Tues-day

Well, Pliny the Elder, you said you were looking forward to Tuesday. I look forward to Tuesday too, in a way. And this is how.

I wasn't aware I did this, until last Monday. You know how sometimes you catch yourself thinking? I caught myself thinking on Monday.

What I was thinking was something I don't usually think until Tuesday afternoon. Which is, hurrah! it's whole week till next Tuesday. The weird thing was that I was thinking it on Monday. I thought, wait a minute it's only Monday! And then I realised I knew that already, and I still felt just the same. Although of course there was an extra Tuesday in between.

Tuesday. It's like a sheltering tree. I was walking home from the shops this morning thinking about Tuesday and what I would write for this, when I saw a tree in front of me. Well, not directly in front of me but slightly to the right. It was a tall eucalyptus with spreading branches and yellow blossoms that had fallen to the footpath, so were no longer part of the tree. Although they were no longer part of the tree, they were there, so I'm just saying. Maybe it was because I was thinking of Tuesday at the exact moment I saw the tree, but suddenly I believed I knew that Tuesday was a tree. It looks like a tree. 'Tues' is the top of the tree, and 'day' is the trunk. It's funny but it's true. None of the other days of the week could possibly be trees.

The Beauty Of Cool

It was cooler today. Although the heat still lingered in pockets. And damp, too.

Pliny and Nostradamus went to town to do some Christmas shopping. They walked across the parklands under a powder grey sky, a sharp scent of eucalyptus rising from the earth.

In David Jones Pliny bought a tin of Love Balm. You've been pre-approved for a David Jones American Express card, said the shop assistant. But I don't want one, said Pliny. This would be the worst possible time in the entire history of the planet to get one, she thought, but did not add.

They bought some socks, and Christmas stickers, then walked down Rundle Street. They could see the distant hills. Olive grey hills, covered in a faint and steamy mist. Pliny was thinking: everything is grey today. A man walked by in red shoes.

On their way home, Pliny and Nostradamus stopped in Norwood to shop. They walked through a hot corridor, smelling of yesterday, to The Parade. The Parade was blocked off to all traffic. A crowd, gathered near a row of red racing cars, chatted in a desultory way.