Quite a while ago, when I was doing Yr 12, I remember coming across a book by Viktor Frankl. He was an Austrian psychotherapist. It might have been in the Moonee Ponds library, the spot I retreated to escape the noise at home, and to pretend to myself that I was studying. Or, I may […]
Micro moment of lighthearted suburban theatre on a day in which a collective grief was all too consuming
I’ve been sucked in to the latest supermarket promotion.
before the game
I’ve just realised that I am no longer asked “Can you butter my toast“. It was never a request. It was an expectation. Thirteen years and ten months it has taken to achieve this state of independence and mastery of technique. That of buttering the toast and spreading the Vegemite. Finally…. Well not quite.
Pellegrini’s. Spaghetti Marinara, Apple Studel and Watermelon Granita.