The Colour of my Autumn Days.

All pointers were leading to it being a beautiful Autumn day.


So I decided to run with it and wore a smashing red dress with a dash of lace, accessorised by a new red bracelet, to the office this morning. I don’t understand this phenomenon that at the first hint of coolness in the air we women of Australia don clothes that are either a shade of dark brown, dark blue or black. That excludes Territorians and inhabitants of the Pilbara, who would battle to identify these colours. And Tasmanian’s, whom only ever wear those three shades, with the occasional addition of grey to spice up their wardrobe. What is that all about anyway?*

Well, I don’t succumb. No one ever said I was subtle. I prefer living in colour.

It has been a huge week. Haven’t picked up a book for seven days. Most of them have been packed up into boxes to allow the new carpets to be laid. From the garage where they are stored some boxes are going to the local High School for their annual Garage Sale to raise funds for the Chaplaincy. It’s very much a “ it takes a village to raise a child” thing with monies raised assisting local students in need, as well as purchasing new books for a Library in Vanuatu that was totally destroyed by a cyclone.

Getting new carpets is no easy task. It requires packing, moving, cleaning and restyling. It’s the cleaning that I’m really impressed with – NOT. Dusting skirting boards and killing Daddy Long-Leg Spiders is not exciting stuff. Neither is climbing up ladders to wipe down the ceiling fans. But you know the worst of it? Having to wash the curtains because they look so in need when all the rooms are cleaned and cleared only to have them fall apart in your hands, as it was the dust keeping them together all along. Yep, new curtains required pronto.

Some say that “a change is as good as a holiday”. Dismiss that as utter garbage – people who say that tend to be idiots.

Anyway, I’m in my pretty red frock, a burst of sunshine at the Railway Station awaiting my transport into the City for the last day of my working week. I throw up. Literally. And there is nowhere to hide in a sea of dreary black and browns. No subtlety about it.

I’m back in bed now. Not surrounded by books, nor cups of tea, nor DVDs, as I’m still living within a prison of cardboard boxes. The Fragonia Oil, with its antibacterial qualities, is in my diffuser clearing my head, and the multicoloured doona cover keeps me buoyed.


Picking up quickly is a must: I have a date with Menopause The Musical.

And remember : “Life is about using the whole box of crayons.” ~RuPaul


• Except for my sister-in-law who shears her own alpacas, dying their wool for felting and then creates these outfits that would impress Picasso. Gorgeous, but the colours remind me of those bad old days of the 70’s ……and kiddies’ unicorn parties.


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