Anthony Malloy

Oooph.

About this time last year I took a look at myself and realised the COVID years had not been good. So much time at home, poor diet, just getting by, it had all had an impact.

So I ran.

I hadn’t run in years. I started with C25K again, bought some new shoes and it was great – I had forgotten just how good I felt when running and got in to the habit once more. And then I tripped. Totally my fault, looking at my phone I stumbled over a tiny lip in the footpath. The fall was enough to crack a rib (and I think it’s done some damage to my wrist and shoulder, but, hey, one disaster at a time). This put me out of action for six weeks or so.

After taking a couple of more weeks off I decided it was time to put the shoes back on, so packed running gear for a weekend I was taking Henry to a baseball competition in Wangaratta with the plan to run the morning after we arrived.

That night I tripped (I sense a theme) over his playing kit in the dark. No ribs were broken but I did tear the valor pate in my ring finger. The tendon that is designed not to rip. Trust me, it hurts and two months later is still red and swollen. And the baseball comp was rained out.

And then four weeks later I got COVID for the second time.

Over this time I’ve drowned my sorrows in lollies, rich food and gin so it’s time, a month after COVID Take 2, to take another look at myself.

This afternoon I couldn’t talk myself out of it any longer so I fired up my trusty C25K app again and I ran.

It’s been a year.

We adopted a dog.

We bought an investment property.

We re-did our kitchen.

We had our first big family holiday in the States.

And our time with primary school came to an end.

My occasional career as radio interviewee continued today. Around midday I received a message on Facebook from a producer at 3AW, they wanted to talk to me.

Hmmmm, surely the old signs thing hadn’t popped up again?

Nope. They had noticed a post I made on a local community Facebook page about Derrimut’s impending change of postcode and wanted a local to talk about it. It must have been a really, really slow news day.

So, here I am waffling on for a few seconds about becoming a resident of 3026.

https://www.3aw.com.au/long-time-coming-for-derrimuts-new-postcode/

*entirely self appointed

Rae is playing for the West Footscray Roosters this year in their inaugural women’s team.  I’ve been taking some photos at the games, here are some shots I like.

I am so blind I can barely see past the end of my nose without my glasses. This means I have no idea what I look like without them.

Well today, thanks to photos for a new passport, I got to find out.

Apparently this is me.

I love Oddfellow Peppermints, have for literally decades. Over the past few months they had become impossible to find so I eventually messaged Allens to confirm the inevitable.

Yes, they have been discontinued in Australia.

Now it may seem like a strange thing to be be upset about but Rae knows me, and why, and my wonderful wife ordered me some packets made in New Zealand. The thing she knows is that I associate them with mum. I introduced mum to them a while back and she loved them as much as I did, but one a day, generally when she and Peter would go for their evening walk. She would collect two from where she kept them in their packet in the kitchen and off they would go. And I always knew where I could find one, or two, or three, when we stayed.

Now one more connection with mum has gone and I feel I’ve lost her a little more, in the gap at the top of the microwave.

So, how can you tell you’ve arrived home to Melbourne?

Well, you’re taxiing to the gate and the pilot announces you can now activate your phones. Ten seconds later the guy behind you says “Yes, Tigers are up by 30.”.

I do love Melbourne.

Last night I made stir fry, always a favourite with the kids. As Rae was out there was a good serve left over for my lunch today. Well, until Henry struck. We’d all finished and I was siting down relaxing when Mr H walked in and asked if he could have some more.

Sure, why not, there was heaps left and he wouldn’t eat that much.

How wrong I was.

The skinniest boy alive wolfed down a second adult sized serve, and followed that up with sweets. I honestly have no idea where he puts it and now I’m stuck with a toasted sandwich for lunch again. I dread to think what our food bill will be when they all hit their teens.