So I rode to work on Monday and laboured to the best of my endeavour for my employers and their shareholders and then I went home.

And discovered that the car had been stolen.

I've been forced to consider the nature of property these last few days. I spent Cup Day meditating on the meaning of ownership and its place in identity and I was looking about my home and I asked myself ‘which of the objects here do I actually love? What here, if it were taken from me, would I mourn like a lost lover?’ I could not truly think of anything that way, the closest I came to were my box of photos, my Highway 1 Fender bass and the power amp that I built. But I can do without them sure. In the past I would have said my piano but that's been at my parent's place for a couple of years now (my home is not very big, you see) and I'm still living.

That is not an invitation for the universe to come and deprive my of my stuff though. I would prefer to keep my gear because I have some nice things and I really did like the car.

If anybody spots a faded blue '82 Falcon (shown in the photo up at Hotham last winter with my neighbour, Andrew) with lowered suspension and rust patches on the roof abandoned in a supermarket carpark perhaps or a nearby creek, do consider dropping me a note.

And if you stole it, fuck you.

¶ 10:55 am