Losing my shit.

So I've had this cheap plastic water bottle for years. It lives on my bike in a neoprene, faded pink and blue spotted holder. Recently it brought me close to tears. Twice. To anyone else it's about as precious as an old newspaper blowing along a gutter. Unless you were into collecting rubbish, I doubt you'd pick it up.

The guy working at the cinema snack bar must’ve thought me deranged as he retrieved this wrecked vessel from his special lost property cupboard under the counter - and he didn't know I'd just cycled seven k to pick it up.

"Come to mama," I thought, eyes pricking with tears. I only talk to myself when no one can hear. "You’re home now," I smiled. Was only mildly self-mocking as a bit later I fitted it into the bottle carrier on my bike.

I hate losing things and it doesn't often happen. I have a mental map of where everything is and can generally find anything, with little mental backtracking, amongst apparent chaos.

Beats me how I recently lost two items. Had to let the first item go. A neoprene - that word again - wrist support, in case you're wondering. I knew I’d left it behind in the Ladies, just as I settled in for my second viewing of the three hour film Never Look Away. (I'd make some comment about the ironic title, given my loss, but if you've seen the film you know I wouldn't dare suggest such a trite analogy.) I was hardly going to leave my seat, stumble out of the dark cinema and run downstairs to the public lavatory to see if that’s where I'd looked away and abandoned my armband. 

The movie over, I dashed to the loos. Well, it is a long film. Unfortunately, in my haste I looked away from pink spotty bottle, which I left behind in the cinema foyer. Didn't know that at the time.

Felt a bit ridiculous leaving my name and contact details for the cleaner, in case she'd found my manky wrist band and rather than dropping the smelly thing in the bin had put it carefully in lost property. No luck there.

Cycled home a little forlorn, despite my second viewing of one of the best films I’ve ever seen. A couple of hours later, back home, pink spotty bottle was still addling my thoughts. To assuage my misery, I called the cinema. I teared up when a kind person told me she'd found my precious and I could collect it from the snack bar.

About 20 years ago, I watched a teacher spend her recess accosting a room full of busy teachers on their break. She was sure one of us had stolen her coffee cup. I totally understand. There are so many things over which one has no control that some of us become a bit manic about guarding our stuff. Think it's time for me to give a few things away.

Winter morning confab

Four rugged-up people sit in a cobbled cafe courtyard in the inner Melbourne burbs. An outdoor gas heater struggles to have any impact. It’s possibly turned off. This area is normally bustling but today we’re the only takers. Tom has his hoodie pulled over his head - where else? Like the rest of us he’s wearing a down-puffer jacket. I’m wearing four layers plus hat and scarf. My hands are drawn up into my sleeves and I’ve zipped myself into my outer layer, determined to retain some of the warmth I’ve generated on my bleak ride to get to this chilly morning space. Our breath steams as we catch up with one another. In French. 

Who’s done what during the past week? Tom had watched Chernobyl which led onto discussion of other series. What were his thoughts on the final ep of Game Of Thrones? No spoilers, given two of us hadn’t seen it. But then again we - two women of a certain age - had both abandoned it seasons back due to its gratuitous sex.  Is there too much porn in Game Of Thrones? Je pense que oui - IMO yes. Who’s the better chanteuse? Céline Dion or Lara Fabian? General consensus that CD is cheesy; LF wins but had to confess I could only manage listening to part of one of her songs. À chacun son gout - everyone has their taste.

Amidst that and more, I pick up some idiomatic French and new vocab. C'est nul - it sucks, Le nain - the dwarf. Guess what that was in reference to. (GoT for those who've neither read nor seen that epic.)  Interesting conversation ensues re the political correctness of using that word, apart from in reference to the fairy tale, Blanche-Neige et les Sept Nains - Snow White...

The foggy firmament refuses to disperse as the cold works its icy fingers through my clothes. Our 75 minute session flies to its conclusion in a tumble of rapid French talk.

I don’t rush much these days, but my weekly French conversation class is absolutely worth the wintry effortful 10.30 start. I cycle chez moi - home - up the Capital City Trail, my heart beginning to heal - another story - with a little joie de vivre.

Lovely French conversation class thanks to VoulezVouloz.