We had a couple of days in Melbourne, which I've written about over at Sideboob, mostly wondering at what sort of effect living through the world's longest lockdowns might have on the election.
The city centre had very obviously been hard hit, and at first I worried that two of my favourite places, Mag Nation (a sort of magazine superstore) and The Minotaur (a gigantic nerd shop) had both gone under. Minotaur had been replaced by an axe throwing club, and Mag Nation was just... gone.
As it turns out they were both still hanging around. Minotaur had moved into new premises, possibly within an even bigger footprint. Mag Nation had moved into Emporium, but I don't think that was an upgrade. It was a much smaller operation than before, with a very limited selection of titles, and maybe 2/3 of the display space given over to doodads and knickknacks. Not much different to any other newsagent in the country, really.
I had wanted to visit my favourite jazz club, Paris Cat, but I wasn't being a complete Covid dilettante so we skipped that. It's a great club, but with the daily infection rate so high, I just couldn't come at sitting in a super-crowded venue with a hundred or more people for two or three hours.
Still, we had a good time. Caught up with some old friends for a few feeds and adult bevies in between some work commitments. I dips me lid to Michael Barnes for the lift from the airport, and will add that he was looking a little sleeker than the last time I had seen him. Must have been getting into some secret Covid workouts up there in the Dandenongs.
We too squeezed a couple of workouts in at the hotel gym, but I didn't bother trying to restrain myself when it came to eating and drinking. I've been trying to get my protein up for a couple of weeks, having shifted the focus of my training from cardio to strength. As part of that I've been calorie tracking, which is terrible, and almost impossible when you're travelling and eating out in restaurants. Especially like I do. That big ol’ hunka beef below is half a kilo of delicious eating’, but fucks knows what’s in the mashed potatoes. Not just spuds, I’ll tell you for free. And the pasta dish below it? My tracking app tells me that was a modest 600 calories, but the notches on my belt call on bullshit on that.
I did hop on the body composition scale when I got back, however, and oh-my-word you can do a lot of damage to your stats in three days.
Still, I regret nothing. And it is useful to see just how badly things can go pear shaped, literally, if you're not paying attention.
I'm back home now, and back at the desk, hoping to get some deadlines knocked over in the next month or so.
That food looks amazing. Screw you, BMI tracker.
Screw the diet, that steak looks worth the airfare alone.
Looks good! So John, any idea when American Kill Switch will be out in ebook? Looking forward to it!
Regretting a lovely tagliatelle is regretting life itself. Remind yourself that whatever exercise that you do is merely to support your vigerous eating and drinking regimen. Works for me.
I have been to that Axe throwing place and it was a shit-ton of fun.
Sounds familiar. Barbecue season is open here. Went to a buddy’s house Saturday . Ribeyes Mashed fried zucchini, asparagus homade ice cream. Thought I’ll just stick with steak and asparagus. My brilliant plan lasted almost through the first Blue Moon. Ah well back on the elliptical