But I don’t believe in time, so it’s not a concern I share.
If, six months ago, you’d told me I’d one day be using this blog as an excuse procrastinate on the execution of actual proper Neurocam business, I’d have told you to get t’fuck – but that, dear readers, is the situation you find me in this evening. It feels very odd.
I’ve been pimping other peoples’ blogs of late; now I’m gonna pimp a kebab shop, which also feels odd. Ali Baba – an institution in my native Canberra – has just opened an outlet on Fitzroy Street and I’m so glad. I’ve patronised it twice already this week. I instinctively feel the urge to post a pic of the screwed-up wrapper of the first-rate chicken kebab I just consumed, but alas I have no camera anymore.
(Which is really no good, incidentally. I worry about the future of the ‘Fields – for the first time since I started it I have no embryonic posts in reserve, no camera so I can’t just take random pics and throw ’em up.. and Neurocam have effectively all but silenced me by way of promotion. So, if anyone has any novel ideas for posts – please, let’s hear ’em.)
As fate would have it, the manager of this Ali Baba is none other than the guy who used to manage their establishment in Garema Place, where I was at one time a very regular customer. He greeted me warmly and we exchanged witheringly disparaging remarks about the Can’, as is customary amongst ex-residents. It was great. All I need now is billies and baby sis (mmmmmmm….. billies….), and it would be like I never left. But, you know, in a really good way – because, in fact, I have.
Another thing I’m putting off even as I type is cleaning my flat, a process which is half-finished (the place is in complete disarray – don’t see pic, not attached) and needs must be completed post haste as I am shortly to be vacating for a month. I’m gonna be housesitting for boringly-grown-up-sis from next Tuesday whilst she is away meeting her fiance’s folks in Sweden.
I’ll have a whole house to myself – but for Sammy – and as I was saying to the two neuroblogerati luminaries (one of whom famously described Canberra as “a nice place to die”) with whom I partook of a most pleasant and interesting coffee or two earlier in the evening, I’d really love to bring Tahiti to Fitzroy and throw a bitchin’ Neuroparty (would Robin Hely come, I wonder?). Confoundingly, however, I just spoke to the lady of the house and she blew this idea straight out of the water point blank, supposedly on the grounds that there is too much expensive photography equipment lying around the place.
That’s the last time I pimp your goddamn cruddy half-finished website, bitch.