Gleeful

I had a conversation the other day that resulted in a discussion on the merits of jumping up-and-down on your housemate’s bed when they’re out, wearing only a pair of your knickers. Preferably on your head. Clean ones, of course… this was not some weird fetish thing, purely a conversation on the feeling of boundless freedom, and great glee.

It got me to thinking about things that make me gleeful. Of course the above-mentioned activity would, definitely, be one (why else would it have come up?) The second one, which I may have mentioned before, is that little hole that happens when you let water out of the basin. Like a little water hurricane. It’s not just the look of it, though, it’s the feel, when you stick your finger in it. I. Love. It.

Donkeys. There’s another. I love them. Always have. My passion peaked at university. Our dusty little university had a plethora of donkeys, just, well hanging about. Many dark nights, stumbling home in our merry packs of happy students or huggy-kissy couple-pairs or just alone (in those days it was slightly safer), one would come around the corner and look down Bathurst Street, into the dip, and see a donkey, gently perusing the dustbin contents, sometimes even two of the lovely velvet creatures.

Our third year digs was across the road from the graveyard (a tragically beautiful place, good for thinking) and beyond the graveyard was the township. It was the perfect place for me, and had a steady stream of donkey passers by (some of whom I coaxed into our garden with carrots. K wouldn’t allow me to keep them, though and I always had to return them to the street.)

So yes, a little post on glee-inducing things. Perfect for a Friday, don’t you think?