even though i'm not a football person i'll always watch the grand final, either at the cricketer's, or at a mate's brand final bbq. i missed the game this year, opting instead to sleep in well into double digits, go out for brunch and buy dvd's. mark bought me presents - series 2 and 3 of sex and the city, and i found a copy of 'anita and me' for ten bucks. it was a day of inaction that i needed - performing for three nights in a row (performances bookended with the the obligatory fire-up and wind-down drinks) really took it out of me. one thing's for sure - i could never be a rock star.
then sunday happened.
i heard some shouting, then all these sirens stopping somewhere near the house around midday - sounds not too uncommon in flemington. when we left the house, we saw that the mcdonalds on the corner had police tape around the entrance, and about four squad cars. then on the late night news i saw that a 32 year old man was stabbed to death there. in broad daylight, at the maccas at the end of our street. that knowledge, coupled with flashbacks to re-enactments from a television show on psychics trying to solve murder mysteries, ensured i could not get to sleep at all last night. i'm not sure if the police choppers i heard were in my dreams or for real. i've never been that close to a murder before.