Slick, wet, seal-pup yogis

Date: 29 July.

Location: The George, South Melbourne.

I used to do 6.15 am hot yoga all the time and was always trying to convince friends to come along. I waxed lyrical about the amazing sense of smugness you get when you and the other students emerge from an hour of sweaty bending — like a pod of slick, wet seal pups — just as most people's alarms are going off, citing the smooth glowy serenity with which you greet the day. The great skinny arms you get.

There was one morning where a particular work friend, B1, plonked herself unceremoniously on the mat next to me in the near-dark of a predawn Melbourne morning. Pleased, and surprised, I grinned. She grimaced back. It turned out that she'd seen me get out of my red Astra car in the (uber eerie) underground car park across from the studio and, ever so proud of herself for getting up this early, she'd snuck up behind me and murmured in one ear, “I bet you're surprised to see me!” Correct, because this poor girl had never met B1 and just wanted to get to yoga. That wasn't me and that wasn't my Astra.

I tell this story now because (well, because it's still funny to me, and) B1 has taken her boyfriend and fled to London to work there as a lawyer, like (too) many of my friends have done in recent months.

Back in my corporate law life our offices faced one another and we communicated ceaselessly: cryptic knocks on the separating wall, lazing in the other's office guest chair sagely doling out Shopbop advice, sending flying a steady stream of snarky (hilarious) emails, guarding the office door while the other sobbed under her desk (it could be a tough working environment sometimes). We were tight and I miss her a lot.

However, just a few months after she left for 2 years in London, her older sister, B2, returned from 2 years in London. Like B1, B2 is lawyer and, like me, she's feeling somewhat disenchanted with private practice and is keen to make some great career decisions and a fresh start. We had brunch this week at the fabulous Feast Of Merit (and I would highly recommend the mushrooms) and it was just like having B1 back. B2 and I now have a plan to seek out and hit up Happy Hours across Melbourne. The amazing novelty of being at liberty to drink between the hours of 4 and 7pm — and at discounted prices — should not be wasted!

My Tuesday evenings have a new schedule. Hot yoga in South Yarra followed by Parma and trivia night at The George, South Melbourne) with Gryffindor. (After using his shower, because otherwise I would still be in slick, wet seal pup mode and no one needs to see that at their local pub.)

The pub's owner has a regular trivia team which consists of a motley crew: the owner and his wife, Terry and his twelve year old Lachie, and whichever of the two rotating trivia masters is not leading the night. They are usually a force to be reckoned with. This week, however, it was just Terry and he asked if he could join our team. Please don't think this is because we're any good. In fact, it's likely quite the reverse, plus the fact that we had the cozy couches by the fire and that we were a two-man team.

It's been a hilarious night. We learned from one question that 'deipnophobia' is the fear of dinner conversation. That lead to a discussion diring which Terry informed us that a 'spermologist' was someone who collected (get your mind out of the gutter) trivia. Our loud protests about the veracity of this combined with the fact that our main rival for the night was the team of flamboyant gays at the next table made for some … interesting banter.

I love Tuesdays.

Love

Alex

 

 

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