House Shopping and Melbourne

I went to Melbourne this weekend, to spend some time with Fiona B.

The alternative was to spend the time trawling though other people's homes with a view to acquiring one of them. Finding a home ought to be an exciting task; a project of discovery and adventure. But with each viewing I become ever more despondent. I've just realised why I do not enjoy looking for a new house: It's shopping.

I don't understand shopping. It's necessary, because you can't walk around naked and hungry, but I've never grasped how some people, Mary Poppins like, manage to turn it into a recreational activity. A friend once intimated to me the value of her favourite Swedish shopping emporium. "It's cheap, disposable fashion", she exclaimed, " so you can wear it a few times and constantly shop for new things!". Honestly, she thought eternally browsing for that ideal blouse or belt would be paradise. To me it's a purgatory I'd just as soon avoid.

And so my temporary reprieve was to spend a day or two with Fiona as she caught up with pals from her college years in Melbourne. How much better this was than shopping for bricks and mortar I cannot relate. Fi enthused about her town. Beamed as she described her college haunts and marvelled at the changes of more recent years. On Saturday we sat beneath the stars and listen the the Melbourne Symphony Orchestra do justice to Verdi. Not an estate agent in sight.

I was sorry to leave Fiona and Melbourne behind, to return to Sydney and grasping for the bottom run of its property ladder.