Lorn, well-manicured

Lorn is a tidy, leafy little suburb right on the other side of the river from us; you can see rooftops from our kitchen if you leap a little (and are utterly starved for activity.)
It's noticeably fancier than Horseshoe Bend, I must admit; Lorn is fairly riddled with "Federation gems", in real-estate parlance:

It's remarkably intact, architecturally, and some streets could be mistaken for Mosman or Woollahra in Sydney – without too much squinting and at a fraction of the price.

Inevitable downside: If the area does flood again – unlikely as that is – Lorn goes first.

Insert schadenfreude here.

Today Mick and I embarked upon an unsuccessful trip to Lorn's butcher (too late), which Mick insisted start in East Maitland:

Sounds like a multinational arms dealer-cum-cosmetics giant, doesn't it? Or perhaps a dietary supplement concern...

In fact, it's a lighting store in East Maitland (Mick needed little radio bulbs).
I bet you any money the name Cetnaj actually has something to do with the wife's name being Jan and the kids' names starting with T, E and C.
Or something.
Terrible business name.

Never mind, we took advantage of a beautiful day – with Suzi in the backseat – and went the long way to our destination. As such, we did pass some noteworthy sights.

First, the work-in-progress boat that's been there as long as we can remember (three years or so):

Every time I see it, it looks more forlorn.
I like to think of it as an art installation, perhaps with its formerly high-flying owner trapped inside, suspended in formaldehyde.

And then we saw some brand-new arrivals – candy-coloured livestock:

The purpose of which is up for grabs. (A Mardi Gras tie-in is possible but unlikely.)

After the butcher disappointment, the sight of the business practically next door to it was a genuine surprise and greatly appreciated.

Presenting the Lorn franchise of Vile & Vile Solicitors:

They should really go national.

Six degrees of Charlie Ruggles

Okay, so I'm up late again, watching Bringing Up Baby (1938), starring Katharine Hepburn and Cary Grant:

...when the cast credits come on.

It's Charlie. Again:

He really got around.

By the way, this movie famously has Cary Grant, wearing a fur-trimmed chiffon bedgown for reasons too screwball to repeat, announce to a bewildered matron when asked why he was dressed like that:

"I just went gay all of a sudden!"

He wore it well.

Statements of the obvious

They should do these in T-shirts, in order to let you know who to avoid walking behind at Woolies:

Rain, hail, waiting for sleet

The weather's been miserable. I love it.

We had an awesome hailstorm last week and have had several nights of lightning and thunder since.
Poor Suzi hasn't enjoyed it at all.

Still, this sort of weather brings out the critters, which have been strangely absent – or at least very discreet – so far this summer.
The current spiderwebs are pretty spectacular, especially when wet.
This was right outside our bedroom window last night:

This morning, it was gone.
How?
Do they pack them up? Eat them??

Spiders really do my head in.

Anyway, as for Suzi, she's getting used to the good life, to the point where she's mastered the sad-face – a truly unnerving, unflinching gaze indicating she wants food. Now.
Or she'll never stop staring at me.
Very passive-aggressive.

It's so cute though:

And highly effective.

Dim lights, small city

I know the previous update gave you the bleak reality of my life; here's how I've managed to avoid reality entirely. Or at least put it off for a while.

Feeling sad?
Feed a horse bread or carrots or apples – anything within reason:

You'll get over it instantly.

When unable to sleep, you can't go past The Love Boat in the middle of the night.
When it stars Betty White and Carol Channing?

Hold me down:

The power of nonsense should never be underestimated.

When feeling a tad despairing of life and Australian culture in general, I like to focus on young people in town with a genuine artistic bent, or at least the ability to render more than his/her name in Magic Marker:

That's been stencilled directly across the road from the grand campery of the Masonic Temple:

Call me childish, but that really cheers me up.

And when in doubt, check out your garden.
As for food this winter, I think we're fine:

Plus ça change...

Okay. Update.
I'm pretty much screwed; no doctor seems terribly optimistic about my outcome.
I do have chemo due early March though, so we'll soon see exactly how doomed I am.

Fun!

In the meantime, here's an overview of life as a hideously disfigured hermit in the Hunter Valley.
Again: Fun!

As the headline would suggest, the drive to Newcastle doctors really hasn't changed.
Especially Ossie the Mossie, who hasn't even bothered to ditch the hat since December:

Similarly, that wretched habit of vehicular ventriloquy shows no signs of abating.
If anything, it's worsened:

And you thought that was mindless (same car):

I wanted Mick to run this idiot woman off the road so much I almost popped a blood vessel.

Perhaps I should work on my anger issues.

I'm thinking of buying a crossbow...