Again, now is not the time to write, but I don't want to lose what was possibly the best weekend of the year. Or definitely one of the best.
Right now I'm sitting at my desk, big black scarf tucked up around my chin, mug of milo in front of me as Perth rages in an early spring storm at the window.
So, Melbourne: Jay and I took a Friday afternoon flight and Bud picked us up at the tiger terminal, late in the night and drove us to Brunswick where we had a hotel room booked. Dear, familiar Melbourne.
It being midnight, and we being on Perth time and ravenous, we raced to the Maccas on Sydney road for our first romantic dinner.
Saturday dawned bright and cold and we rattled into the city on the number 19 tram for my haircut with my amazing Irishman. A lot less hair later we stopped for an exorbitant breakfast in one of the city's perfect little alleyways - with hindsight I should have specified non-French bubbles, but goddamn they were wonderful. Good, strong, kick-from-a-horse coffee, a delightful waiter and perfect company. the happies threatened to overtake.
We got ready at the hotel, then picked up Bud and Keir and waited for the taxi. Alas, I made the mistake of practicing the Noelle Kocot poem in the cab and Bud picked up on the one potentially funny line (a sandwich in the moonlight) and we dissolved in red-faced giggles.
The Aylesbury rooftop was fancy. Resplendent in sunshine, and kind of dripping with love. Jules and Johnny were there, and Gerry and Mr and Mrs D and several other faces I recognised. Much champagne was drunk, and some tears escaped when Em and Jim stood facing each other repeating words of a Shelley poem and they were just so in the moment. It was beautiful and fortifying and hope making and happy.
A great gift to be in their presence and to have the opportunity to spend time with people I love so much.
Unfortunately Mr D recommended the (admittedly excellent) Sangiovese, which on top of the all the bubbles I'm afraid tipped Banana over the edge, but I was lucky to have my everpatient knight to put up with my shit. Not only put up with, and whisk me home, but later make me ingenious toasted sandwiches...the secret of which I simply cannot reveal. . .
On Sunday morning I woke up with a hangover smaller than my previous night's behaviour would have deserved, but again, Melbourne was dancing with sunshine at the window and we went to breakfast with B & K and Matt and Andy. It made me so happy to see them together- there is continuation in life even when I'm absent for what feels like fucking years.
I had a bloody mary and some dreamy smoked salmon concoction that soothed all ills.
The best part of the day though, was borrowing Squeaky from Bud and driving to Geelong with Jay to surprise Dad on his birthday, and, as it happened, for father's day. Margo was her usual paranoid overbearing self, but seeing Dad this time was somehow better than any other time. I really love my Dad, in all his daggy embarrassingness.
And maybe this is strange, but there was and is a great comfort in being in Geelong with Jay and having something tangibly familiar. I know it's not where I was born but I am
from there, nonetheless.
After we bade farewell to Dad, loaded up with a bottle of palinka and some vanilla slice from Margo we went to Jay's cousin's house which was a glorious work-in-progress...and then on to his Nan's. So I met the whole family. Or almost. And I was only a little bit scared and only for a little bit of time. Because they're really rather wonderful. And when Jay's Mum put her head on his Dad's shoulder I got shivers. It was a seriously perfect day. Better even than the Lou Reed song.
We finished the ngiht, after returning the car at a tiny new Irish place called the Snug - and that's exactly what it was. And we talked and sat close and drank beer - perfection.
Monday was a day just for us - and for breakfasting with VC and Jun and Mr Langmaid who insists he has commented on this blog but I'm afraid I've found no trace!
After breakfast we went back to the City, to Ponyfish Island where we sipped a drink and basked in the warmth, then to Crown where I was bedazzled and confused and slowly wound our way back to the hotel where we had scores to settle.
By the time we made dinner with Bud all of us were on the verge of vertical sleep. I love nothing more than those close, domestic luxuries of being surrounded by the people I love most. Bud's kitchen is one of my safe places. My happy place.
And then home, to Perth and back to work which has finally picked up with new challeneges which I have been enjoying. But now I have to apply again: please can I be permanent? Please may I be recognised for the work I've done? It made strong in me the idea that if I ever have children they will NOT get a degree in the humanities. A trade, a skill, a profession - no arty farty bullshit until they have a career. Or so I feel at the moment anyway. Some people can make it work, I'm just feeling a bit bitter right now.
And to finish this post on an even lower level, I had a (possibly final) meeting with Mat last weekend when I perhaps foolishly assumed that just because I felt ready to be mates he might feel the same. I was sorely mistaken and it really upset me and pushed sadness right back into the mix.
But then I spent most of Sunday with Jay and a multitude of canine cuteness and felt like I was being waited on hand and foot and the sadness passed.
Dezso arrives tomorrow, into a less than perfect week of work stress and lack of funds and preparation for an all too fast approaching marathon. I must say I couldn't ask for a better training team though, except when Smokey is intent on getting me to face plant on a run :-)
