This blogger is limping.
He's just returned home to Albany, jewel of the deep southern tip, with a small, irksome virus from Melbourne. He thinks he caught it on a tram.
Here's what happened:
I'm on a tram. Everyone is coughing, sneezing, blowing.
I stand alone, surrounded by humanity, all sizes, all types, all hard up against me, but not really hard, kind of soft but tense.
The tram is full. There is no room left.
It stops. there are three people standing, staring.
One says: Sardine time.
I laugh. I laugh alone.
The three plunge forward into the tram with no room. We all shuffle, ever so slightly, and they fit.
I am amazed. My mouth opens, then closes, because I remember the coughing, the spluttering, the sneezing, the blowing, the sniffing.
Too late, and a tiny virus molecule entered my system.
When home, I recover quickly, being of a resilient, mountain goat breed, and so I go running and surfing.
The very next day I collapse in a mountain goat heap, full of bleat and almost coughing. I don't cough. I recover quick, but every since my lungs have found breathing somewhat changed.
The tram world is not for this goat. He loves a tram, but not every day, not at peak crush and full of sardines.
To all those who embrace the tram world, may your neighbour cough the other way and may your tram be always half full, or empty.