Anyone who knew me three years ago will surely not forget the "mysterious illness" I contracted when I was directing rehearsals of the Standing There Productions stage show, People Watching.

If you remember that, then you will also remember the relentless hilarity that ensued when the mysterious illness was given a name.

Now, it isn't often that my ears prick up during the sport (frisbee not being a televised event). It is, however, with enormous sympathy that I note the slap face epidemic in the Crows AFL team.

Slap face. Slapped cheek. Red face. The baby disease. I TOLD YOU I WASN'T MAKING IT UP!

(By the way, slap face really does suck. Not only are you hot and itchy and tired and sick, but everyone thinks you've been punched in the face. Slightly more acceptable if you're a footballer, I imagine, than an aspiring writer/director who looks pasty at the best of times).

If I buy the "Women's 40 Plus" Breakfast Cereal in the morning, does that do something to me?

I often wonder the same thing with those vitamin B tablets. If you have a "Vitamin B for Men" when you get up in the morning, do you feel all full of beans in a manly way?

The Women's 40 Plus is yummy, by the way. I recommend it. However, if I start attending those ball-balance classes and worrying about whether to go grey naturally, I'll move on.

I do find myself increasingly keen on Lateline, and certain special reports on Compass. But I'm sure that's not the cereal. Do you think?

Things I like about Melbourne (having rather enjoyed myself outside of Melbourne and having briefly wondered today why I returned at all):

1. The fact that it was freezing and foggy all day but tonight you could wear a T shirt in the street.

2. The open contempt held by almost everyone for the "public" transport system.

3. There's always a festival.

4. The people in the Foodworks shop in Nicholson Street (previously Foodies), who have gorgeous accents, in which they pronounce things like "no worries" and "yeah, right", giving the lazy, surly confidence of the phrases a sharp, happy, politeness. Also, they laugh at my jokes.

5. No matter what time of day or night it is, people are sitting in cafes. A few years ago, when I first quit full-time work, I was astonished at how busy Brunswick Street was on a Monday. I developed a theory that fifty percent of Melbournians are freelance, unemployed, or the idle rich. I am currently two of these things, so I'd know. Pass me the caviar, Jeeves.

I loved my holiday, with the adventures and the hedonism and the lack of responsibility and the sun and the free time stretching away ahead of me. Melbourne is cold and I've spent all my money. It's good to be home.

After days of doing nothing but writing to a deadline, I have decided what I would like for my birthday.

A maid.

Telstra, the formerly State-run but increasingly privatised satire on bureaucracy in the form of a telecommunications company, received a phone call from me yesterday.

Me: Hello, I'd like to know what to do about a bill I keep getting sent by you.
Telstra: And what is your account number please?
Me: I don't have an account with you.
Telstra: *confused silence*
Me: I used to, but I don't anymore. I still get a monthly bill for the same amount each time. Even though I closed my account with you a year ago, for reasons that might become obvious.
Telstra: Okaaaay.
Me: The bill is for sixty-seven cents.
Telstra: I beg your pardon?
Me: The bill is for sixty-seven cents. But the bill says "do not pay this until your next bill". I have never received a subsequent bill, obviously, since I do not have an account with you . I'd hazard a guess that the costs of printing and postage, and of hiring of the staff to do the mail-out from (I see here on the envelope) Brisbane has probably cost more than sixty-seven cents. But I can't verify that. That's a guess.
Telstra: I'll just go and get rid of that amount.
*Pretty hold music*
Telstra: Hello, yes I've wiped that amount from your account. That was an account transfer fee that was charged to your account after you closed the account.
Me: Of course it was.
Telstra: Is there anything else I can help you with today?
Me: No, I would rather if you didn't. Thanks all the same.

I hoped that one was "recorded for quality and training purposes". And I hope the Telstra employees who listen to it have read Kafka.

In other news, this story really does beg to have a short film made about it. Although possibly no one would believe a word of it. How INSANE. I know this is probably insensitive, since no one would want to have a severe stroke and then feel the way this woman says she feels, but I must say that if you wanted to chuck a sicky, claiming to have Foreign Accent Syndrome would be one of the more entertaining ways of getting your sick leave entitlements (presuming you have any after the IR laws). Calling in sick in a Jamaican accent one day, a French accent the next... Want to give it a go? Study up here and here.

Lastly, a con woman, disguised (here) as the sort of person you see on Contiki tours in Europe, has been captured in Sydney this morning. Apparently she had people convinced she was a whole lot of people she wasn't. I have an idea: pop her on an Australian TV show. Wouldn't that be a refreshing change?

In other news, I'm seeing Pirates of the Johnny Depps tonight. For cultural reasons, you understand. Oh yes.

In The Weekend Australian this weekend, there is a full page advertisement in the glossy weekend magazine. The advertisement is "An Australian Government Promotion". Its purpose is to encourage eligible persons living in Australia to apply for Australian citizenship "so they can fully participate in this great nation of ours" (to quote Andrew Robb, Parliamentary Secretary to the Minister for Immigration and Multicultural Affairs).

The hook? "Australia's spirit and beauty prompted the 2003 Nobel Literature Laureate, John M. Coetzee, to become an Australian citizen".

Presumably the rationale behind this "promotion" is that people who read The Australian will be spluttering into their morning coffees and saying aloud at the breakfast table, "J M Coetzee did it? Where do I sign?"

A "literary crowd" at Coetzee's ceremony this year apparently "witnessed the Minister for Immigration and Multicultural Affairs, Senator the Hon. Amanda Vanstone, lead Mr Coetzee in his pledge of commitment to Australia", which must have been a singular joy.

Coetzee is quoted saying that taking on Australian citizenship creates responsibilities and duties. Robb (would you believe it) agrees, saying, "In Australia we value basic rights, such as democracy, equality under the law and equality of treatment and opportunity".

For reports on how well things have been going for the Aboriginal communities up North, you'll have to sift through the rest of the paper and try and find the words "basic rights" and "opportunity" in amongst the words "third world living standards", "infant mortality" and "paternalism". If you'd like to know how the asylum seekers who are about to have the law changed on them (again) feel about "equality of treatment and opportunity", you might have to wait a teensy while longer.

Still, why complain? The soccer seems to be going rather well, and a millionaire North Shore Sydneysider who lives in the United States is going to put a frock on and get married tomorrow, so that should be fun to read about until August.

I'm going for a walk.

Today, I walked to gym. On my way there, I saw three garbage trucks pulled up next to a small park near my house. Bumper-to-bumper garbage trucks. Huge, full of garbage, empty of men. They dwarfed the other cars in the street, took up half the road, and thoroughly stank.

I wondered why three garbage trucks were hunched together like that in the middle of a suburban street. Last night was bin night in North Fitzroy, but I didn't see any council offices...

Then I saw six garbage men, still dressed in their fluorescent orange vests, sprinting around the park after tennis balls that were being thwacked with considerable oomph by garbage man number one, who had in his grip what was serving as a cricket bat.

I wondered if it was sanctioned by the council. It looked like fun. I didn't think it was sanctioned by the council.

On my way home, the trucks had left and the sun was setting over the empty park. It was beautiful, but it felt sad with the garbage guys gone. I hope I'm not working next Thursday so I can go up and ask them for a photo.