one of my favourite quotes from the films ... "I fell for you big time, I fell for you like a blind roof-tiler."

COUNTDOWN: DAY 0+1 We dropped off car the Honda Jazz at the Car Transporters for the haulage from Cairns to Melbourne. Company name: Prixcars. I asked "Do you pronounce that Pre-cars or Pricks-cars? The man with the lazy gaze replied: "Depends who's drivin' it, mate." Mrs Fitz went into an apoplexy when the ancient yet savage looking giant junk-yard dog ceremoniously peed on the car tyres, thus taking total possession of and responsibility for the vehicle. I thought we might have to employ the Jaws of Life to cut through the car to get Mrs Fitz out, but it worked out ok. So, the big removals twuck should come tomorrow, Saturday. Gas, electricity and water is connected to the Melbourne abode. Sunday will be cleaning up here. We have to pick up some of Tianshu's university documents in Townsville en route...so that should mean heading off Monday morning from here 6am. Do-able. Strange how, from an impossible, unlikely situation, it becomes do-able with some effort and some luck and some grace. Still, as noted, if Donald Trump can become the President of the USA, indeed, anything is possible.

COUNTDOWN: DAY 0+1

We dropped off car the Honda Jazz at the Car Transporters for the haulage from Cairns to Melbourne. Company name: Prixcars. I asked "Do you pronounce that Pre-cars or Pricks-cars?

The man with the lazy gaze replied: "Depends who's drivin' it, mate."

Mrs Fitz went into an apoplexy when the ancient yet savage looking giant junk-yard dog ceremoniously peed on the car tyres, thus taking total possession of and responsibility for the vehicle. I thought we might have to employ the Jaws of Life to cut through the car to get Mrs Fitz out, but it worked out ok.

So, the big removals twuck should come tomorrow, Saturday. Gas, electricity and water is connected to the Melbourne abode. Sunday will be cleaning up here.

We have to pick up some of Tianshu's university documents in Townsville en route...so that should mean heading off Monday morning from here 6am. Do-able.

Strange how, from an impossible, unlikely situation, it becomes do-able with some effort and some luck and some grace.

Still, as noted, if Donald Trump can become the President of the USA, indeed, anything is possible.

Opposite building, one floor down...small girl. "Excuse me, I am standing on my balcony now. Will someone please come along and sing to me?"

COUNTDOWN: Day 2-1+1?: SUNSET: Having a break from home moving preparations...having put down the shovel (after tracking down the call centre Indian guy who phoned once to sell us a new telecom system...cutting off his head...and burying him in the Cairns Pavilions compound yard). One bottle of Guinness (It is a cry for help). Good. Now the angina and the cold sores indicative of too much human movement for someone who usually lives on a lounge imitating a walrus, have settled down, I am spending a moment recalling my youth... There we were, at 20 years of age, cold and craven, travelling about Northern Italy. Having fun, being poor. My great platonic friend Maximus de Bono and myself....spending those long beautiful evenings in Tuscany waxing each others chests whilst Caravaggio played flute in the background...the torture of bliss...but...that's another story...we were living just near where George Clooney has his big house there...on the shore of Lake Como...Oh, dear George...but that's another story...

A person knows they have reached a certain point of grace and maturity in a marriage and in the ups and downs of moving house when the husband says to the wife..."Ah, the washing is done, I will hang out the clothes now." And her reply is "Yes, hang them on the clothes line." And the husband mutters to himself "On the clothes line? Now there is an idea....mutter...mutter...why didn't I think of that...and I was just going to walk around with the washing hanging on my dick all day...mutter, mutter..."

Well the most perfect and gorgeous tall standing heavy Thai brass 1945 motorised 3 speed electric nuclear fusion powered fan (that could open a big can of Golden Circle pineapple just by sticking the can into the blades) has gone. Mrs Fitz, passing the fan yesterday, in a blizzard of Han organisational momentum, put her hand into the fan, there being no safety bars etc, and the razor sharp spinning blades delivered a clean cut to a top of a finger, through the top of the finger, and through the nail. The cut was so clean it was almost art. So, Mr Fitz instantly gave the fan to the managers of the complex here who have a small child, Irina. They accepted it gratefully...its worth a fortune...sigh, yet still, Mr Johnny Fitz, in his deeply protective manner handed it over with a qualm. The qualm came later. It was sooo beautiful, sigh, so rare...but still, that's not the point. If I am not here for and to protect Mrs Fitz, then I am no Mr Fitz at all.

MINDFULNESS: Now, whilst Mrs Fitz is at her Christmas work party tonight, I can simply roll up the 8ft square artificial turf on the balcony and throw it off the balcony to the ground 4 floors down and if it doesn't hit someone then I can just go down in the lift, pick it up and take it to the bin. I liked that artificial grass, and the river stones, and the plants, on the balcony. They provided an artificial paradise for me, the sunbirds, the geckoes, and a great hiding place for the clothes pegs for years...sigh. I guess, pretty soon, in inner Melbourne suburbia, I'll be riding my cool sporty hybrid Giant bicycle on early morning jaunts in my generously tight white lycra outfit, and stopping for the occasional coffee and buttered buns at Cafe D'Asshole in Doncaster with my new homies, looking down at my freshly waxed legs and getting erections about myself.

MINDFULNESS: Now, whilst Mrs Fitz is at her Christmas work party tonight, I can simply roll up the 8ft square artificial turf on the balcony and throw it off the balcony to the ground 4 floors down and if it doesn't hit someone then I can just go down in the lift, pick it up and take it to the bin. I liked that artificial grass, and the river stones, and the plants, on the balcony. They provided an artificial paradise for me, the sunbirds, the geckoes, and a great hiding place for the clothes pegs for years...sigh.
I guess, pretty soon, in inner Melbourne suburbia, I'll be riding my cool sporty hybrid Giant bicycle on early morning jaunts in my generously tight white lycra outfit, and stopping for the occasional coffee and buttered buns at Cafe D'Asshole in Doncaster with my new homies, looking down at my freshly waxed legs and getting erections about myself.