I soaked up a lot of sun today as the brutal summer that I will probably be journaling about sadly in a few months set off a flaming canary into the blue sky.

The quality and precision of weather forecasting available for free online in 2023 is excellent. With my work calendar how it was, and the neighbourhood flowers how they are, I knew as early as yesterday morning that I'd be walking past a blooming jasmine vine in the late afternoon when the temperature would be around 20 degrees and the wind about 20km/h. Despite the total lack of surprise, it was still pleasant when it did happen.

As I approach a decade of home ownership I'm sorry to say that I have not improved much when it comes to home improvements. I feel a lot of internal pressure to be better at being a handyman. I watched a lot of football and Big Box Hardware Warehouse advertisements at an impressionable age, before I possibly could have realised what the subconscious messages I might be digesting because of this association were.

These days I can make holes in bricks and fix tap washers with a 90% success rate. But I am not one for renovations. This explains why the shitty, constantly breaking three-panel sliding door on my dilapidated shower with its weak-pressured showerhead that sprays the back of my shoulders each day has been the norm since I moved into my current house in February 2020. There are many skills a handyman should have, and organising other skilled tradesmen to come and do larger jobs in exchange for payment is one I have struggled to develop the most.

If I didn't have to pay tax, I could probably get a whole new bathroom every year. But paying $1500 for a new shower screen and installation of a new showerhead has eluded me for many years. What if the actual fair price is $1400? What if they drill through the tile and hit a pipe and water sprays out once again below my head level? What if I have to talk to someone on the phone? Despite these obstacles, finally, I succeeded in procuring and having delivered a new shower screen and - after a few helpful holes were drilled by someone with the right drill-bit - I installed a new shower head too that I can actually stand under.

Is suffering for 1200+ days with a terrible shower experience the secret for bathing bliss? After I replaced the plumbing tape and had a drip free experience tonight, I think the answer is yes. The glass of the shower walls now reaches close to the ceiling. The door doesn't fall off when you get out. The Methven showerhead seems to magically increase the pressure of my plumbing, the cascading water feeling both firm and silky. It reminds me of Amalfi, standing in a much narrower shower screen getting drenched by an endless waterfall of warm water to wash off the day's hiking. All that was missing is a little, wooden-framed window through which you can see the mountains as well as the buildings across the street.

I think installing that as a feature is gong to be beyond me.

On the weekend I walked a loop around West Lakes under grey, drizzly skies. Sunday morning I walked along the Torrens and into North Adelaide for a bakery visit. That afternoon I ate a huge chunk of pork and bystanding garbage directly out of the bin. My name is Nash the dog and I am living my best life.

The Monday morning walk was the more pedestrian circuit between home and the local park. About five minutes in, I had to shit and after scooting about in a hunched pooping position it became apparent to me that not everything that was in that mouthful of garbage was digestible. Luckily my human, Bradism himself, had the bag ready to go and he yanked the compromised, half-exported turd right out of my butt and off I went again, smiling toothily in the late winter sunshine.

Well, I definitely learnt my lesson, which is: it's cool to eat as much as you want out of the garbage if you have a giant being watching out for you at all times.

I don't like growing older, but I'm getting used to it. It's not like there are any better alternatives available. And it was a good excuse for taking Friday off work, hiking the long way around Morialta, then having lunch at Little Bang.

The whole long weekend has been pleasant, with a day trip through the grey cloud curtain to Victor Harbor yesterday, multiple coffees, and lunch at Alex's today. Despite being 39 I've kicked a football, worn shorts, played minigolf, finished a computer game, deadlifted, eaten way too much cake in a single sitting, and many other activities more suited to those with more testosterone than whatever my body's declining natural levels are these days. I've also gardened, sorted my work emails, worked on mobility, followed the stock market, and thought about my tax return. So the opening of this entry remains true.

I'm not sure exactly how I should plan out the last year of my thirties, nor how much deviance from expectations life is likely to throw at me. I guess I should really think about what entry I'm going to post when I'm forty.

Bradismlocks was taking a walk through a winter and came upon a house in a wet, cold part of the space-time continuum. This was very tiring. In the house there were three months. Bradismlocks tried June, which was amazing - it was warm, and there was a lot of adventure and delicious foods and not much joint pain. "This month is too awesome," said Bradismlocks. Next month was July. July was cold, dark, filled with work and not much adventure. "This month is too not-awesome," said Bradismlocks.

Bradismlocks tried the third month - August. The bed was not just right. The porridge was not just right. The chairs were not just right. Bradismlocks realised with horror that June was actually just right and that it was not possible to go back. At least now August was over, along with this journal entry...