Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz (AM)

I'm back you guys, and more jet lagged than ever!
I wanted to write some things about how nice it is to be back, and how I'd forgotten how nice Melbourne smells in the springtime when the sun is shining and the flowers are blooming. And how the coffee is every bit as good as I remember. And about how cute Newbie is. You guys should see that kid! Happy as a pig in mud.
But I'm so zapped from the jet lag I can barely string a sentence together, so I'm just going to say hi and then be on my way.
I feel like this guy, but without the polar fleece to lie on, and without the people cooing over me.
Oh well. I'll be back on form next week for sure. Until then, readers!

Upstairs Neighbours (PM)

I used to live in a flat on the first floor which meant I both had upstairs neighbours and was an upstairs neighbour. I actually remember nothing about the upstairs neighbors, I guess they were quiet. Plus, those flats had carpet which I guess helped. I definitely remember the downstairs neighbours, among whom lived a liturgical dancer of soft mannerisms and who, a Google search has led me to believe, may now be a woman, though as my neighbour s/he was a man. Those neighbours, rightly, complained when they found cigarette butts on their balcony. Now, I can't imagine anyone in our flat being so jerky they would throw cigarette butts down from the balcony. I guess it was an accident. Or it was the almost unbearable friends of the almost forgotten flat mate. Or it is the kind of shit which you don't think about when you are 20.

Which may explain the behaviour of the birds, Mate. Just young and careless.

Right now my only upstairs neighbours are possums. Like the birds they seem to  make a noise completely disproportionate to their size. As if they are dragging human bodies around the roof cavity. Just to be on the safe side, I do not fuck with those possums.

Upstairs Neighbours (AM)

My flat is on the top floor, which is good because it means I don't have to deal with the sound of upstairs neighbours. I'm told that this is an issue with ground floor flats, the sound travels down from above and it can be quite disruptive. You hear them walking, you hear them talking, you hear them making love to their boyfriends and girlfriends (eww...making love....J is going to hate reading that...sorry).

I've been pretty lucky really with my top floor life so far. And I guess I should have taken the time to stop and smell the roses so to speak because now a family of birds are nesting on my roof and the party is over, it is OVER.

I first noticed the sounds of gently rummaging a few months ago and thought, oh, how cute, some little birdy is on my roof. Then I would hear a little bit of chirping from time to time and again I thought it was cute.

I pictured something like this was going on:

A couple of little scamps having a nice time up there.

Heh,  here's an amusing aside. When I searched 'rainbow lorikeet' to find that photo, google suggested 'rainbow lorikeet diet'. I wonder whether there is some hot new diet where one eats like a rainbow lorikeet and drops the kilos just in time for summer. Or maybe you eat nothing but rainbow lorikeets and drop five kilos just in time for summer.

Anyway, as the days and weeks have passed, what was once gentle rummaging has turned in to what sounds like a birdy frat house. Those little bastards make a hell of a racket. First of all, there seems to be lots more of them. And they chirp a lot. And they run across the roof a lot and though their talons may be small, they are very noisy.  And what's with all the running. They have wings and the power of flight and it's a real slap in the face to know that they are just throwing it all away.
Also, they are active between the hours of 5 and 9am. They're working 5 to 9 and it is no way to make a living, believe you me.

Now I picture them like this:

And I want them to go away!

Home sweet home (AM)

On Saturday night I stayed over at my Mum and Dad's house after hanging out at J's place for the evening. They're both in the same neighbourhood you see, and because I was planning on going to Mum and Dad's on Sunday anyway, I figured it made sense to stay down that way. I'm glad I did because aspects of the experience are quite lovely. 

Mum made up a bed for me and put my favourite childhood toy, Care Bear, on top.

As soon as I got out of bed she had hot coffee waiting for me and had laid out a towel, a proper fluffy one, so I could have a shower when I wanted. It was well lush asa character in Gavin and Stacey might say, which I keep watching even though I don't like it all that much.

It got me to thinking. Maybe I'm too hard on those guys. Maybe they're not the pair of kooks I sometimes think they are but in fact just super great.

Of course I'm setting things up for a fall here and rightly so. 

Because while fossicking around the bathroom cabinet to find a pair of nail clippers I found this:

It's the gallstones that were removed from my mother in 1996, just sitting there next to the spare shampoo and a bottle of sunscreen. 

So gross and so unsurprising when you have a couple of kooks for parents. 

But I guess this experience has reminded  me that they are both kooks and excellent hosts. It's a combination that's ok by me.