It’s Friday evening and for once I’m not heading out somewhere for a social drink, and I’m glad of it. I’ve had a headache all day and feel weary, but I feel content. Close to hand is a gin and tonic as the days shadows lengthen, and receding behind me a good-ordinary Friday, easy and relaxing.
I was in the city early where I went to have coffee and a simple breakfast reading the newspaper at Hoboken. As always Hosier Lane had a clutch of devotees speaking in foreign tongues and accents and taking artfully composed photo’s of the grafiiti the place is famous for. As always I walked amongst them casting a glance to the left and right, appreciating the vibrant energy of the graffiti on the walls, but more intent on the hot cup of coffee soon to come my way.
I bumped into people I knew and chatted, fending off invitations before agreeing, yes, I will. On foot again the phone rang with friends wanting to know about this or that. I walked by the council buildings in my heavy coat, the weather for once this week relatively mild, the wind for now gone away and the scattered clouds free of rain. My destination was Readers Feast, the city bookshop I had been aghast learning was soon to close: it’s my favourite bookstore. I had little time, but with 30-50% off all books I quickly gathered up a brace of them (The Lord Chandos Letter, 100 Rules for Entrepreneurs, Butterfly, A good School, The Fox in the Attic, and The German Genius) and hit the counter.
I exited the store to find a protest of some description clogging up the intersection of Bourke and Swanston Streets: meaning no trams. I walked then up the hill to my next appointment, huffing and puffing with my bags of heavy books before meeting an acquaintance for another coffee.
We were talking about work. I don’t know him well, but he’s clearly an admirer of me for some reason. Earlier in the week he had called regarding a juicy opportunity. Over a coffee we caught up on the general gossip on the people we mutually knew, the companies we had both done business with, and the myriad challenges (and pleasures) of running your own show. Finally we got to the point of the meeting, a discussion on the opportunity and the lucrative money on offer. Will it happen? Won’t it? Who knows. Good to know I’m still in the running for such nice opportunities.
I got home about lunchtime. Invited for coffee and a chat about another opportunity I’ve been nurturing I couldn’t make it. Instead I caught up with some correspondence and then left to meet up with another girl. I don’t know what’s going on lately, but I’m scoring like Bradman in his prime. There’s no relationship, and won’t be, but this one is endearingly sweet on me too. Maybe I am a nice guy – something I question occasionally. I gave her a lift and then headed to the shopping centre where I bought some treats for the weekend – tomorrow is my ‘fat’ day – and some beef short ribs from the butcher.
Walking home in the waning light I considered my dinner for tonight – a classy piece of Cape Grim porterhouse, a baked potato with sour cream, some carrots on the side. Then later the footy maybe, or a DVD, or maybe catch up on my new books – always a delight. It’s a busy weekend ahead and many demands on me, and so it’s nice just to be myself alone with the things I love.
On that note it’s time to recline with my G&T, my new books, and a magazine. And then to start fixing dinner. It’s good.