Tress and I went to the little local Italian on Friday, for the third consecutive Friday night. This time however, we had A Hooi/U Marloney and Jason/Mel with us. It was a welcome home type of dinner for Jason and Mel who have just returned from a bohemian holiday in Europe but it was an excuse to catch up over a lovely meal. Everyone enjoyed the meal and the time together.

On Saturday after a lazy morning Tress and I went to a property auction in Vermont. It was a lovely three bedroom unit (one of only two units on that address) and we really liked the simplicity of the build, functional layout and quality finishes. When I asked the guy at the front door handling out brochures what the expected price was, his response gave us some incentives to hang around. I whispered to Tress that if it stayed under 800 I’d like to have a stab. The bidding started at 700 and for a few minutes I was hopeful. The very tiny backyard meant little maintenance and I had been saying to Tress that maybe 5+ years from now I wouldn’t be able to enjoy gardening and housework as much as I do now and so our home would likely receive less TLC then. This unit we’re standing in front of, with an enthusiastic auctioneer plying his trade, represented a very agreeable alternative – 5 years hence (say).

Within about 20 minutes however, the price had gone past 850 and we hung around only to see what it finished at.

We then drove around the area for a bit, then dropped into Madam K before going back to walk the little fellow and doing some shopping for dinner that night with the Hippos at their home, and Jason and Mel. Our minds had been on the little fellow, who has started to show signs that his sight is deteriorating. He has always had a dodgy eye but his now regular stumbling around tore at my heartstrings.

We had a steamboat (hotpot) dinner, talked and shared laughs and learned about the Hippo’s new tacks in life. Jess is quitting her NFP role to work in a similar capacity in her local church, their 2 little girls are blossoming as ever, with the elder latching on to phonetics and reading well as a result. The younger one is, according to Dad, more artistically inclined and he appears to be on the money. Jason and Mel and Tress and I are on a different phase of our lives and we talked about our children’s jobs and careers.

Later that night as Gerry led their Golden Retriever in near the dining table, I went up to him and gave him a cuddle, scratched him and gave him loads of TLC. He too had lost an eye some time back and his an octogenarian in dog years now. I wasn’t sure how many more opportunities I’d have to show him TLC. I sat next to him for a bit before returning to join the others at the table. When we got home that night, I had our little guy sat near us and I gave him all the scratches he wanted.

Early on Sunday morning I woke to check United’s results in an away game to the tigers (Hull City) – a team I sometimes have an affection for simply because it had been managed for a long time by Steve Bruce, a onetime United skipper and involved in ushering good times back to Old Trafford back in 1992, when we had been starved of the league title for the longest time. An injury time goal by Rashford kept the 100% record intact and so I jumped on the Optus Sport app and looked out for the highlights. It was great to see exciting football by the boys in red again.

After church we caught up with Ruth and Jonathan and little Micah at the Shangri-La inn. Micah looked cheekier and happier every time we see him. He’s stumbling around now, having just learned to walk not too long ago.

After lunch Tress and I went home, walked the little fellow and then headed for the G for the last home and away game. We were playing the Pies and it was vital that we had a win to get back to a top four spot to ensure we had a double crack to progress in the finals.

It was a pulsating match, with Hawks chasing for two quarters before taking a three goal lead in the third. We then lost the lead again in the final quarter and with less than a couple of minutes to go, we were one goal down. A fringe guy – Fitzpatrick – then kicked a bomb from well outside the fifty to level things up to ensure we had the points for third spot. Poppy’s last minute behind was a little icing but the one point win was far too close for comfort, especially with the Cats as our contender in the qualifying final. It was a ripper of a game all the same, and Tress and I had had a very enjoyable home and away season, watching and enjoying a number of games at the G.

Back home, we watched The Block, exchanged messages with Kiddo (who has started liking this show) and I started prepping for the coming week. Work has been busy but I guess that only meant weekends, especially with Tress, family, church and friends, meant even more.

Last night just before I left the office I said to my colleagues that every second week when Friday approaches I could feel my energy level dissipating rapidly.

It’s Friday morning and I am kind of weirdly looking forward to the two main meetings I have on my diary today – back to back meetings from 10am to 12pm, one hour each. The first is a fortnightly with my boss and the rest of the team. The second is with a major software consultant and vendor for a major project the company is undertaking.

I am looking forward to those meetings not because of some sadomasochistic yearning for the bone-to-bone sort of grind but because of what comes after that.

My afternoon looks clear (for now) and I can contemplate doing some winding down work, including to plan for the next week, before hopefully heading out the door for what would hopefully be a weekend of rest.

Tress has skillfully teed up a dinner tonight with A Hooi/U Marloney and Jason and Mel so hopefully the weekend rest will start with some wonderful company over a lovely meal (we’re heading back to the little local Italian on Canterbury Road, again).

It looks like a long morning but I hope the arvo would precipitate a great weekend.

About a week after I started at this job, I was moved into an individual office. Each of the 3 lawyers had our own office so the fact that I had one was nothing exceptional. What was exceptional was the size. Mine was probably the biggest amongst us 3 lawyers. It was on a side of the floor which was away from the CEO, CFO, and the other execs (including my boss the General Counsel) so it was not the power end of the floor. But I was ok with that. I had a lot of freedom.

With freedom comes responsibility I suppose, but it also came with great liberty. Including to fart. I did it at will and with no reservation, especially if I knew no one was going to pop into my room anytime soon.

Last week we all moved out of our rooms. The whole of the northern side of the office, which is where most of us had been seated, was going to be ripped out and new fitouts would be put in place. We had known this would happen, for a while now and we all knew the individual offices we had were going to be temporary arrangements and we would, when the renovations and fitouts were completed, be seated in an open plan office.

The renovations and fitouts will take place for the next 5 to 6 weeks, which means by the time the footy grand finals come around, we’d be ready to move into our new open spaces. We’d be in our current open plan temporary desks throughout the footy finals series.

The problem, as I had pointed out, was that of smells. Other than farting liberally, I didn’t care what sort of food I brought for my lunch. I’d cook stuff with dried oysters (a favourite of Klang Chinese folks) or fish sauce or loads of garlic and other socially confronting ingredients and bring them into my office during lunch and eat the smelly stuff in front of my screen as I catch up on the news and social media.

Now, sharing a nook with 8-9 other colleagues makes my choice of home cooked lunch as well as my physiological habits something that require rethinking.

What I put into my body is easier to manage than what comes out of it. What goes in can be managed in terms of the smell it emits, simply by controlling what goes into the pot. Less garlic and fish sauce and no dried oysters for starters. Only neutral stuff like carrots and tomatoes and chicken. What comes out however presents a much more challenging proposition. 

How do I control my farting habits so as to avoid what Clive James might have described as a classroom of pupils all holding their noses and leaning away to form a series of concentric circles with increasing radii with the farter as its epicentre?

Thus far whenever the urge comes on I simply walk away and head to the loo. I’m just afraid I might be, say, in the middle of a telephone discussion when the emission can no longer be held off. What would happen then? 

That, and less savoury home cooked food, are the only seemingly insurmountable challenges of my current open plan and cosy work setup.

I was waiting for the tram last night when these guys started playing ping pong again, in front of the shops by the tram stop. 

Kiddo came back early Sunday morning. She has an accreditation type assessment at La Trobe uni later this week. She got in early on Sunday morning and we picked her up on Spencer Street.

I had won a $200 Westfield shopping voucher from the radio station 3AW (Drive program) so after lunch at Madam K yesterday, we went and did some shopping. Tress has been looking for a jacket for her dad’s travels so we went with that in mind.

The arvo shopping with the two ladies of my life made for a better weekend, after the Hawks’ crash in Perth – losing to West Coast to also lose the top spot on the ladder.

This morning Kiddo emailed some of her documents and asked if I could get them printed at work. As I picked up those documents from the printer and walked to my desk, I’m reminded of how successful she has been in her university years. I sincerely hope that would soon translate into success in her career.

Earlier this week (Tuesday) Jean, my brother David’s wife, sent us a text message saying Johnson, a cousin of ours, had passed on. While we knew he has been unwell I hadn’t appreciated just how ill he has been.

We called him “Boy” for the longest time. He was the cutest kid. He had a roundish face and when he was little he had a haircut that made him look like that little kid Nicholas on the television sitcom “Eight is Enough”. His round face had a perpetual smile and he was almost always laughing. He saw the funny side of so many things and he infectiously and engagingly shared those insights. He was a lot of fun to be around.

His parents are two of the warmest and most generous persons I know. His mum is my mum’s younger sister – the fourth of at least five girls. I think my mum had at least one sister given away, as was the norm in those days. Parents often gave away one or more children when raising them becomes too much of a (mostly financial) strain.

His dad owns a transport business with a large fleet of trucks. He works very hard and has been financially successful. Johnson had been helping with the business before falling ill. He (the father) is a big hearted and generous man, and loved the extended family. He made sure anyone who was back in Klang visiting was amply looked after and often bought generous meals for those visitors. I have been a beneficiary of his generosity countless times. His generosity meant the family often came together and talked and laughed over very good meals. He loved his son. He spared nothing for him and I can only imagine the state of devastation he must be feeling.

As I write this on the way in to work, I wished I wasn’t here. I wished I was in Klang instead, with the rest of the family. I wanted to be there for my auntie and uncle and Jin, their other child who now lives and works in Queensland. I wondered with Tress last night, if she (Jin) would now leave Queensland to return to be with her parents. Or maybe they could go and visit and perhaps take their minds toward other matters for a little while.

This is a price I pay for choosing to leave Malaysia. The extended family support is something I can neither contribute to nor rely upon. I guess that is why many seek alternative forms of support when we’re here.

Thankfully, there are modern channels such as WhatsApp. My brother sent a few pictures of the funeral and while it was so very sad to see those pictures, it warmed my heart that so many of the extended family were there to be with them at this time. I saw a cousin from Singapore together with his wife too.

I guess Johnson made such an impact on so many (if not all) in the family that we are all just so sad that he had to leave us while so young.