Shoes, Books & Cynicism
Kate Stone Matheson
The Wax That Melts Our Wings

I’d say it’s what separates us, not from the beasts, but the bestial. Creating the future, renewing a learned past - these are reasons to strive. Writing for and with love, taking and framing an image, stretching new melodic skins onto old skeletons of song… it’s how we manage to fly. It’s how we stay you and me, not us and them.

The Wax That Melts Our Wings
Shoes, Books & Cynicism
Kate Stone Matheson
The Lady Jellypants Guide to Grace and Poise

Unlike Osk, who seemed to establish his own tactical task force wherever we lived, scooping up neighbourhood feline troublemakers as sidekicks (including the memorable ginger behemoth Watson, with whom he used to scope the street from the safety of the shed roof), Jelly has the intelligence gathering skills of a sponge cake.

The Lady Jellypants Guide to Grace and Poise
Shoes, Books & Cynicism
Kate Stone Matheson
Love Me Tender

Anyway, somewhere in between my 'and then you should've done this' and 'why didn't you say x and y, rather than z', and 'for the love of monkeys and the general public's eyesight, you didn't honestly wear that heinous shirt did you', something he was saying about the dating extravaganza we were picking to pieces finally penetrated my cloud of self-congratulatory cumulo-waffle. 

"Most people don't talk about how dates are progressing as a tender process, do they?" he asked. 

"What?"

"She said I was 'part way through the tender process' and that she was judging me on my submission. I'd like to think there was irony involved, and I think at the time I may have given an admittedly weak "haha, yesssss, quite". Looking back, I'd have to conclude, computer says no on the presence of Fabulon or other aids to achieving crisply pressed linen."

Love Me Tender

Postman

Send Me A Letter, The Sooner The Better...

““If you want something, it will elude you. If you do not want something, you will get ten of it in the mail.”

”

— Anna Quindlen

Dear Mr Australia Post Delivery Dude,

When I first moved in here, we had a fabulous relationship. You were such a lovely man - you even delivered on a Saturday. You knew I worked from home, and you often rang the buzzer a couple of times just in case I was doing the proverbial hair wash or something similar like dozing off at my desk over my laptop.

That never happens of course.

Busily wiping dribble off the keyboard.

But then - something happened. You left, and someone new started. The relationship just wasn't the same. I started getting strange e-mails saying 'delivery onboard with driver' - and I would get terribly excited and wait for you to arrive. Then the next thing I knew - another e-mail.

'Attempted delivery. Parcel can be picked up from GPO after this time'.

Well, bollocks to that. Because I am afraid to say that it is very hard to have an attempted delivery IF NO ATTEMPT AT DELIVERY HAS BEEN MADE.

Now I am not saying that I am here all the time. But when I know I am here, unless I have mysteriously drifted into some parallel universe in my linen cupboard, I would really appreciate my parcel schlepping its way up the stairs. It can even take the lift if it wants to. I'm not precious. If it is feeling lazy, it can even use a particle beam accelerator for all I care.

Just don't try to tell me I am not here when I am.

I have enough problems dealing with reality as it is. This is just messing with my head for no reason whatsoever.

And denying me IPG.

Instant Parcel Gratification.

So please Mr Postman, instead of sitting in your little van and busily writing out a card, and then getting out of said little van and putting said card in my mailbox, take the five extra steps to my apartment building's front door. And ring the buzzer. Who knows? In the long run it might save you getting RSI. And give you a little bit of exercise.

And I will get my parcels!