Like many kids 'back in the day', my family had a healthy collection of Little Golden Books. I can't remember all the titles but the covers often leap to mind. The artwork of illustrator Tibor Gergely was so striking that I can picture the volumes long before recalling the titles.

The other day I bought my first ever, second-hand Little Golden Book. I had been haunted by the cover illustration of The Taxi That Hurried since it had popped inadvertently onto my computer screen a week or two ago. The image of the yellow cab on two wheels being halted by a policeman was worth the few dollars I paid.

Some of the stories are undoubtedly dated now, the vast sophistication of the modern era always knowing better. I may buy others too, contrarian that I am.

The garden is awash with flowering trees, plants and vines. The old plum trees, those that have survived the bamboo nightmare of recent memory, have delicate white blossoms, tinged with pink. Those of the pear tree are hinted with a yellow, matching a dazzling potato vine of a similar hue on the front fence.

So, spring has arrived with full force, though today is actually quite cold. The sun is warm, but a southerly breeze harkens back to early August and the last of the combustion stove fires. There is a lot of sneezing about too. I suspect hay fever sufferers will suffer, for the pollen count is high.

What else can I say? Our parish priest, Father Joe, is moving to a new parish in North West Sydney - though I think reluctantly - and we await news of who the bishop will appoint in his place. I was sad when I first heard, for Father Joe was there at my faith formation classes and presided over my confirmation. He had been a encouragement and a rock since I began attending St Finbars over two years ago.

May God bless him in this new endeavour.

The US Presidential Election remains the tightest of races. It is a contest that will be decided, most likely, by a few hundred or a few thousand votes, here or there, across a slew of 'battleground' states. The chances of either candidate winning by a landslide are beyond remote. The US is a bitterly polarised society where the number of 'moving' votes has shrunk in recent decades.

Harris made a compelling case in tonight's debate and effectively put to rest the disaster that was the first debate between Trump and the ailing Joe Biden. She commanded the material and she commanded Trump, for the most part. The latter was hobnailed by self-inflicted  and unnecessary flights down rabbit holes and a chronic inability to stray on message. 

Trump's capacity to free-range is both his best friend and his worst enemy. In front of adoring crowds it is largely an asset - he can shoot the breeze about anything that comes into his head and nobody minds. In a debate, the structure of the exercise requires a certain discipline and a mastery of the each topic.

But as I said, the margins are very tight and either of these candidates could wake up President on November 6, the morning after.

Today is our 8th wedding anniversary. I first met Ann some two years earlier when I spied a cute bespectacled woman in a photo taken at Bondi Beach, Very few of us know the outcome of first meetings (ours was near the fountain in Hyde Park), whether love will bloom, or not.

I do think its harder for younger people, not because they don't have a huge array of dating apps at their disposal, but because many of the rules of social engagement have changed or fallen into disuse. The rush to the bedroom is one such fraught development, allowing no chance for the gradual unfolding that a romantic relationship should take, if it is to have any chance or working.

I am lucky to have my wife. She has been a most devoted companion. You can never rush into that.

As mentioned before, I have been singing in SATB choirs for three decades now. On the whole, they have been a great blessing for me, offering not only the chance for friendship and mutual endeavour, together with the joy of singing, but also myriad other opportunities. Such as meeting my first wife, going to Japan, spinoff singing projects...I could go on.

These days I am with Moo Choir (we meet at Warrimoo) and it is probably the consistently strongest group of singers I have ever sung with. A good choir relies upon a good director, without which you may be average or less than average. Moo Choir has been graced with several excellent musical directors, passionate people who work hard and have set a standard and pushed us to hit that standard. Thirty average voices can achieve a lot when properly trained and rehearsed.

A few weeks ago we sang at the Winter Magic Festival, a regular gig for all the Mountain's choirs. It is, alas, but a shadow of its former self, but we gave it our best anyway. The closeup shot below features some of the bass and alto section on this occasion, including yours truly. Oh, and the hand of our director, Rowan!

Almost gale force winds again today. The gusts are strong enough to unsettle the walker or topple the unwary. Birds remain on their branches or bound to the earth. Choir is cancelled tonight due to a blackout.

We are hunkered down. This old cottage still has its roof intact and the walls have yet to blow in. Ah, such blessings from God! I wonder if the possums will do their high-wire act tonight, or if they will find less tortuous routes to their destinations.

Tonight, too, we may 'feel the roots of the house move,' or see 'the window tremble to come in.' We may indeed.

Well I hope not, but there is a wildness abroad that will not brook the foolish or the gullible. Think of the storm in King Lear, and the madness that ensued.