I did a Ferris Bueller. I wagged school.

I didn’t feel like going to the U3A classes today because I had been playing the ukulele and practising French in my own time all weekend. Those classes could wait another week.

Instead I wanted to walk the city streets and have some time to be in my own head. I contemplated leaving the phone at home too however, in the end, it stayed in my bag and didn’t come out all day.

I arrived in the city at 8:30am and then walked – and kept on walking. I found myself in Carlton, north of the city until I realised I hadn’t eaten breakfast. So I walked south and came to the State Library.

I sat on a corner table in Mr Tulk cafe waiting for the server to come and take my order while looking around me. All around me, young people on their laptops.

On the table next to me were a couple of women who were looking down at their phones. For the entire time I was there, they sat there looking at their phones and when the food arrived, they said nothing to each other. One of them kept glancing over to my table. I think she was interested in what I was reading (Joseph Heller’s Catch-22).

They ate in silence, pausing to look at their notifications. Only when they finished, one of them asked where she can pay for the meal.

I think my book was a better companion than hers.

The waiter arrived and asked me what I’d like to eat and drink.

He had a strong French accent so I ordered in French. I don’t know if that was presumptuous of me – or if he found it irritating that 50+ year old women use him to practice their French language on him but nevertheless I reasoned with myself that I was wagging a French class for my city jaunt today so I may as well make up for it.

I gave him my best smile (short of a wink because that would be…cringe. Gone are the days where I could flirt with young good looking waiters unfortunately – my grey hair automatically puts me into that category) and thanked my small mercies that he didn’t correct me.

I spent the entire morning walking. I went into a couple of book stores and yarn shops to peruse their shelves.

In the book store, one of the young male retail assistants started a conversation with me (bizarre, without my prompting) but in those situations, I usually ask a lot of questions only to find out that he was an aspiring writer and loved writing poetry. I encouraged him to keep writing and said, “we need your art in our world more than ever. Keep at it, keep writing! Share it!”

I think I made his day.

I’m glad he didn’t talk about boring things like work. He talked about what he loved to write.

I was getting tired after walking for about four hours so decided to go home. On the train journey home, there was a lady about my age, with grey hair too, laden with cotton bags and a wheeling a hand trolley. Leeks and kale peeking out of one of the bags. I wondered if she had gone to the Victoria Market. But why? Why would anyone travel so far to buy cheaper vegetables when the trip alone would negate the savings?

That was my last thought as I scanned my Myki card to get out of the train station.