Last word on Melbourne

This is about the rest of my sojourn in Melbourne, which was quite full. I'm back in the heat of Cairns now and reading about snow in Victoria. If only. Melbourne turned on some glorious spring weather while I was there. Saturday morning I bought The Age - what a pleasure after months of only being able to get that Murdoch mouthpiece, The Australian - and went and had breakfast in a cafe down by the river. I read somewhere that the definition of not having social anxiety was being able to enjoy a meal alone in a restaurant.  Well, it was OK. Just. Then a wander through a couple of galleries in the Ian Potter Centre in Federation Square. Actually by this time I had decided it was quite nice to have some solo time.

 Then met Lian in that most traditional spot, under the clock at Flinders St Station, and we went to Docklands for the quirky arty crafty treat of Finders Keepers Market. Sunday morning, visited dear friend Gabi in Hawthorn and since then have been sending her healthy healing thought waves. Gabi deserves to be as well and strong as she was when we were wild gels together at Uni. 

That afternoon went to St Kilda where Wim was jamming with some fellow musos in the courtyard at Pure Pop Records. What a very Melbourne scene.

Sunday night, and Matt cooked up his current culinary specialty, Greg Malouf's twice cooked pork belly, followed by Lian's Key Lime Pie. No need to eat for a week after that sumptuous spread. So Monday morning, coffee for breakfast and a juice for lunch, followed by a pedicure. 

Have you ever had a pedicure? They sit you in a massage chair for a lovely long relax while they soak, wash, tidy up and massage your feet, then paint you with polish. It's soooo good.

Then, Lian and I went to the Museum of Victoria for The Titanic exhibition. A powerful experience. Poignant, effective. Chilling in every sense of the word. One gallery features a massive, room-sized block of actual ice and you can feel it and reflect on the fact that the seawater into which all those souls fell was a couple of degrees colder than that. The proportion of those who survived reflected their social status - most of the first class passengers lived, and most of the crew died. 

That night, a drink at Madame Brussels rooftop bar,on Bourke Street http://www.madamebrussels.com/wiki/ while waiting for a table at Mamasita's (Mexican). Madame Brussels was the original Melbourne Madame, apparently.  Had most of the 19th century BSD's (big swinging dicks) in her black book, while her arch rival, Lady Hopetoun, of the very refined Hopetoun Tea Rooms had all their wives.  

 Lian says the last time she ate at Mamasita's, they had just ordered when a group of the actual real chefs from Masterchef rocked up.  So it was good food. http://www.mamasita.com.au/

Altogether too much fun and good times, according to Suki, who had been left alone in the apartment with no company but her furry little self. She paid us all back, bigtime. About 1am, she silently slipped off the bed, silently moved to the kitchen and silently jumped up, then up a bit higher, then up again to the top of the kitchen cupboards.  Where Bosun kept his empty beer bottle collection.  Kept, past tense. Watched us all elevate out of bed at the smash noise, watched us clean it all up, sweep, vacuum, the works.  Then, she sprang lightly down from her high vantage point, right on top of the glass pasta jar, and neatly kicked it onto the floor. Hysterical laughter all round. More cleaning up. Apparently this is the fourth storage jar she has dispatched.  Is there a lesson here? 

Tuesday morning, and it was my last day already. Spent it with Wim, doing some balcony gardening. This naturally involved a trip to Bunnings, where Wim spotted a pigeon disappearing into a plant pot on a high shelf in the garden section. Nice pot, so we got it down. Ohhh...how sweet. Pigeon eggs.

All too quickly, found myself on the plane again.  But it was wonderful to see my love waiting at the other end. What a lovely trip.