And in the morning...

At 3:30 yesterday morning I was rummaging through my laundry basket trying to decide if pink socks were disrespectful.

That's not the point.

The moon was a beautiful sliver with Venus hovering brilliantly above it.

That's not the point either.

On the way home a van full of strange Mediterranean men pulled alongside me to suggest some truly complicated things.

That's still not the point.

At 4:28am 8,000 people stopped chewing gum, stopped smoking, stopped sucking on takeaway coffee, stopped talking about how odd Stephanie's arse is, stopped chastising their children, stopped fiddling with their mobile phones and stood in absolute silence in the pre-dawn listening to a truly mournful bugle (oh, the pure misery of brass) and realised, if only for a minute, how lucky they are to be able to do any of that crap. I went home to bed and slept peacefully until it was time to go to work.

That's the point.

Melbourne...

All the more beautiful this time for being a little familiar - but not familiar enough to calm my parched brain, which woke me persistently after three hours sleep demanding that I unstick my weary eyelids, prise my leaden tongue from the roof of my mouth and get up NOW NOW NOW, even though the others are hours away from waking. So many new things this time - theatre and comedy and hidden corners and great swathes of the Ocean Road and a glorious, glorious day of freedom and singing at the top of my lungs on the Mornington Peninsula (see above) where for the very first time I felt like an adult because they gave me a car and for some foolish reason assumed I'd bring it back in one piece in the evening. Somehow I did.

The crash turned out to be physical rather than mechanical - as I pulled into the airport to meet my departing flight I gave in to a great shudder and became a giant sneeze for the next five days. I dripped home and found I'd gone out in sympathy with my adopted family - GP, who'd succumbed to a crippling bout of tonsillitis, and Ziggy, who'd tried to leap through a fence and left one of his back paws behind - both prescribed the same antibiotics and confined to the couch.

As I sniffled up the Great Dividing Range the cart arrived and I gratefully accepted a cup of tea. The boy in the aisle to my window seat declined until I took my boots off and then called them back from the end of the cabin to order an award-winningly pungent cup of coffee to stave off the socks I'd tramped around in all week. We dawdled over our drinks, he systematically unravelling the lip of his cardboard cup and me watching slivers of moonlight jump from dam to dam below like a slippery silver fish. Suddenly the cart reappeared and we both realised we were landing and our cups were still half full - we executed a synchronised scull and cup stuff that would've put an Olympic squad to shame and a synchronised grin that cheered my diseased sinuses and reminded me I still had my photos to look forward to. Here's one of them.

..and the Moon

(Imagine a happy stomp)

One mile or a thousand
And I'm far away from you
Try as I may
There's precious little I can do

Because one mile or a thousand
And you're far away from me
Do as I do
I'll never make you see

That I'm charismatic
Fun, fantastic
Flexible, like thin elastic
Optimistic, chic, engaging
Effervescent, smart, amazing

One mile or a thousand
Six and two threes
Melbourne or the moon
It doesn't matter much to me

Vacant girls are buying you favours
This is a disastrous start
That seems to be your hand on my arm
But, baby, where is your heart?
Did I grow an extra set of nostrils?
Is there a rubber chicken strapped to my head?
Darling, was my daddy a glazier?
Well, then, why
Are you looking at her instead?

Oh, sugarpie
One mile or a thousand
And it's pretty much the same
Practise I will
But I've always been lousy at this game

One mile or a thousand
Do as you please
Melbourne or the moon
Melbourne or the moon
It doesn't matter much to me

This Week's Band Name

- if you'll allow me the liberty, Henri - is 'The Skeevy Feelings'.