Wednesday, 29 February 2012
So, I was in town to do a bit of last minute shopping and I was accosted by a charity worker. She was very persistent and I'm very polite, especially when the lady in question has a lilting Limerick accent. She told me all about the mistreatment of animals and how gorillas have their hands chopped off to make ashtrays. All she wanted from me was the price of a cup of coffee a week, via a standing order to help fight a war against animal trafficking and mistreatment. I felt terrible - and sorry for her more than all the gorillas with stumps. However, I told her about my shoestring existence and how me and my last pennies were about to go to Australia. Somehow I managed to extricate myself and then bumped into my neighbour, Tony.
Tony had just used his bus pass for the first time, as he's now 60 and bus travel is free for oldies. He walked back to keep me company though, as I don't do buses. I don't usually do walking, but of course I can't ride my bike for fear of contamination. He told me about the time he was swimming at Bondi Beach and a jellyfish tentacle became wrapped around his middle three times. He said it was the worst pain he'd ever experienced, although he had made a complete recovery within an hour. When we got back to our tenement building, Tony helped me to dismantle my bike and put it in the box. Or rather he did most of it because he's very handy. He had donned his blue overalls and he meant business. Even with a wheel removed, along with a mudguard, the rack, the handlebars and the saddle, it was still a squeeze to get in there.
The rest of the day was spent packing. Or rather I spent the rest of the day covering the my bed and surrounding floor with things I might pack, then Laura came over after work and supervised the actual packing.