The Fire of Love

I normally avoid the sporting part of the news, but I saw it tonight. There was a story about a man who used to play for a football team, who now plays for another team, and this week he will be playing against his old team. 'He knows what to expect on the field,' said the reporter. 'Verbal ribbing.' Oh, no! Not... verbal ribbing! How will he cope?

I am in one of my gloomy fits about work, so I am thinking again about doing a Master's degree. Today I got as far as seeing what I had to do to apply. Apparently the university needs a copy of my birth certificate to prove that I am me, even though it gave me a bachelor's degree without it. That makes no sense to me. As it happens, I don't have a birth certificate; I've got this far in life with just an extract of it. So I thought, even if I don't apply, it wouldn't hurt to have a copy of my birth certificate handy. I looked up how to get my birth certificate from the Northern Territory. I can get it in person, but that seems a long way to go just to get a piece of paper. I could mail or fax my application, which would require getting certified copies of other proof of identity. Or I could just fill in this simple online form, no questions asked. So I did that. It seemed a bit too easy.

I have a new pair of blue suede slippers. They have a delightfully springy sole and a sequinned bow on them.

My little cactus, which has sat like a spiky green blob for about four years now, has some little pink spots on it, which I think are going to be flowers.

Today I needed a lemon and I picked one off my tree. This is my second tree: the first one died after years of doing nothing, and this one had a rocky start to life. But here we are, two years down the track, and I've finally got a lemon. It was delightfully lemony.

So that's what's going on today.