Crocked Hawks. Crocked Colleague


I was at home watching the Collingwood v Power game on Friday night and was in awe of the Pies’ first half performance. Ryan Burton stood out for the Powers as a calm, efficient and smart player. As I watched Hawks struggle through a terrible game of football at the G on Sat arvo, particularly with Chad Wingard having a stinker, I wondered if Hawks did the right thing with that trade swapping Burton for Wingard. Hawks were the more crappy team in a crappy game between two crappy sides. The less crappy team won and the best thing on that wet and cold arvo on Sat was the early start (1.45 start) and the meat pie. The rest was totally forgettable.

With United also playing poorly to earn a draw against the lowly (no offense) Huddersfield, it was another weekend to forget, sports wise.

We didn’t do much else for the weekend. We were on duty at St Alf’s but thankfully we are more confident now with what to do.

After St Alf’s yesterday, we went to Shoppo, which we hadn’t been to for a while. We were looking for a pair of shoes for Tress’ dad for his birthday in about three weeks or so. I had also wanted to look for a pair myself, and maybe also a daily go-to jacket. We wandered around, did some grocery shopping and then went home. I took the little fellow our for a longish walk and then went home for a cook.

It was one of those quiet minimal commitments type of weekend so I felt rested. Well, as rested as I could have felt.

Last week was a big week at work, with a senior staff being let go. He was a Malaysian and I had worked reasonably close with him, and I was even scheduled to attend a client negotiation meeting a day after his departure. He wasn’t a particularly well-liked figure around the office and I had also found him less than warm to work with but even then, his departure affected me. He has a young daughter so I’m sure she was foremost in his thinking in recent days.

Winter has started to creep in on us. It’s still officially autumn but importing a calendar based cycle to the year’s seasons always sits awkwardly here Down Under. The official season of autumn doesn’t mean much when I stand at the tram stop on the corner or Spencer and Collin Street at 6.30am, with the Docklands winds blowing in single digit temperature. The cold meh though. As is the footy season thus far (speaking as Hawks fan of course).

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