We had breakfast at kirribilli, a new cafe Ian recommended and then after which, we decided to stroll across the harbour bridge.
We wandered into a museum shop set up exactly like how it would have looked in the 1920s, selling everything from twiggy brooms to wooden clothes pegs and sticky fly paper.Even the two old ladies looking after the shop looked old and shrunken.
We continued wandering around the meandering lanes and found a nice warm spot on some benches beside some old sandstone building where we snuggled down comfortably reading our books and enjoying the soothing live jazz music wafting from a cafe nearby.
The light grey clouds in the sky occasionally blocked out the sun for a minute or two, providing a temporary haven from the sun's soon-to-be blistering rays.
When we got hungry, we found a fish and chip place and had our lunch and continued with our book reading.
We strolled through the city, Hyde park and down to oxford street, chasing sea gulls and pigeons which always managed to remain just a step ahead of us so we were never able to catch them. We didn't really say much. Conversation would have been good but sometimes, silence is good too.
We met up with others at the Paddington Inn where the boys had their beers and the girls had their diet cokes. There were so many people dressed in blue, local supporters of the soccer match.
We made our way to the stadium, along with dribs and drabs of others also going for the match before we finally converged like mercury droplets at a traffic light just in front of the stadium. A man stood barbecuing hot dogs at the pub just in front of the traffic light and all it took was for one of the boys to declare he was getting one and soon, all the boys handed their five dollar notes over in exchange for hotdogs and ketchup with fried onions in a bun. The taste of the fat from the hotdog on bread was good in its simplicity.
The stadium was awashed in a sea of blue. Beer was all around. I proudly wore Marty's Sydney FC scarf. A sign of my allegiance.
In a flurry of shots and rebounds, we managed a goal and how we jumped up for joy, clapped our hands, screamed and did little dances in jubilation. It wasn't the world cup but then again, things like that aren't meant to be had to often.
After the match, we made our way back to oxford street for dinner. We trailed slightly behind the group and held hands whilst I sang my favourite jazz tunes.
We had dinner at the pink peppercorn. Laotian food at western price. They had gorgeous pink serviettes and served white rice dappled with grains of black rice.
We excused ourselves early from dinner and made our way home, contented and exhausted.
Sunday, August 27, 2006
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