Actually, there haven’t been that many seasons.
I’m here and it is slightly cold.
I’ve broken my “staying in a pub” virginity (and I’d have to stay that I am rather fond of the big spa in my bathroom). Last night I sat downstairs by the fire, had a beer and read a book. Tonight, I will sit downstairs by the fire, drink beer and read another book (neither of which I have read before(and they were on the bookshelf at home, so I thought I might as well give them a bash).
The course is fairly intense (set at postgrad level) and I have quite sore and dry eyes from staring at the projection screen, so I am not sure how much exploring I’ll get done, but the wee shops on the main drag are fairly impressive. I’m not entirely sure where Hawthorn falls on the comparison scale with Sydney suburbs, but it seems nice enough.
The course participants fall more on the side of public service than your corporate go-getter types, there are the usually inappropriate mix of those who are so. very. slow. and the rest. There are those twho are bff already, having only met this morning (heavens!) and there is one that has the same name as me and who, when I pointed it out, looked down her nose at me ever-so-slightly patronisingly (“sweetheart, with that hair and that shirt, you shouldn’t be sneering at anyone“). Perhaps they are judging me by my reading material (in which case, screw them!)?
There was a welcoming cocktail party early this evening (I hate that sort of thing so very, very, very, very much). I was stuck chatting for a rather long time to a lecturer from on of the Unis down here who was bemoaning the state of education in Australia (and the publish/be popular with students/pass quotas of students), which became somewhat tedious after a time, but was infintely better than standing there like a nigel by myself. I am very much socially awkward on these occasions (hell, on most occasions).
And who new that silvertops were, in fact, yellow? and lacking an actual silver top (alters my whole mental image of that Paul Kelly song).