I can’t move, after all: I didn’t find a place to move to in the month after which I’d told my Property Manager I would be gone.
Of all the places I found – not sure how many, but probably around a dozen – there were three I really and truly wanted: one was in the CBD, one in Malvern and one in Carlton. The first one I was rejected for without explanation – this is the bit that hurts, when they tell you no but go on advertising the place – the second I was mucked about by an expert mucker-abouter to whom I passed on that he’s una pezza di merda because he has an Italian name; and the third was the very last place I saw.
It was a dear little newish place with everything I must have – a bedroom, dishwasher and split system, and in a simply gorgeous environment of trees and plants. However ! it seems I have finally achieved a degree of common sense, for I didn’t even apply .. It is in the middle of – like, nothing. Other residential buildings, all nice and equally nicely landscaped. Not a shop in sight of any kind at all. Sure, only six or seven minutes’ walk to the tram, but one must actually travel on it to reach the Carlton shops in Lygon Street. Here all I need do to reach my delightful pharmacist is manage the ghastly intersection of Leicester, Victoria and Elizabeth Streets with their array of slow lights and Bob’s yer uncle. And I mention Cheryl’s pharmacy because an old fart of my age is in frequent need of same, just to keep up with her scripts, let alone buy hair bleach, non-soap bodywash and so forth.
And knowing me, the prospect of those unavoidable minutes of walking before being able to go anywhere would render me even more likely to sit in my lovely big recliner chair, crocheting, with Boodie between my shins.
I think these lovely little flats were designed for students who have scooters or bikes, for there is a nice big empty space just inside the front door, absolutely suitable to park one of these. Whilst I would give my back teeth to have someone teach me how to ride an e-scooter, I wouldn’t be able to count on there being one nearby whenever I needed it.
So, I turned my back on it, with great sadness. As my sister Paula and I agreed by phone, I wasn’t meant to move at this time.
What in the name of all the gods I’m going to do come the end of May – chissà ? Something will turn up. Maybe aged care. Oh jesus ..
















