Well, the electrician came and put in the shiny new switch box. I was glad to see he seemed to know what he was doing. At least, he managed to get all the work done without electrocuting himself, and without blacking out the entire street.

Problem is, the same stuff still happens. Though it appears not as much. Maybe the wiring is up a certain creek. So I’m in the process of hassling the landlady some more, to get it looked at.

Meanwhile, the third and final fish has just died. The installation of an air pump and filter might have helped it live a little longer, but if it was of any benefit, it came too late. We’ll see how the next generation of fish go.

I’m trying not to panic, but I may have a fire hazard in my house.

Rewind a bit. Remember I was having power hassles? The more delicate and sensitive of my appliances playing up? Apart from the ever joyous misbehaviour of one of the computer monitors, there’s also my precious hi fi gear - both the receiver and DVD player have been rendered unusable.

Well today two guys from United Energy dropped around. They took one look at the switch/fuse box and uttered various exclamations about it being pretty much fried, needing immediate replacement, and by golly it could be a fire risk too.

As soon as they’d gone, I checked that the smoke alarm battery was raring to go, then called the landlady to demand that she fork out for a new one. She wasn’t home, so I demanded it of her answering machine instead. She’ll be delighted, given the way she constantly moans about repair costs. Especially the week after she paid for the kitchen fan to be replaced.

Oh well, it’ll make the impending rent increase more worthwhile. Maybe it’s just as well I hadn’t started to moan about the ripped carpet and the cracked window yet.

Anyway tonight the electrician came, took a look, and announced he’ll be back on Anzac Day to sort it out. So now I’m just hoping that everything that currently doesn’t work will resume correct operations on Thursday.

PS. Noted today: car from Deluxe Driving School. Must have been the instructor, as she was alone in the car, and the L plates weren’t being displayed. Driving down the road, yapping into a handheld mobile phone…

Every so often there’ll be some people on the train who stand out a little from the usual crowd of commuters. This morning it was a mum and two kids. They were obviously on their way into town for the day from somewhere far away. The son wanted to know how many stations it was into Melbourne, and mum would get her timetable/map thingy out and count them and tell him. He went back to looking out of the window and reading the station names as they went past.

And when we got to Caulfield he told his mum excitedly "There’s a tram! A tram! Is that a tram mum? Can you see it? Wow!"

Ah, to be so excited about the world again…

The car survived the weekend okay. I drove it to the service place this morning in the pouring rain and peak hour traffic. Lovely. Despite my public transport-supporting tendencies, I was glaring at the bus a few vehicles in front of me - until it stopped outside a school and about 50 teenagers got out, and I suddenly realised how much longer it would be taking me to get down the road if in front of me were those 50 teenagers in 50 parents’ cars instead.

I dropped the car off and walked to the nearby station to catch the train into work. That’s not on my usual line, and the train didn’t seem very crowded for 8:30 on a Monday morning. So at first I was thinking bloody Sandringham line passengers, they have it easy. But after a couple of stops, the train was just as packed as my usual sardine run, so fair enough then.

I picked up the car this afternoon, and they told me the windscreen wiper motor had shorted. Probably got sprayed with leaking radiator coolant. Terrific. Chi-ching. This car thing, it’s a real money pit. I’m grudgingly glad to have it back in one piece and working though.

Went to see The Trade on Friday night. For anybody hitting the last week of the Comedy Festival, I highly recommend it. Very funny and thought provoking stuff.

And it provided a bit of minor celebrity spotting. Really minor celebrity spotting. Greg Fleet was enjoying a quiet moment to himself, sitting at a cafe on Collins Street. Wilbur Wilde was talking to someone in the entrance hall of the venue. And attendees to the show itself included Tim Smith (the radio guy and former Comedy Company bloke), the incredibly tall Matt Parkinson (half of the Empty Pockets/Big Gig Lager Boys) and that bloke who used to be in the Bendigo Bank TV ads, but who now writes for the Age. Simon someone. I think. Yeah. Huge. Very famous. Yup.

Oh the joys of cars. Mine is playing up. Steam coming out of the bonnet last night. With some assistance I determined the radiator was empty. Which is definitely not a good thing. The car is booked in for a scheduled service on Monday anyway. So would it last the weekend?

After filling the radiator with emergency DHMO
last night, I checked it again this morning - still full. But on my first shortish drive of the day, it emptied itself and steam started coming out of the bonnet again!

Took a quick look and noticed one of the hosepipes off the engine had come loose. And it had spewed bright green coolant all over the underside of the bonnet. Put the hosepipe back on, refilled the radiator and I drove straight to the repair place. I’d called ahead - they had said they couldn’t do the service today, but that they’d take a look.

On the way there, a bit more steam, but when I got there the guy looked, tightened the hose pipe, checked there was still water in the radiator, and proclaimed it Okay To Drive until Monday! So, FYU463 lives to see another day!

Not much to report from the past week. I’ve been a tad too busy, but that’s often the case. Thankfully I’m only so busy because I spend so much time relaxing…

I cleaned my car on Saturday. It was in dire need of it. Especially after Friday, when it was parked at Ormond Station, and was attacked, either by a squadron of birds who hate my guts, or by one very, very, very sick bird who really ought to be at home close to a toilet, nibbling Saos and sipping on lemonade.

So I attacked this plethora of birdshit, and scrubbed until it was all off. Of course, by Monday afternoon they’d got it again. Bastards.

So, the Queen Mother is dead. I have a problem with this. It’s been less than two days since I heard the news, but I’m already having real trouble remembering where I was when I heard it. I’m beginning to think that in a week or two, the whole thing might be forgotten as an event of very little consequence or significance.

After all, she was 101. That’s a pretty damn good innings by any standards. It’s only because she’s famous that it’s news - "101 Year Old Woman Dies In Her Sleep" wouldn’t make the headlines otherwise.

I’m sure she was a very brave, kind and noble woman. At least judging from the gushing tributes to her in the media, she was. I wouldn’t know. Before my time. Which is probably why I’m finding it a little hard to get too worked up about it.