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Suite Scarlett
Martin family birthday breakfasts followed a strict tradition. First, there were Belgian waffles, made by Belinda, the beloved Hopewell Hotel cook. These were served up with an array of toppings: chocolate syrup, fresh lemon whipped cream, stewed strawberries, and powdered vanilla sugar. The air should have been thick with wafflely perfume. Instead, there was an acrid, confusing smell, undercut by a light touch of smoke.
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Writer in Residence
Wherein Karen Apologises
At 2.45pm on Saturday afternoon I was heading home from a plotting-a-novel date with a friend at the State Library. I caught my train west from Flinders Street Station, making faces at the heavy stickiness of the air, and out of pique, tweeted the following just as we went into a tunnel:
kehealey: Come on Melbourne, stop being oppressive and humid and start with the rain!
When we came out of the tunnel, hailstones hammered on the carriage roof and the world outside the window had gone white with the sheer volume of water in the air.
I tweeted again:
kehealey: Melbourne I take it back! Less rain! Less rain!
TOO LATE, SELF.
Melbourne, I am so sorry that I wished that supercell storm of the century right on you. I am sorry about the floods down Elizabeth and Chapel streets. I am sorry about the Southern Cross station roof breaking and dumping water and ice onto the platform below. I am sorry about the multiple injuries, abandoned cars, and damaged homes and workplaces. I am REALLY sorry about the State Library springing leaks.
Usually I like rain - not the crazy dangerous rain! The calmer, more moderate rain we’ve been getting for the last two days. Because there is no sound I like more than that of rain on a roof. (A whole, undamaged roof.) I love going to sleep to that sound. I like waking up to it (on days I don’t have to go anywhere, which is most of them). I adore curling up on the upstairs couch revisiting a book read so often that it is an old familiar friend while the steady patter soothes and calms.
But this time you have betrayed me, rain. I refuse to be comforted by your soft whispering wiles. You have a lot of making up to do.
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I do believe on the same afternoon, at the same time I said: “Come on Melbourne. Bring on the Thunderstorm” while looking at the dark threatening clouds rolling towards the city. I then cheered as the thunder started.
And quickly took all of my excitement back and congratulating when the power went out and my bed got soaked from my open window and I got hit in the shin by a hailstone that flew through the closed! plastic cat flap.
It is also my fault. Don’t hurt yourself apologising.