Every Melbourne spring there’s a run of wet weekends with the rain clearing up just in time for the workweek.

It rained all last Saturday. The rain gauge in the back yard later said 65 mm. I was bottled up inside, slumped on the leather couch, watching children’s TV, hoping at least the roof would leak so I would have something to do.

In a perverse twist I spent the day sitting down but the night standing up watching a band play.  I thought a patron was throwing beer across the band room, but it ended up being water leaking from the roof and I could do nothing about it.


Sunday afternoon the sun finally came out so I went to the soccer with my brother and friends.

I was picked up in a small hatchback and, being the shortest, I sat in the back on a cheap material seat covered in dog hair.

We parked a few kilometres away from the stadium and walked. I begged to stop at a pub for a drink because we were early but I had no takers. Our seats were up the back in the shade and were made of a bendy green plastic.

The game was a good one and the home side kicked the winner at the 80-minute mark. The forward angled away from goal, dribbled towards the corner, spun around and chipped a gentle cross to his teammate who headed the ball home. I leaped from my seat shaking my fists and screaming, feeling something other than latent frustration for the first time in days.

We were all talk as we wandered back to the car. I thought about suggesting we go for dinner. As if reading my mind someone jokes, “If we weren’t all tied down, we’d go for dinner or a drink now.”

I sit on dog hair again.


Tonight I put the kids to bed. It was quite warm in the house so I turned on the fan for our ducted cooling system.

My wife was out at boxing training. I thought it’d be nice to cook her dinner, and a veggie tofu stir-fry seemed doable, so I raided the fridge.

It occurred to me that my climbing beans would need picking and that there may be a zucchini or two also, so I wandered out back in the evening sun to gather.

And I heard a gentle click as the cooling system blew the back door shut.

Locked out. I ran to the front door. Locked out.

I’d had exchanged manly nods with the guy from across the street the morning before so I knocked on his door. He answered, I explained my predicament and he let me use their phone.

With help a few minutes away I stood on our front verandah feeling impotent, listening to one of my boys crying inside.

When I got back in all was quiet. The boys were asleep and I wondered if I had imagined the crying.


It’s meant to fucking rain again on Saturday, and it’s not even spring any more.

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