Despite – perhaps because of – the rumour and intrigue that continues to swirl around her brief but highly eventful dalliance as a primary teacher, Anthea has managed to carve for herself a place in the upper echelons of society resulting in her recent appointment as High Priestess of the Chai Society.
“And you are?”, the security guy behind the reception desk asked me.
“Tony Bolson”, I told him.
“And from which department?”
You are the man sitting outside the cafe across the way. You are there often, and your rusty coloured dog, a shepherd or working dog of some kind, sits by you at the end of a lead.
After many years of a stressful career in the legal profession, I decided to make a tree change and move to country Victoria. Needing a challenge in life, I bought a rundown cottage on the main street of Hollow Bend, an old gold mining town some thirty klm’s west of Ballarat.
He moved down the narrow hallway through the debris of moving day: boxes upon boxes stacked, bottom to top and shoulder to shoulder the length of the passage. They congregated outside doorways like drunken uncles at a wedding. A posse of boxes stood leering at the bride from the entrance to the master bedroom, another set were reminiscing about buck’s nights gone by outside the study, and a smaller, more collapsed group wistfully mulled over lonely bachelorhood outside the bathroom.
This video is about an abandoned old cottage in an outer eastern suburb of Melbourne.
Music is Melancholy Galliard, composed by John Dowland and performed by Karin Schaupp.
Shelley’s eyes flicked on to the email from her oncologist. It had just come in. “Your results,” said the subject line, which was in bold.
Against Dr Gupta’s advice, Shelley had insisted on receiving the news by email. She’d told him she had to fly out to Bali, so she wouldn’t be able to go to the clinic.
Eric slumped in the wingback chair. He traced a taloned forefinger across the bony ridges of his brow, and glared balefully at the heavy black envelope on the occasional table opposite him.
I had recently moved suburbs in Melbourne, and was out walking and exploring, when I came across this abandoned old delivery van. I returned with my camera, and then home to edit the moving pictures, to the beautiful music of Ennio Morricone’s DEBORAH’S THEME.
It had been a while since there had been any decent action in the bedroom, and I was getting pretty toey. Tiesha and I had notched up some 16 years of happy marriage together, and although our love life was still pretty good, it was too often lacking that certain je ne sais quoi that had existed in those earlier bedridden Elwood days.