No Junk Mail

Today’s long walk around Fagan Park was more interesting than expected. I’d feared J was suggesting some sort of open garden event in a district known for its churches. Instead it was a 55 hectare former farm with derelict buildings, gardens of many nations, remnant turpentine and ironbark bushland (the last extra is a Sydney red gum), and flocks of picnickers. Then it rained.

Today’s main is closer to home. Our own building has a disappointingly plain grid of numbers. A letter to the strata committee will be forthcoming.