Friday, September 6

It's a miserable day today: grey and drizzly.  The cleaning lady will arrive sometime soon and my job is to strip the bed so she can change the sheets.  Marilyn put the dirty linen in the washing machine and we sat down to have breakfast.  And the microwave wouldn't work!  When I checked the washing, it had stopped too.  It seems the two machines are on the same circuit and we've never noticed.  It's all too hard!

The local Facebook page was full of forlorn residents asking whether anyone else was having power problems but I don't get involved in those group whinges.  

There's a bird chirping away outside; I think it's our lovelorn blackbird still advertising for a mate, Good  luck to him.

There's nothing planned for today so we'll probably read, watch something on Youtube and drink too many cups of coffee. Life gets tedious, don't it?  Maybe we need a change of scene.

CHANGE OF SCENE                                                                                   OCTOBER 29, 2021

“What you need is a change of scene,” the doctor pronounced, with all the authority that 40 years in the business had conferred.  I wondered whether any of his confidently-asserted diagnoses had ever been questioned because there was never any shred of doubt in his voice, no sense that his advice might be less than satisfactory.  But, who was I to suggest that the twelve-minute consultation he was allowed under Medicare was hardly long enough to get to the bottom of the lethargy and lassitude I had been feeling for the past few months?

 This was not the first time I had consulted this particular doctor for this particular disorder.  He had at first confidently prescribed anti-depressants but I might as well have been taking lollies for all the good they did.  “We’ll try something stronger,” he said and I spent the next few weeks in a semi-comatose state.

 “Hmm!” he murmured. “Have you tried exercise?  A brisk walk twice a day often works in this sort of situation.”  I tried, faithfully, for a couple of days but then the winter rains set in and the streets were too flooded and slippery for me to walk safely.  “Join a gymnasium,” he advised, breezily and I duly fronted up to my local gym and joined the “Middle Years Marchers” group.  Who comes up with these names?  The group was almost exclusively female, silver-haired and desperate for companionship.  As a new member, I became ‘flavour of the month’ and, sadly, was not able to cope with the unwonted attention.

 Finally, my long-suffering doctor suggested talking to his brother-in-law who was a psychologist but the waiting list for a consultation stretched far into the future.  “In the meantime, keep doing what you’re doing,” was the advice.  What I was doing was staying in bed until mid-morning, watching TV all afternoon, drinking too much, and falling into bed after midnight.

 A change of scene?  Maybe a holiday would help.  Now that the COVID restrictions were being lifted, I had a few options to work with.  New Zealand might be a possibility but it’s a bit staid and I craved something a little more exciting.  Bali?  No, I wouldn’t feel safe there.  Queensland’s always good.  At least the sun is likely to be shining and the Premier, Anastasia, is talking it up.

 I can fly to Brisbane direct from here, check into a reasonable hotel, spend some time on the Gold Coast and investigate what Joh Bjelke-Petersen used to call the flesh-pots.  I can’t wait; thinking about this holiday is the best I’ve felt for ages.  Maybe the doctor is right, after all.

There was no problem getting a seat on the plane and I had my choice of luxury hotels to choose from.  The direction to wear a mask was a bit difficult but having the bottom half of my face covered took years off my age and that could only be a good thing.  I was starting to become more than a little excited by my projected holiday.

 I had a good flight, the crew were attentive and didn’t object to the few beers I enjoyed.  As the plane came into land, I felt just a little under the weather but I put that down to Altitude Sickness.  I had been reading about Edmund Hillary on Mt Everest and he had suffered from Altitude Sickness and I had been a lot higher than him.  That little stumble on the steps down from the plane meant nothing. 

I had another beer, and a little something stronger, while I was waiting for my luggage to come around the carousel and stood patiently outside for a taxi.  I couldn’t wait to get to my luxury hotel and start to enjoy my change of scene.

The façade of the hotel was Queensland glitzy.  I had stayed in good hotels in other cities in the world but Brisbane hotels had a touch of Las Vegas about them that I hadn’t experienced elsewhere (except in Las Vegas, of course.) I stifled a little giggle.  It wouldn’t do to let people think that I was slightly drunk, and maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to have had a few beers on top of my anti-depressants.

The young woman behind the reception desk said, frostily, “I’m sorry, sir. I can’t process your booking at the moment.  If you would take a seat, I’ll speak to my manager and he will be with you shortly.”

I couldn’t believe it, but sat down to hear the reason why I couldn’t book in.  An officious-looking middle-aged man came over to me and told me that the hotel’s policy was that they would not register any customers who were clearly intoxicated.

“Intoxicated?”  I bellowed.  Perhaps I should have kept my voice down because the next thing I know a couple of policemen had taken me by the arms and were hustling me out the door and into a police wagon.  So, now I am sitting on this hard bench in a Brisbane Police Station waiting to hear whether I will be charged with Disturbing the Peace.  And, I’m sure this is not the change of scene my precious doctor was talking about.