Nicholas as householder

In my latest unrehearsed role, I found myself on Friday in possession of a house. In fact, I wasn’t even in town when it happened. (I was away in Sydney on business. And no, I don’t end up owning a house every time I’m away on business.)

The role is still quite unreal to me; it won’t mean particularly much to me until I’m actually overnighting there. And that won’t be for a little while yet: the place needs some work. I did get some perfunctory weeding done Saturday—which is not what I’d been expecting to do just back from Sydney with three hours sleep. And I am ill at such numbers.

(The three hours sleep was of course because I’ve got the Yerevan Time bug from England: if I’m in a hotel and flying out before midday, I will wake up at 5 am. This bug is something I truly consider a bug…)

As for this past day, I started on my quest for furniture. Another experience I wasn’t really prepared for. Case in point: the furniture joint I visited is 200m from the pub I’ve been defaulting at when at Monash for the past year-odd; and I’d never noticed it:

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The surprises don’t end there. I ended up well-disposed towards the furniture joint’s classic range of lounge suites. I really expected my taste in living room essentials to be more along the lines of Buck Rogers meets Art Deco: metal and straight lines and very little wood. But if you’re shopping this close to Oakleigh, and you care about back support, you take what you can get; and you don’t get the tan square leviathans that threaten to digest you, leaving nothing behind but a remote control and half a sock.

My more assiduous readers may have noted that I have an anonymous stalker on the blog. (Don’t worry, I know who he is; in fact, dear readers, he’s been named here.) The anonymous stalker has asked that I finish off my account of my previous voyage before I embark on this new voyage. I haven’t, so I’ll try and inelegantly dovetail them over the next few time units.

The time units are left unspecified…