This morning my engines were kick-started by a sight of this ’67 Ford Fairview outside my medical clinic:

Om nom nom. Sometimes cars just get me going a little too much.

Anyhoo, after my appointment I spent twenty minutes outside in the beautiful sunshine (finally, the humidity is gone!) enjoying the last few pages of Sandman: Worlds’ End. The thing I love about this particular collection of Neil Gaiman’s comics is the way the narratives flow; like Pyramus and Thisbe in A Midsummer Night’s Dream, Worlds’ End contains stories within stories—sometimes five deep!—and they are small stories that prove that you don’t always need a grand narrative or twist in the tail to engage the reader. And, as always, I love the way Gaiman weaves the threads of old myths through his writing. It’s downright yummy.

One day, I’ll do what that man does. (But in my own voice, of course.)

Anyhoo, we moved on to Hawkins Gardens. What I like about this place is that it sells several of my favourite things to look at: flowers, antiques and fish. I did what I often do and pretended to be wealthy and English (cheeky, I know) in the beautiful, high-end antique store there. I fell in love with an 18th century French writing desk, and the gentleman working there was willing to give me a very fine price indeed, but alas, I am not yet the Lady of the Manor whom I expect one day to be. I told him I’d think about it.

And I will be thinking, and possibly dreaming about it, for days. It’s beautiful:

You can’t see it very well in the picture, I’m afraid (from my phone), but the inlay is exquisite. So many different timbers were used, and–oh!–the detail. Check out the tiny rams’ heads on either side. Even the legs of this item were beautiful. I could easily collect desks. If I had the casheroonies.

Luckily for me, I derive almost as much pleasure from flowers as I do from antiques, so instead I wandered around the gardens for a bit (the smell of the fruit trees reminded me of visiting my grandfather in the summer as a child) bought granny’s bonnet, lobelias…and I can’t remember what the little white ones are called. Kendra thought they smelt nice.

Actually, I think she was more interested in laying claim to the box they came in. She bit me the next time I put my hand in it.

I should also mention that I had the best strawberry milkshake of my life (fresh, with actual strawberries and everything) at The Pearl Cafe at Wooloongabba the other day. I was wearing a nice suit at the time, and the music was great, and I drank the whole milkshake (which was almost as tall as me–even the waiter was impressed). I felt very buoyant indeed.

So that’s all for today. Nothing profound, just small pleasures and unexpected delights.