). Adelaide had considered that little map of SA to be a little Hansonesque, but what would Adelaide know?
Adelaide's mister still isn't drinking the red bubbles. Adelaide shudders at the thought of Sunday but takes another sip all the same.
Adelaide listens to Kate Reynolds and remembers the night that Janine Haines was so jubilant. It was a while ago, but not that long...
Adelaide's mister has just revealed the way he voted and Adelaide purrs.
9pm
Kero is about to concede.
He is not live from Crystal Brook which is a shame.
(part five)
Kero has conceded.
The red bubbles are almost gone.
This is goodnight from Adelaide.
Saturday, March 18, 2006
liveblogging the South Australian election: part five
Kero has conceded.
The red bubbles are almost gone.
This is goodnight from Adelaide.
The red bubbles are almost gone.
This is goodnight from Adelaide.
liveblogging the South Australian election: part four
erm, that bloke who stood against Dorothy Kotz will be embarrassed about this interview when he hears it again.
Paraphrased:
I'm just some bloke who found a good electorate.
Do you have anything else to offer the electorate?
Well, we'll see over the next four years...to be honest I never thought I'd win.
Adelaide predicts that fella is up for media and communications induction on Monday afternoon at the latest.
Adelaide's husband asks for the remote.
Oh no! Jane Lomax-Smith has just said 'we've sung from the same song sheet'. Adelaide bangs her head on her keyboard and then on her desk and then on her kitchen bench.
Nick Xenophon might get two up. That little map of SA in the middle of his forehead obviously worked (yes, Adelaide wishes she were liveblogging from Tassie right now). Adelaide had considered that little map of SA to be a little Hansonesque, but what would Adelaide know?
Adelaide's mister still isn't drinking the red bubbles. Adelaide shudders at the thought of Sunday but takes another sip all the same.
Adelaide listens to Kate Reynolds and remembers the night that Janine Haines was so jubilant. It was a while ago, but not that long...
Adelaide's mister has just revealed the way he voted and Adelaide purrs.
9pm
Kero is about to concede.
He is not live from Crystal Brook which is a shame.
Paraphrased:
I'm just some bloke who found a good electorate.
Do you have anything else to offer the electorate?
Well, we'll see over the next four years...to be honest I never thought I'd win.
Adelaide predicts that fella is up for media and communications induction on Monday afternoon at the latest.
Adelaide's husband asks for the remote.
Oh no! Jane Lomax-Smith has just said 'we've sung from the same song sheet'. Adelaide bangs her head on her keyboard and then on her desk and then on her kitchen bench.
Nick Xenophon might get two up. That little map of SA in the middle of his forehead obviously worked (yes, Adelaide wishes she were liveblogging from Tassie right now). Adelaide had considered that little map of SA to be a little Hansonesque, but what would Adelaide know?
Adelaide's mister still isn't drinking the red bubbles. Adelaide shudders at the thought of Sunday but takes another sip all the same.
Adelaide listens to Kate Reynolds and remembers the night that Janine Haines was so jubilant. It was a while ago, but not that long...
Adelaide's mister has just revealed the way he voted and Adelaide purrs.
9pm
Kero is about to concede.
He is not live from Crystal Brook which is a shame.
liveblogging the South Australian election: part three
Congratulations to you-know-who and to her magic, magic team. And to people who might have stuffed envelopes for her in the past.
7.51
It's all over, and there's still half a bottle of red bubbles to go. The wise thing would be to leave them where they are.
Hartley is swinging, and Nick Minchin is looking glum.
This is objective coverage, so Adelaide makes no comment.
Leon Bignell has won with a slogan of ticketty-boo. South Australian politics at its best.
8.06
Adelaide teaches her child to sms.
Joan Hall has lost! Adelaide wonders whether she heard right.
Nick Minchin is looking even more glum. Chris Pyne is sounding glum.
Adelaide - who knows a thing or two about Stuart - isn't sure how she feels about that being Lib retain. Should election night make your heart ache? Grief is a complex beast.
Oh. There's Dominique Schwartz. A rather credible female voice. Perhaps more credible than Adelaide's.
Adelaide posts.
7.51
It's all over, and there's still half a bottle of red bubbles to go. The wise thing would be to leave them where they are.
Hartley is swinging, and Nick Minchin is looking glum.
This is objective coverage, so Adelaide makes no comment.
Leon Bignell has won with a slogan of ticketty-boo. South Australian politics at its best.
8.06
Adelaide teaches her child to sms.
Joan Hall has lost! Adelaide wonders whether she heard right.
Nick Minchin is looking even more glum. Chris Pyne is sounding glum.
Adelaide - who knows a thing or two about Stuart - isn't sure how she feels about that being Lib retain. Should election night make your heart ache? Grief is a complex beast.
Oh. There's Dominique Schwartz. A rather credible female voice. Perhaps more credible than Adelaide's.
Adelaide posts.
liveblogging the South Australian election: part two
Adelaide's husband has returned. Hooray. With some effort, he gets the cork off the bottle. 'You win the prize,' Adelaide's children yell.
Meanwhile on the television, they are talking about Chaffey. Someone needs to tell Foley how to pronounce that woman's name. Given that she's going to be in Cabinet.
Wonder what the ALP backbenchers think about her place in Cabinet, Nick Minchin asks (not unreasonably).
Of course, looks aren't everything in a political commentator, but Adelaide believes that a man with a beard should also have a moustache (note: Adelaide is not wearing pearls).
Still no word on Unley, Adelaide notes, and what a pity that we don't know anything about the Upper House.
Vini appears to be holding Norwood. Which is a pity, because if Nigel Smart won, Adelaide had intended to write 'and who said an arts degree didn't get you anywhere'.
Adelaide sets herself a task:
Describe the difference between Nick Minchin and Kevin Foley in 25 words or less. Kevin Foley goes for Power?
News on Unley. People will vote for Vini and not Michael Keenan? Adelaide shakes her head.
Adelaide receives notice that she has had stunning ebay win (mild compensation for having lost on a Trixie Belden auction earlier in the day).
Stunning revelation of the night:
Angas Redford what happened? Why did you lose?
Angas Redford: I didn't get enough votes.
Matthew Abraham makes a Possum magic joke about an hour after Adelaide first made it. How ace is this blog? How cutting edge? How on the ball?
Adelaide can not keep up with the radio and the television, and wishes that she had wireless which worked.
Adelaide publishes the post. Is this how liveblogging works?
Meanwhile on the television, they are talking about Chaffey. Someone needs to tell Foley how to pronounce that woman's name. Given that she's going to be in Cabinet.
Wonder what the ALP backbenchers think about her place in Cabinet, Nick Minchin asks (not unreasonably).
Of course, looks aren't everything in a political commentator, but Adelaide believes that a man with a beard should also have a moustache (note: Adelaide is not wearing pearls).
Still no word on Unley, Adelaide notes, and what a pity that we don't know anything about the Upper House.
Vini appears to be holding Norwood. Which is a pity, because if Nigel Smart won, Adelaide had intended to write 'and who said an arts degree didn't get you anywhere'.
Adelaide sets herself a task:
Describe the difference between Nick Minchin and Kevin Foley in 25 words or less. Kevin Foley goes for Power?
News on Unley. People will vote for Vini and not Michael Keenan? Adelaide shakes her head.
Adelaide receives notice that she has had stunning ebay win (mild compensation for having lost on a Trixie Belden auction earlier in the day).
Stunning revelation of the night:
Angas Redford what happened? Why did you lose?
Angas Redford: I didn't get enough votes.
Matthew Abraham makes a Possum magic joke about an hour after Adelaide first made it. How ace is this blog? How cutting edge? How on the ball?
Adelaide can not keep up with the radio and the television, and wishes that she had wireless which worked.
Adelaide publishes the post. Is this how liveblogging works?
liveblogging the South Australian election
In what Adelaide believes is a unique experience...liveblogging the South Australian election (although Adelaide isn't sure what liveblogging actually means).
ABC 891 is off to a shaky start. Hello? Yes, boys, it is the evening. Tim Noonan out at South Australia's most marginal seat.
Adelaide makes a big call: either Vini or Nigel will win (remember you heard it here first).
And it's still the eminently watchable Michael Smith on the television (from what Adelaide can hear over the top of the Hungry Hippos - Adelaide asks, not for the first time, how can greatness be achieved?).
Adelaide is still disappointed that Anthony Green can't be with South Australia this evening. Apparently, things will be more interesting down there in Tasmania.
broadcast interrupted to stop children jumping on each other's backs - Circus Oz had seemed like a good idea at the time
!!In a serious blunder never made on election night before, Adelaide realises she has already finished the last of the wine, leaving only (red) bubbles in the fridge.
Adelaide predicts: the liveblog will end in a mess. Adelaide has, at least, fed herself (and her family of course).
Anthony Green's voice can be heard, but it is 6.23 and he has nothing useful to say.
Kerry O'Brien has arrived. Adelaide's husband will be home soon. Two Chrises on the radio. Kevin Foley and Nick Minchin on the television - Adelaide is hard-pressed to pick the difference between the two. Adelaide searches for glasses, but nothing becomes any clearer. Dean Jeansch is there too.
6.34
First figures in. 1.1%
Enfield - Green vote strong. Slight swing to the Libs according to Chris Pyne.
Collinswood - 239 votes counted.
We are not at the business end of the evening, Adelaide reminds herself.
Dean Jeansch talks about the .1% counted in Stuart, and Gunn is looking good. Adelaide says: too early to call.
erm...Adelaide notes that hers is the lone female voice commenting on this election...and no one can hear hers. Adelaide struggles with the cork on the bubbles.
Chris Pyne's scrutineer rings in. The Brighton booth (in Bright) has been won by Chloe Fox. A swing of 11% to the ALP. Chris Schacht has a note of urgency in his voice. Chris Pyne says it doesn't sound good. CS says the ALP hasn't won that booth for twenty years. Adelaide concedes that Possum Magic is a good book. The radio is interviewing Chloe Fox.
On the television, Dean Jeansch is telling Kerry why they haven't got the results from the metropolitan results yet and they can't comment on Bright. Adelaide wonders isn't anyone in the television studio listening to the radio?
Still, the thing about television is that you can see Vini resplendent in pink, but we have no idea what Chloe Fox was wearing.
6.52
Adelaide calls it: Labour to win. It's a Rann-slide.
Adelaide publishes to make it official.
ABC 891 is off to a shaky start. Hello? Yes, boys, it is the evening. Tim Noonan out at South Australia's most marginal seat.
Adelaide makes a big call: either Vini or Nigel will win (remember you heard it here first).
And it's still the eminently watchable Michael Smith on the television (from what Adelaide can hear over the top of the Hungry Hippos - Adelaide asks, not for the first time, how can greatness be achieved?).
Adelaide is still disappointed that Anthony Green can't be with South Australia this evening. Apparently, things will be more interesting down there in Tasmania.
broadcast interrupted to stop children jumping on each other's backs - Circus Oz had seemed like a good idea at the time
!!In a serious blunder never made on election night before, Adelaide realises she has already finished the last of the wine, leaving only (red) bubbles in the fridge.
Adelaide predicts: the liveblog will end in a mess. Adelaide has, at least, fed herself (and her family of course).
Anthony Green's voice can be heard, but it is 6.23 and he has nothing useful to say.
Kerry O'Brien has arrived. Adelaide's husband will be home soon. Two Chrises on the radio. Kevin Foley and Nick Minchin on the television - Adelaide is hard-pressed to pick the difference between the two. Adelaide searches for glasses, but nothing becomes any clearer. Dean Jeansch is there too.
6.34
First figures in. 1.1%
Enfield - Green vote strong. Slight swing to the Libs according to Chris Pyne.
Collinswood - 239 votes counted.
We are not at the business end of the evening, Adelaide reminds herself.
Dean Jeansch talks about the .1% counted in Stuart, and Gunn is looking good. Adelaide says: too early to call.
erm...Adelaide notes that hers is the lone female voice commenting on this election...and no one can hear hers. Adelaide struggles with the cork on the bubbles.
Chris Pyne's scrutineer rings in. The Brighton booth (in Bright) has been won by Chloe Fox. A swing of 11% to the ALP. Chris Schacht has a note of urgency in his voice. Chris Pyne says it doesn't sound good. CS says the ALP hasn't won that booth for twenty years. Adelaide concedes that Possum Magic is a good book. The radio is interviewing Chloe Fox.
On the television, Dean Jeansch is telling Kerry why they haven't got the results from the metropolitan results yet and they can't comment on Bright. Adelaide wonders isn't anyone in the television studio listening to the radio?
Still, the thing about television is that you can see Vini resplendent in pink, but we have no idea what Chloe Fox was wearing.
6.52
Adelaide calls it: Labour to win. It's a Rann-slide.
Adelaide publishes to make it official.
Friday, March 17, 2006
a brief interruption
They were running late for school, but the sound of Rob Kerin's voice on the radio made the whole car feel somehow calm. Adelaide was particularly reassured to hear Kero explain that of course they could find efficiencies and cut 4,000 public sector jobs. Take education, for example, he said. With all those children leaving the public sector, we just don't need that many teachers any more.
It was the kind of thing that once you heard it, it just made perfect sense.
What a pity things had been so hard to hear over the noise of the Festival and the Fringe and the Adelaide Cup.
Adelaide put on her blinker as she waited her turn at the lights. The windscreen could do with a wash she thought.
'Mum, you forgot to give me my undies to put on,' her little boy said.
There are some mistakes you make your child live with, Adelaide thought, and some you don't. She turned the car around.
'I can't wait to tell my friends about that,' her little boy said and both of the children laughed. And then they said undies to each other over and over again. And they yelled mum forgot and they laughed a lot and Adelaide couldn't hear Kero's voice any more.
Adelaide hoped they wouldn't be too late for school.
It was the kind of thing that once you heard it, it just made perfect sense.
What a pity things had been so hard to hear over the noise of the Festival and the Fringe and the Adelaide Cup.
Adelaide put on her blinker as she waited her turn at the lights. The windscreen could do with a wash she thought.
'Mum, you forgot to give me my undies to put on,' her little boy said.
There are some mistakes you make your child live with, Adelaide thought, and some you don't. She turned the car around.
'I can't wait to tell my friends about that,' her little boy said and both of the children laughed. And then they said undies to each other over and over again. And they yelled mum forgot and they laughed a lot and Adelaide couldn't hear Kero's voice any more.
Adelaide hoped they wouldn't be too late for school.
Wednesday, March 15, 2006
correspondence from an MP
Adelaide was not ungrateful for the personalised, but not personal, correspondence she had received from her local MP. Even without the pamphlet with that random assortment of testimonials from people who had never been to a sub-branch meeting before, Adelaide knew that the said MP was a hard-working local member who - given the chance - could make good things happen.
But Adelaide was still mightily pissed off about this and its broader implications. And she remembered that no one had got back to her and replied to the lucid, articulate emails she had composed on the matter.
Adelaide sighed, pursed her lips and scratched her head.
It was just like her mother had taught her. It is quite a responsibilty, having a vote.
But Adelaide was still mightily pissed off about this and its broader implications. And she remembered that no one had got back to her and replied to the lucid, articulate emails she had composed on the matter.
Adelaide sighed, pursed her lips and scratched her head.
It was just like her mother had taught her. It is quite a responsibilty, having a vote.
Tuesday, March 14, 2006
pantry moths
There's no such thing as a single pantry moth, Adelaide thought, then let out a long, but often-used, cuss.
Friday, March 10, 2006
washing day
Despite the smell, Adelaide enjoyed sorting the washing.
She liked that the washing came with several decisions each of which had potentially awkward, but not life-threatening, repurcussions: where to put her brown cotton shirt - in with the darks or with the (generally shades of light) business shirts (his not hers); virtuous cold wash or more effective hot; quilt covers or just the sheets; flannels or just the towels; was this the weekend to do her favourite cardigan?
And as she answered each question to herself (darks, cold, sheets, flannels, no) Adelaide thought of her husband's Nan. A most beautiful, glorious, warm and giggling Nan who worked in a cannery, but shopped of a Monday, baked of a Wednesday, and on Fridays did her wash.
And didn't that just go to show that friendships are curious, glorious things Adelaide thought as she poured the softener in.
She liked that the washing came with several decisions each of which had potentially awkward, but not life-threatening, repurcussions: where to put her brown cotton shirt - in with the darks or with the (generally shades of light) business shirts (his not hers); virtuous cold wash or more effective hot; quilt covers or just the sheets; flannels or just the towels; was this the weekend to do her favourite cardigan?
And as she answered each question to herself (darks, cold, sheets, flannels, no) Adelaide thought of her husband's Nan. A most beautiful, glorious, warm and giggling Nan who worked in a cannery, but shopped of a Monday, baked of a Wednesday, and on Fridays did her wash.
And didn't that just go to show that friendships are curious, glorious things Adelaide thought as she poured the softener in.
Thursday, March 09, 2006
if wishes were wine
Adelaide, who had never owned a glomesh purse or sunbaked in the afternoon, wished that there were not such a strong correlation between age and wine and weight.
Wednesday, March 08, 2006
Rejection comes in many proactive forms
Adelaide had not expected to be rejected for a job for which she had never actually applied.
'Well, dear,' her mother said. 'It does say that selecting the shortlist was hard, and that the quality of candidates was very high.' Her mother smiled at Adelaide as she put the letter down.
'I think it was nice of them to consider you all the same.'
Adelaide went back under her quilt and curled back into a ball.
'Well, dear,' her mother said. 'It does say that selecting the shortlist was hard, and that the quality of candidates was very high.' Her mother smiled at Adelaide as she put the letter down.
'I think it was nice of them to consider you all the same.'
Adelaide went back under her quilt and curled back into a ball.
Sunday, March 05, 2006
a bridesmaid or a bride
Adelaide, who knew that being a bride was best, thought that there were days when being a bridesmaid was ace
Portrait of a Young Man Choosing his Figs
Adelaide, whose signature dish was burnt butter reduction of whatever was the least rotten in her fridge that day, bought her beansprouts from the same place as Cheong Liew and her cheese from the place she had seen Paul Kelly shopping once (he's from round here originally don'cher know).
But the best, the very best thing Adelaide had ever seen on her weekly visit to the Central Market, was the Young Man Choosing his Figs.
Young Man with short black hair, tight t-shirt hugging tight upper bod, looking at each of the figs very carefully.
‘They would have been perfect yesterday,’ the Young Man said to his girlfriend with a disappointed shake of his head. He did not put a single just-past-perfect fig in his basket. The Young Man’s girlfriend smiled, then nodded and she looked, Adelaide thought, at the slightly imperfect figs more than a little wistfully.
Adelaide, watching the Dance of the Figs from behind the selection of excellent, if expensive, potatoes smiled when she caught the girlfriend’s eye.
‘If you want figs, you should take a walk around Unley,’ Adelaide said then she smiled. ‘They’re dripping over the fences. I see people picking them all the time. No one seems to mind. It’s that kind of fruit,’ Adelaide said using her knowing voice.
It wasn’t a lie. It wasn’t one of those things she just made up so that she could talk to someone she liked, but didn’t know. What Adelaide said was true. In only the last week, Adelaide had seen the english lecturer (clearly now retired) who had almost ruined poetry for her; a young girl with piercings galore; a woman filling the trolley on the back of her little boy’s trike; and one small woman dressed in black.
‘Where’s that?’ the Young Man said. ‘Where did you say they are?’
‘Oh,’ Adelaide said, not sure what to say faced with quite such intensity. ‘Oh, you know, just in some of those lovely old-fashioned gardens around Unley.’ She smiled, trying to cool the rising heat. ‘A Good Fig is…’ Adelaide started a sentence.
‘...Very Good,’ the Young Man said, smiling a young and passionate smile. Adelaide noticed his girlfriend squeeze his hand.
Adelaide fanned her face and turned back to the potatoes which, in a market context, was not rude.
The spirit of the Young Man followed Adelaide from the organic fruit and vegetable house, along the cheese counter and past the bread. She was still thinking of him as she scooped rice crackers, then loose tea leaves into bags; picked up her tofu and lime leaves from the Chinese Grocer (the one where she had last seen Cheong Liew); and selected her eggs (which at that price had bloody better be every organic, free range thing they said).
He was still vaguely with her as she picked up the avocadoes – three for a dollar, so you can’t go wrong – where she noticed the little boy in the pram wearing a gorgeous green and purple striped suit.
‘That’s a gorgeous suit,’ Adelaide said to the little boy’s mother.
‘Thank you,’ said the mother with, Adelaide thought, an unecessarily strained smile on her face.
And when she looked again, Adelaide realised that the little boy was, in fact, more than likely a little girl. And Adelaide thought that perhaps she might keep her thoughts to herself next week.
But the best, the very best thing Adelaide had ever seen on her weekly visit to the Central Market, was the Young Man Choosing his Figs.
Young Man with short black hair, tight t-shirt hugging tight upper bod, looking at each of the figs very carefully.
‘They would have been perfect yesterday,’ the Young Man said to his girlfriend with a disappointed shake of his head. He did not put a single just-past-perfect fig in his basket. The Young Man’s girlfriend smiled, then nodded and she looked, Adelaide thought, at the slightly imperfect figs more than a little wistfully.
Adelaide, watching the Dance of the Figs from behind the selection of excellent, if expensive, potatoes smiled when she caught the girlfriend’s eye.
‘If you want figs, you should take a walk around Unley,’ Adelaide said then she smiled. ‘They’re dripping over the fences. I see people picking them all the time. No one seems to mind. It’s that kind of fruit,’ Adelaide said using her knowing voice.
It wasn’t a lie. It wasn’t one of those things she just made up so that she could talk to someone she liked, but didn’t know. What Adelaide said was true. In only the last week, Adelaide had seen the english lecturer (clearly now retired) who had almost ruined poetry for her; a young girl with piercings galore; a woman filling the trolley on the back of her little boy’s trike; and one small woman dressed in black.
‘Where’s that?’ the Young Man said. ‘Where did you say they are?’
‘Oh,’ Adelaide said, not sure what to say faced with quite such intensity. ‘Oh, you know, just in some of those lovely old-fashioned gardens around Unley.’ She smiled, trying to cool the rising heat. ‘A Good Fig is…’ Adelaide started a sentence.
‘...Very Good,’ the Young Man said, smiling a young and passionate smile. Adelaide noticed his girlfriend squeeze his hand.
Adelaide fanned her face and turned back to the potatoes which, in a market context, was not rude.
The spirit of the Young Man followed Adelaide from the organic fruit and vegetable house, along the cheese counter and past the bread. She was still thinking of him as she scooped rice crackers, then loose tea leaves into bags; picked up her tofu and lime leaves from the Chinese Grocer (the one where she had last seen Cheong Liew); and selected her eggs (which at that price had bloody better be every organic, free range thing they said).
He was still vaguely with her as she picked up the avocadoes – three for a dollar, so you can’t go wrong – where she noticed the little boy in the pram wearing a gorgeous green and purple striped suit.
‘That’s a gorgeous suit,’ Adelaide said to the little boy’s mother.
‘Thank you,’ said the mother with, Adelaide thought, an unecessarily strained smile on her face.
And when she looked again, Adelaide realised that the little boy was, in fact, more than likely a little girl. And Adelaide thought that perhaps she might keep her thoughts to herself next week.
Friday, March 03, 2006
what to sing at the commonwealth games
Adelaide, who knew all the words to both God Save the Queen and Advance Australia Fair because her mother used to sing them whenever she got drunk, didn't much care what they sang to the Queen at the Commonwealth Games.
As long as they sang it in tune.
As long as they sang it in tune.
Thursday, March 02, 2006
a very good day
Adelaide went to town.
She hopped on the tram with her youngest child, had coffee with her corporate happily-salaried husband (his shout) then picked up the fringe tickets she had booked for the excellent array of children's shows.
It was not a cool day, and her little boy fell asleep as she wheeled the pusher from Rundle Street and back towards the Mall.
Adelaide crossed at the Hungry Jack's lights, walked past the man still singing how much is that doggy in the window, past the balloon sculptor, past the woman painted in white doing that statue trick, the man playing the didgeridoo, the dudes playing footbag, the south americans offering to paint your name on a grain of rice, and bumped into Pluck.
They made her think of her mother and cry in the way that the sound of violins often did.
And still, her little boy slept.
Adelaide turned the pram around, walked back the way she had come, turned down that small dark street and waited at the lights.
She watched the students crossing towards her, but she felt no nostalgic pang, no twitch of I wish that were me. She crossed North Terrace and pushed her little boy up the Art Gallery ramp. The blast of conditioned air reminded her of the days when this had been her refuge, when she had hidden in here between lectures not wanting to go to the refectory on her own, afraid of what she might find in the undergraduate reading room.
Adelaide knew the painting she was looking for.
She did not mind that before she could reach it, she had bumped into one of those people she had not seen for years, but would still call on as a friend. He was there with his mother, just back in the city for the night. She did not mind that the conversation was stilted, that she still had nothing to say when people asked ‘so what do you do?’. She did not mind that he was not the only person who had stopped ringing whenever he came back to Adelaide.
They said goodbye, and Adelaide reached the soft, circular seat. She sat and looked around at the paintings from 'victoria 1890s’ for 45 minutes. Every now and then she lifted the hood of the pusher and watched her little boy sleep and it was all she could do to stop herself texting everyone she knew to describe her day and to tell them that life was ace.
She hopped on the tram with her youngest child, had coffee with her corporate happily-salaried husband (his shout) then picked up the fringe tickets she had booked for the excellent array of children's shows.
It was not a cool day, and her little boy fell asleep as she wheeled the pusher from Rundle Street and back towards the Mall.
Adelaide crossed at the Hungry Jack's lights, walked past the man still singing how much is that doggy in the window, past the balloon sculptor, past the woman painted in white doing that statue trick, the man playing the didgeridoo, the dudes playing footbag, the south americans offering to paint your name on a grain of rice, and bumped into Pluck.
They made her think of her mother and cry in the way that the sound of violins often did.
And still, her little boy slept.
Adelaide turned the pram around, walked back the way she had come, turned down that small dark street and waited at the lights.
She watched the students crossing towards her, but she felt no nostalgic pang, no twitch of I wish that were me. She crossed North Terrace and pushed her little boy up the Art Gallery ramp. The blast of conditioned air reminded her of the days when this had been her refuge, when she had hidden in here between lectures not wanting to go to the refectory on her own, afraid of what she might find in the undergraduate reading room.
Adelaide knew the painting she was looking for.
She did not mind that before she could reach it, she had bumped into one of those people she had not seen for years, but would still call on as a friend. He was there with his mother, just back in the city for the night. She did not mind that the conversation was stilted, that she still had nothing to say when people asked ‘so what do you do?’. She did not mind that he was not the only person who had stopped ringing whenever he came back to Adelaide.
They said goodbye, and Adelaide reached the soft, circular seat. She sat and looked around at the paintings from 'victoria 1890s’ for 45 minutes. Every now and then she lifted the hood of the pusher and watched her little boy sleep and it was all she could do to stop herself texting everyone she knew to describe her day and to tell them that life was ace.
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