 |
| Dinner is served. |
My street is
in blackout. Well not all my street,
half my street… and apparently we mark the halfway point. We are the place where electricity ceases
existing, where light is banished, where darkness reigns. Yes, it’s basically the set of Game of
Thrones here – we are North of the Wall.
As I sit by
a flickering candle, I can’t help but think this
is exactly how Jane Austen wrote.
Just her, a naked flame and a Toshiba laptop, pounding out Sense &
Sensibility while knocking back the red wine.
As NSW was
being lashed by a once in a decade
(or century, or, depending on your preference for hyperbole, millennia… roll
up, roll up, get your arks here ladies and gents) storm, and umbrellas
everywhere meet their fateful end, I had been revelling. I love rainy weather, I enjoy windy nights, I
relish roasted chestnuts. Two out of
three ain’t bad. But I revelled too
soon, and the revel bit back.
My housemate
Layla proved her value in my future zombie apocalypse fortress with her rapid,
clear-headed action the minute we lost power.
Maybe she was born to function under such circumstances, or maybe she
was just utterly thrilled for the
chance to break out her bizarrely large supply of tea light candles.
I showed
where my priorities lay by frantically declaring we could only open the fridge
once for the rest of the night, and almost lighting my jacket on fire.
Determined
to prove myself useful, I stormed out into the night to ‘assess’ the
damage. So stunned was I to see lights
blazing two doors down, I broke my time-honoured tradition of assuming all
neighbours are potential killers awaiting my Miss Marple-esque powers of
deduction, and knocked. When the well-dressed
man opened his door, my olfactory senses were overwhelmed with the smell of his
slow-cooked lamb stew, dressed with coriander and accompanied by a side serving
of crisp potato chips, macaroni & cheese, and pumpkin soup. I couldn’t see any of this food, but it’s
what I would have eaten in that moment if I was living in the land of plenty, so I assume he was as well.
After a
brief exchange about his house not losing electricity at any point, and my
uncontrollable outburst of “Well at least
the fancy end of the street never loses power”, we parted ways (don’t want
to get ahead of myself, but I think he’s a future friend right there).
And so I sit
now, by the glow of this device, and through the warmth of my second glass of
red. After a dinner of doritoes and
tinned tuna, I severely regret allowing Layla to light the chocolate flavoured
candle (after all the fridge will only be
opened once, and I can’t waste that opening on paltry things like dinner…
though I’m not entirely sure what that means I’m saving the coveted opening
for).
In turn
Layla probably regrets being here every time I suddenly point at the light in
the lounge room and bellow with a deep voice “NOW!” She might think it’s
silly, but one of these times it’s bound to turn on, and then who’s going to look silly?
Painefull
Out
* = Sung to
the tune of ‘The Power!’… that song you totally know the refrain of thanks to
every 90’s movie ever, but have no idea who sang it… yeah, that song…
