Not much rhythm, not many blues

It’s a little bit all over the place. The painting got done, the back hall and three doors. The tidying made everything messier before it evened out a bit. Van got a warrant. Started on the fence – planning it at least. Retaining wall finished (not by me). Driveway next week.

Caught up with friends. Watched footy. Had meals watching the sun set. Sorted computer. Got an intriguing email about a future project. Listened to classical music. Slept in. Stayed up late.

Time on Savage Street

In between all that read Decline and Fall on Savage Street, by Fiona Farrell. The fiction version of the earthquakes and a companion to The Villa at the Edge of the Empire. A series of vignettes; scenes that drift in an out of different times, characters and situations. I recognised so much of my old hometown so many of the scenes and houses and people.

You can tell it was meticulously researched and beautifully and patiently and skillfully written. The end result is like a master painter’s brag book – every page perfection. It’s precisely detailed, but like a pointillist painting, leaves you more with an impression; cloudy but clear at the same time.

The eel tale (short chapters and illustrations) created counterpoint; a different rhthym to the busyness of the above ground tale.

My over-riding feeling after reading it was life will find its rhythm – and I realised I hardly checked my phone all week.