Friday night. I’m sitting in my overheated lounge – we lit the fire because it was chilly and it’s a gazillion degrees in here now. It’s obviously not as cold outside as we thought. Travis is watching a worthy National Geographic documentary about about life, the universe, and everything. They’ve discussed the solar system and are now talking about Earth’s oceans. Petra’s asleep after a twitchy hour or so of not being able to relax. And I’m sitting at the computer not doing my homework and (until now) not writing today’s blog post. I have to get something, anything up here, then go write exercise eight. I’m stressed about getting my homework finished on time and am finding it difficult to scrape out any blog writing time from the wreck.
Petra and I have had a busy day. We went to the library, chose books, ate scones, and were drawn outside by a crowd on the steps of Civic Square. Petra thought they might be watching some kind of concert and hauled me out to check. She’s a big fan of music of all types. She’ll stand for ages in the street listening to a young woman sing opera. She’s into choirs singing Christmas carols. She’s prepared to sit in the car listening to Bach’s Toccata and Fugue (she announced that she wanted an organ at home – we’d need a pretty big house). And, she likes to sing herself.
Today though we were disappointed. The crowd wasn’t an audience gathering, it was a herd of teenaged boys on some kind of school trip. They milled around clutching handouts while a group of teachers and parents tried to prod them into motion. They were fascinating to watch. Some were pre-growth spurt, still small, skinny, and smooth. Some weren’t. Some were exuberant and loud, bossing the other boys in their group. Others were quiet and inconspicuous. And who was important and who wasn’t, was immediately clear. One lad took off his two t-shirts, showing off his carefully muscled chest, and handed one to his friend to hold while he put the other one back on. The friend was a bit plumper, less well-dressed, and not as good-looking at the first lad. He was weighed down by a huge bag, bulging with stuff, that was obviously communal. The first kid rummaged through it as if it were his own, stuffing his t-shirt into it and pulling out a bottle of water. Once he was organised, he ordered all the boys in the area to get moving along to the next activity. His friend reinforced the summons after he’d finished. Being the bag-carrier for the cool kid confers status I suppose. All the other kids did what they were told and straggled off.
I was tempted to tag along behind them to see what they did next, but Petra probably wouldn’t have been best pleased. So we climbed the steps onto the ship-shaped bridge and played house on the funky wooden seats up there. The nooks and crannies were mostly occupied by people escaping from work to eat their lunch in the sun, but we found a free space and Petra visited me at my house, while I tried in vain to take photos of her.