Flagpole rag
Hours and minutes running together and into each other, as if sprinting the 400 metres without a predefined finishing line - the cycle of days become confused and I forget which day is which, which day has been which, and which day is supposed to be which.
It doesn't feel like Christmas. There is a Leunig cartoon in the paper edition of today's Age showing two people sitting on a park bench. Behind them are some city skyscrapers, one of which look vaguely like the NY Empire State Building. There is a tall building on one side with a plane heading towards it from the left, and another plane approaching it from the right. Above the two people, are the words: "All I want for Christmas is Christmas ..."
Leunig always manages to say profound thoughts with such simple elegance.
A visit to the family. Dinner in the city, a city devoid of souls and life. The holiday season seems to have robbed the streets of people. We didn't have much difficulty finding a place to park the car. Most of the shops were shut, but our favourite restaurant welcomed us with familiar warmth and simple, familiar food. We sought dessert at another restaurant nearby, whose waiter seemed to be disappointed that we only wanted ice cream and sorbet.
A man walking down the street was singing "King of Pain". His tenor rich and mellow, smooth as the caramel of his leather jacket. As he crossed the road and disappeared out of earshot, I picked up the verse and went on singing until I forgot the words.