It’s not a good sign when you feel irritation at the idea that you have to get changed out of your old running shorts and exercise top, and possibly brush your hair because you have to leave the house. I think this has been happening every day. And I’ve only just noticed the irritation. I’ve gone from wearing nice frocks and heels and doing my makeup (I was even going to the effort of busting out eyeliner) every day, to wearing my hair up constantly (as in, I go to bed with it in a knot and wake up with it in the same knot, and it stays there all day), pinning my fringe back, never wearing makeup and viewing heels as something I can’t be bothered walking in. In fact, dressing with effort is now a pain. There’s just no point. No-one sees me, and if I go out, no-one knows me.
This can only go one way. And let me tell you, Bondi Junction is about to get a dose of no make-up, hair up-fringe-pinned-back, in-running-shorts-and-thongs-Wheater. It really didn’t take me long to slip. I think the guy who lives next door with the junk yard and I could totally become mates.
And yes you can see two hills hoists (the one he uses isn’t in shot, so he’s actually got three), there’s a tub full of U-bends, an old table, pot plants, kickboards, a twin kitchen sink (top right corner on a diagonal) and loads of other crap. And while I can’t be bothered dressing for the world, I can be bothered running up 50 stairs to take a photo over a neighbour’s fence. Ahem.