I spotted a South African food store just outside of Noosa when we were last up there, and was so intrigued I just had to check it out.
There was lots of Biltong, as you’d imagine, and a heap of weird biscuits and lollies I’d never heard of before. But the thing that caught my eye was this in the barbecue section.
I decided that my mental health could do with a break from doom-scrolling the US election so this morning rather than fall into my usual routine of checking all the overnight updates and hot takes I deliberately set my Substack cut out that noise. Instead of the usual round of news media sites, I read about twenty of pages of Tom Holland’s Pax - his history of Rome’s Golden Age.
Man, I had a bad night’s sleep last night. It felt like I got about two hours, but I am assured by someone not a thousand miles away from the other side of the bed that I was snoring like a bear for many hours.
I think not.
I feel so fucking shattered today, and I have strong memories of swatting mosquitos and chasing dogs off the bed at 2AM.
Very hard to focus on the writing today.
Makes me wonder when I became such a wuss.
I was in the bookshop at Peregian Beach over the weekend and heard the owner chatting with someone who was after ‘the new Tim Winton’.
I did not roll my eyes. I’m better than that. And Tim is pretty fucking gnarly with the ol’ wordsmithing, to be honest. But I wasn’t looking for another heart breaking work of staggering genius, so I moved on. Until…
“It’s about the end of the world, or something…”
Whaaat?
Winton’s working my side of the street?
We had a weekend away up on the north coast, staying just outside of Noosa, which was full of Victorians on holiday. There’s a cafe at Peregian Beach, a place called Fatima’s Hand, and every day they do a new muffin. One sweet, one savoury.
Of course, I have the sweet muffin.
This bad boy was pear, white chocolate and blueberry. There may have been a bite taken before I remembered to take a pic. I’m not sure how that happened.
I destroyed my favourite pot last night. I didn’t even think this was possible. But apparently I do not know my own power.
Saw this on the Hell Site from my brother.
New neighbours moved in next door and I fear they are a share house. Yes, yes, I am aware of the hypocrisy. But I'm also aware of what having a share house next door to you means.
For a guy who spends a lot of money on Apple gear for my office, I’m also a guy who almost never updates his phone. My current fondle box is an old iPhone 11.
