I should’ve realised the day was off to a bad start with the cold shower. That was the first clue.
The power’s gone off. I’d better go and have another word with those boys upstairs – they’ve been unwittingly tripping the power by using a faulty light switch.
“Oh, didn’t I tell you?” says the landlord, “There’s no power in the street today from 8am till 2pm.”
That information would’ve been handy - if I had it the day before.

“Can you all get out of the kitchen!”
“But I’m bored,” says Nick.
“Why don’t you make that Easter collage with Hari,” his mum insists, looking at me meaningfully. “If you’re not going to help me with the cooking, find something else to do.”
It pays off to feign a lack of culinary interest at Easter time. It’s just too much hard work.

When it rains here, it pours – sometimes for days. It’s one of the minor inconveniences of living in a sub-tropical climate.
Despite the temporary disruption to an otherwise sunny year, the rainy season from January to March is enough to keep me indoors indefinitely, seeking shelter from the wild weather.
This unnatural seclusion - in a place that boasts an average of seven hours of sunlight each day - leads to the relatively unknown condition known as waterlogged exacerbated temperament (WET). And it makes me SAD.

“You got gaffa tape?”
Nope.
“Newspaper?”
Err…. no.
“Go get some. You can then make a stick by rolling the newspaper and….”
Why? Can’t I just borrow a riding crop?

The motorbike skidded along the pot-holed road, took a sharp turn and launched itself across the river. It landed heavily and continued its accelerated journey across the uneven terrain.
Strapped securely into my seat, I could feel the nausea slowly creeping up on me; I wasn’t sure how much longer I could contain it.
I staggered outside as soon as the ride was over only to be assaulted by a scorching sun and swarms of Japanese students enthusiastically shouting “hello” in English. 
It probably wasn’t the best day to be on a simulator ride at a theme park after a long night of drinking sake.

Capricorn:  The Mountain Goat.  Functionalities: Ambitious; success, achievement and results oriented; authority, organisation, time, status, reputation, rewards, awards, responsible and mature. 
“No wonder you’re scaring the rest of the committee,” a friend observed on my recent birthday.
“You'll be happy to know,” I assured her, “that I've spent the past decade toning down some of my more extreme Capricorn traits.”

“Are you free to babysit on Friday?”
“Err, do you mean like, little kids?”
The flashback to snotty noses and crying babes sent a cold shiver down my spine.
“Umm, no thanks,” I replied politely. “I’d rather stay home and study.”

“Did you get what the five main points were for that last session?”
“No, her body gestures were really annoying and distracting.”
“Well, if she didn’t waste five minutes going on about the slide show, it would’ve been a great presentation otherwise,” I said.
“It wasn’t such a great slide show anyway. She could easily have done the presentation without it.”
“I couldn’t read the text on the screen, either,” I complained.
We spent the trip home evaluating that speaker’s presentation techniques, rather than the content, which just goes to show: it’s not only what you say, but how you say it and what you do with your  body gestures.

Do you see the world through rose-coloured glasses, or maybe you see it strictly as black and white?
When was the last time you showed your true colours, or perhaps you’ve been feeling a little off colour lately?
Were you a golden child who passed your exams with flying colours, or like me, a black sheep of the family?
Our language is mixed with a kaleidoscope of colourful words, so let me dab into my palette and splash a bit of colour into your world…

It was definitely a sign. The second one, in fact.
As I sat in the taxi, stuck in bumper-to-bumper traffic, I noticed a familiar design on the car in front of us: Sunshine Coast number plates.
I’d left the warmth of the Coast a few hours earlier and arrived in the congested, noisy, bright and cold environs of Sydney one Thursday evening, well past peak hour - and we’d barely progressed beyond the perimeter of the domestic airport terminal.