North by Northeast

Just as I drive around the corner and pull up beside the driveway, Snoopy's Christmas begins to play on the radio. I pull out from the kerb and begin to circle the block. Dammit, I love Christmas time. I revel in the decorated streetscape; the sparkling lights and tinsel, shop-front elves and angel-adorned lampposts. I look forward to our annual family photograph with Father Christmas, but not quite as much as I delight in those edible chocolate Santas wrapped in foil.

The Kiwiana backyard soundtrack to summer is, for the most part, a welcome reminder that sunny freedom is finally here: sweet chirpings of both birds and bugs, sizzling of sausages and steak on the barbie (and of skin beneath the sun), lazy buzzing of fat blowflies ...

It was a moment we'd been dreaming about for months. The final-minute drop of the pen, the post-essay wring of the wrists, the sigh of exhaustion and exultation: Honours, finally finished.

And just like that, October arrived. Emerging from September and the library simultaneously, I scanned the streets for traces of stolen time. Where did it go? Who took it?

If I was still at high school, I'd be tempted to ditch chemistry or physics (or both, preferably), for history and classics, or some other equally "vocationally irrelevant" subject of literary-focused indulgence.

I'd heard it was Queen Victoria who initiated the white wedding dress tradition.

Peter Entwisle took my topic. Well, not really, but I'd already begun lamenting the recent cuts to the art in public places programme before I read his article in Monday's ODT.

Drizzly day, yet again, dampening moods throughout North Dunedin (and beyond, no doubt). If only I had a bigger envelope, I'd be return-stamping the weather, and recommending its redelivery to Auckland. Yes, it's been one of those days.

I actually wrote a portion of today's piece while sitting, waiting, at a wooden desk in the Edgar Centre at 9am yesterday. Yes, UMAT. The Medical Admissions Test?

Bus stops are always interesting places. Bus stops in British Columbia are, according to my recent observations, even more interesting than those in Dunedin.

On certain days when I sit to paint, I end up getting nowhere. I brush colours over discordant colours, and no combinations of strokes satisfy my intention. Eventually, the mottled canvas is discarded, despite the hours of work it contains.

I'm a fan of tea. Occasionally black, but more often green, peppermint, cinnamon, or other herbal varieties; preferences motivated by colour rather than by flavour (I don't like stained china).

When I talk to my parents on the phone, they'll ask the following two questions, every time: First: "Have you been keeping up with your studies?"

To contextualise this column, perhaps you should be aware that I'm writing while dressed in a rabbit costume. As I write, I'm picking away at a large chocolate egg.