I was back down to Melbourne yesterday. Trying to pin the bar guys down on some figures. I'm still pretty crook with the flu so I left Lize with the car and took the train from Ballarat for the first time in maybe five years. It was surprisingly pleasant, plenty of space on the off peak and I was jacked in to the ipod for the trip, giggling like a schoolgirl at a couple of Ricky Gervais podcasts I'd downloaded. For a desperately unlikeable human being I still get a laugh out of the smug bastard.
Big cities are a different kettle of fish when you are by yourself. On the weekend I felt a million bucks, all suit, booze and bonhomie. On a cold Tuesday afternoon the big city made me just feel small and cold. I still haven't mastered the automated ticketing and being a big fat bastard on a tram makes you feel conspicuous and know you are probably annoying other commuters. Anyway the bar guys weren't there when I got there, so I checked out some guitar shops, ran into Louey the piano player and James the screen printer and felt a bit better. The dudes eventually showed up, presented me with some meaningless bits of paper and promised to email the rest. One of them said he'd been behind the eight ball after he dropped his phone in the toilet. Seems really keen not involve solicitors in the sale process. If it goes ahead he's going to be sadly disappointed in that regard, because he'll certainly be dealing with mine.
Wrapped up the quasi negotiations and headed back to get a tram into the city feeling a bit pessimistic and hoping to grab a bite to eat at Southern Cross station, where the only option at eight o clock was either sushi or stale looking sangers. Opted for a fag and a can of coke instead and kepth myself awake on the train with a nice mix of Free, Deep Purple and Led Zepplin for the ride. Dinosaur rock soothes the soul!