Josh (aka the madman) was in the pub again on Friday night. Alas, I didn’t have time to join him for a quick drink.

I like the reflection of the station, opposite, in this picture.

Mighty handy, this phone camera.

The good

We had a low-key but enjoyable celebration of Marita’s birthday on Saturday. In doing so I discovered that both our suburbs are host to dog-related cafes — the Dancing Dog in Footscray, and the Spotted Dog in Bentleigh. And both do a very fine meal.

The bulk of the rest of the weekend was spent lazing, relaxing, that kind of thing. Just the way a weekend should be.

The bad

My tipping was up the creek — only 2 out of the possible 6 games this weekend tipped. As much as I’d like to think I’m reasonable at tipping, after the 8 out of 8 two weeks ago, and the occasional win of an annual competition, basically it’s all fluke.

Then there was the mission to buy a ladder. (No, not a footy ladder.)

I worked out that what I needed was a 2.1 metre single-sided ladder (yeah, they still follow imperial measurements and come in 30cm/1 foot increments). 1.8m would be too short to safely and easily get myself through the trapdoor in the ceiling to relight the heating/leave rat poison for my visitors. 2.4m would be too big to easily manoevre the ladder down the hallway and into position. 2.1m would be perfect.

Having determined that the fine ladder maker Bailey makes such a thing, and having equipped myself with my sister’s car complete with roofrack and ties to bring home such a product, do you think I could find one? Nope. Bunnings may have 10 different types of mouse trap*, but they don’t have a 2.1 metre single-sided ladder. In fact I visited two branches, and was out of luck each time. Neither did Penhalluriacks.

To add insult to injury, I didn’t have convenient change for the sausage sizzle at Bunnings Moorabbin, either. Sometimes they’re commercial outfits, but this was the real deal, run by a kindergarten for fundraising. Oh well.

Happily the Bailey web site can tell you what shops have ordered a particular model in the last 3 months, which gives me a few good leads for the next installment of the hunt.

*Or they may not. I’m really just speculating.

The ugly

I happened to walk around the back side of Bentleigh tonight. It’s pretty euch back there, with darkened, ugly car parks, which probably occupy more space than the entire area of shops on main road. I suppose every suburb has something like this tucked away, a consequence of our car dependence. But it ain’t pretty.

Update 29/6/2006. Google maps have updated their satellite images for the area, so now you can see it from above. This is Centre Road between the railway station and Jasper Road:

(Click to see it in Google Maps.)

Paul Cornell, who wrote the excellent Father’s Day episode of Doctor Who, has a blog, and remarks that Rose’s father Pete was based on his own dad.

The piece is really about me appreciating the sacrifices he made, and how I know he’d do what the Dad in ‘Father’s Day’ does. I think most Dads would.

Yup.

Paul goes on to say that he’s recently discovered his dad had a terrifying, chaotic time in WW2 in the Far East, including a spot of treasure hunting, and he now thinks of him in the same vein as Bobby Shaftoe, the character in Neal Stephenson’s Cryptonomicon.

I can’t help thinking that for most of us, there’s way more about our parents than we know about.

Tony and Rae got married yesterday at the Sun Theatre in Yarraville.

After the ceremony, we all watched High Society.

Congratulations Tony and Rae.

(Funny story? Rob actually FORGOT the rings. Just before kick-off time, he had to race back home to get them.)

Due to various circumstances, I got to see some of the school photos taken on Tuesday.

It’s an annual event of course, and one not to be missed I reckon. Maybe I’m more nostalgic than most about my childhood (especially this week it seems), but from time to time I do like looking at my old school pictures, and I suspect my kids will value theirs in future decades too.

The school photos are done by a company which obviously has things running like a well-oiled machine. The group shots were done outside in the sunshine, the individual photos in the school hall.

The photographer was working the crowd (of 8 year olds) like a TV show warmup guy, keeping the kids laughing and entertained as he arranged them. “You there! Tinkerbell! Could you stand there? You guys — Tinky-Winky, La La, Dipsy, Po! Over here please.”

And thanks to the wonders of cheap reliable high quality digital photography, they could check all the shots were okay straight away.

Woo hoo! My good friends Tony & Rae are getting married tomorrow.

We were minding our own business, as Marita and I walked across Flinders Street from the station on Friday night, to go shopping for a present for my nephew Leo’s first birthday. As we passed Young & Jackson’s on the corner, suddenly there was a man in a bright orange shirt pulling on my arm. I didn’t recognise him. Some stranger. I couldn’t get a good look at him, but he looked slightly crazed. Must be some madman, I thought. Probably harmless, but just a bit excited for one reason or another.

I shouted at him: “No! No! No thanks mate, not today!” and tried to loosen his grip on my arm, as he pulled me across.

Then I realised it was Josh, and he was, in his own unique way, pulling me into the pub for a drink.

A pot and a chat later and we were better prepared to hit the shops.

I woke up the other day to an email from a woman I’d never heard of before. The subject line said “Is it really you?” and I came pretty close to throwing it straight into the spam bucket.

She said she was my godmother, that she’d lost touch with my mother after they’d moved to Australia, and gave details of being at my parents’ wedding. Thirty-five years later, she’d decided to do a web search for my original surname (Quinlem) and found me.

It’s all true. Wow.

I mean, seriously, like WOW.