Friday door that's fresh, crisp and spells summer. Apparently they're not having such a crisp sunny summer in Auckland where I spotted this door before we left last year.
We have summer in spades in Melbourne this month. It's been so hot that on occasion my older son wants to leave Australia. It's only 35 degrees I tell him. Toughen up, next week it could be 42. Of course when it hits that we'll both be melting into the same greasy puddle.
It's also been a week of few words on the blog. Life is busy isn't it? I don't mean to join the competitive 'I'm busier than you are' conversations that people delight in. And I'm not importantly busy at all... not solving any Big Issues or raising seven children while working full time. Or even cleaning my house. Hell no.
I did go back to work yesterday on a public holiday - Australia Day - and fought to get a car park among all the people gathered to celebrate their Australian-ness.
That's the trouble with journalism. We journos may be bottom feeders but we have to work on all the best days and because we're not saving lives nobody cares. That's why every summer you see those 'There Are Too Many Public Holidays' stories in your newspaper.
We whinge on hoping against hope that someone somewhere will care. Anyone?