Easter has been a glory.
At long last we’ve had days of fine weather, neighbours over to christen the deck, a walk to the fish market, prawns in a light lemon dressing and chardonnay, a full moon, crickets in the garden, butterflies. Sydney emptied out again via three hour queues at the airport, and on the roads.
Poor bastards. Sometimes staying home is the best idea.
I’ve been planting herbs and vegetables in the Winky Chow and flowers and grevilleas out the back, covered in dirt to the elbows. Then I sit down and breathe in and breathe out and be mindful and joyous about the moment. And then joyous about a glass of red wine. And the moment.
Being alive is a grand thing.
Robinson, meanwhile, is complaining about all the hybrid cars ads she’s getting in her online feed. I’m sure she prefers dress and bath and book and wine ads. Her own ads. I’m not sure why she gets car ads on her ipad every time I look up hybrid cars on my ipad but I’m sure there’s nothing invasive going on. Surely.
Capitalism keeps us safe, right?
As a precaution I’ve changed my name from Robert to Robot 1 for anything online.
There’s something reassuring about being greeted with ‘Hello Robot 1’ by an algorithm. I feel like we’re speaking the same language. I feel like I’m part of the machine. Like I could ruin the internet, if I was in a bad mood and wanted to.
I also feel like I’m something out of Klara And The Sun, by Ishiguro. If you haven’t read it, read it. It’s a great novel.
We have a friend arriving from Melbourne later this week. We plan a picnic over on Cremorne Point, among other things. We haven’t been there for years. Incredibly. We used to live there. Green lawns and sandstone tumbling down into the harbour, the Opera House a great big shell on the tide.