Red and yellow and pink and green

No other time of year paints a picture that differs each and every day. The endless summer days would become monotonous if they weren’t so warm and radiant and full of sizzling snag aromas. The cool winter days test patience with their bone chilling frosts and winds blowing down from the peaks. But in between the two we have ever changing scenes of greens and yellows turning to blazing reds underneath still mild blue skies.

These are perfect days for perfect walks, and by golly have I pottered and ambled in earnest over recent weekends. Usually with a pre-walk flat white and a post-walk dose of comfort food, perhaps with a break for some leisurely reading somewhere in the middle. It’s a pipe and slippers kind of life, a contrast to working weekdays which are more 20-a-day and runners (don’t worry it’s an analogy, I’m not smoking...er, or running!). It’s like the contrast between snag filled smells of summer and icy cold winds of winter. And here we are somewhere in between.

So apart from ambles and rambles, emails and work travails, there’s not much else to say. I’m kind of racking my brains for something amusing to share, a jolly good Australia cliché or stereotype to throw around. I saw some kangaroos this morning! They bounced.

Food is naturally an ever present in the mix and I’ve been donning the Masterchef apron on several occasions... spicy pork goulash, butter chicken, and today a warming beef and Guinness filler slowly melting away for tomorrow’s pie fiesta. And with a work trip to Sydney came some splendid sushi and mighty Malaysian to feast upon. I love the quality and diversity of Asian food here.

There is also a girl with a dragon tattoo taking up my time, a plunge into populism so addictive it is providing pipe and slipper weekends and diversionary endings to wacky weekdays. I really should read more. Or more often. Or more quickly.

There are also plans to plan. I need to make a plan so that I make a plan for travel back to Europe in a few months. And in the short term, a plan for Easter and the Anzac Day holiday. I sense water and sand, and probably a flat white with a Lindt bunny in there somewhere.

So it turns out different things are still happening every day. Each sunrise brings with it something anew, a different conversation to cherish, a clean pair of pants to also cherish, a slight variation of some stupid political debate going on to cherish a lot less, another government department wasting a different lump of money that they don’t really cherish much, and a new sale to end all sales at Harvey Norman with cheap sofas (in cerise red). It’s an ever-changing picture, where greens turn yellow, and reds blush their way through the blues. And very rarely is it grey.