Ahh this blog post is a bit late. Please forgive me. I arrived home and couldn’t be bothered typing and clicking and all the complicated things that I have to do in order to produce this crap.
After a somewhat uneventful day, I donned my jeans and my shirt and my suede jacket (it was my grandfather’s) and hopped on the train to meet with Andrew. I felt a bit uncomfortable wearing said vintage suede jacket in Watsonia, because there’s a tendency for bogans in tracksuits to yell out derogatory comments, but as soon as we alighted in the hipster suburb of Northcote, everything was alright. In fact, there was a super hipster on the tram. I could tell this because he was playing with a Rubik’s Cube.
We met with Josiah et al (ft. several new acquaintences!) at the Workers’ Club in Fitzroy for drinks and animated discussion. Andrew and I went on a brief sojourn for souvlaki and baklava (which, as we were informed, was “none of that soggy Greek stuff”) and then re-joined the group. The group, being a complicated social dynamic, fragmented over time, and the remnants (about four of us) went off on an exciting odyssey through the Carlton Gardens (in which possums eyed us warily) to the Queensbury Hotel for parma. It was then that I discovered (courtesy of the pub television) that Mr Rudd’s leadership was not as stable as previously indicated. Apparently alienating all your colleagues and insisting that other people’s opinions need not be listened to can come back and bite you.