Saturday, July 30, 2016


The Hipster in a beenie

Friday, July 29, 2016

Orson Wells at Aldi

Thursday, July 28, 2016

Wednesday, July 27, 2016

Did I Feel Like A Visitor?

I woke up at 6.30am and was wide awake. I tossed and turned until 7am, when I asked Sam if he was getting out of bed? Yes, sure, I woke him up, I thought he was getting up anyway. He said he wasn’t getting out of bed until 7.30am and he thanked me for waking him up.

“Yeah, good onya,” said Sam.

Buddy has been sleeping with us the last few nights, as it has been really cold outside, and he seemed to be very comfortable stretched out with half the bed, while I hung onto a sliver of mattress on my side of the bed.

I got up and pulled on my track pants and hoodie, just at the same time I heard Andy heading downstairs. It was early and I didn’t feel like being social, nothing against Andy, it’s just if I am getting up early, I want to enjoy the early morning on my own, the solitude, the quiet, the peace, the stillness, the on my own time. I lay back down in bed in my track pants and hoodie fully expecting to continue to toss and turn.

I woke again at 8.15am, just as Sam got out of the shower. “Nice, isn’t,” I said, I’m sure with a huge grin.

Sam bought me breakfast in bed, telling me that I needed to do stuff and not spend the day in bed.

“You need to get back into your exercise routine again,” said Sam. “You are getting…”


“You know.”

“No I don’t.”

“Yes, you do?”

“Don’t beat around the bush…”

“Fat!” said Sam.

“Like a dagger to the heart, Brutus…”

“You are getting fat!”

“I’m am now bleeding from the wounds you have inflicted.”

“Don’t be dramatic…”

“I am chocking on my own blood. Gurgle, gurgle, gurgle! I thought you loved me?”

He kissed me on the forehead. “Don’t stay in bed all day.”

Buddy lay on one side of me. Fluff on the other. Milo lay across my legs. I wrote my pig story. (It is on my fictional blog, there is a link below, FletcherSatchel) It is coming very slowly, glacial, but it is coming. Bit by bit, every little piece is dragged from me, if you look closely you can just about see the scars in my skin. Inspiration is in a bit short supply, at the moment, I don’t know why? I was explaining it to someone at Rachel’s party the other day. One person laughed, the other tuned out. I wondered if I was boring? Maybe I am. Note to self, nobody wants to hear about your pig story. Sad, but true.

I watched a YouTube clip on the Bristol Fighter, when I couldn’t think of more pig story to write. (That is a car, not a plane)

Jill messaged me at 11.30am to ask if I was awake? Awake? She messaged me at 11.11am, as if I’d still be asleep at that time.

I’m awake, I replied. Still in bed, but certainly awake. Did I feel like a visitor?

Did I feel like a visitor?

I laughed to myself. Did I ever feel like a visitor? Ha ha. Sure, I replied. I forced myself. I can’t spend my days in bed writing, can I? No, I can’t. I must say yes to friends when they ask.

I extricated myself out from under 2 dogs and a cat, they weren’t moving for anybody and scampered into the shower. (I don’t think I had a shower yesterday? Lovely, isn’t it. My part towards saving the planet, well, that’s my story.

Sam, Jill and I went to Arcadia for lunch. In Gertrude Street. I think we are becoming quite the regulars. I ate beef vindaloo. Sam ate lasagne. Jill ate a burger, despite her, um, err, ah, how do I put this diplomatically? If I said Pritikin? Would that be enough?

Sam went back to work. His new job is a couple of minutes walk from home.

Jill talked me into accompanying her to the servo to check her oil and coolant. Did I want to accompany her, not particularly, but I kept that to myself. Apparently, girls still can’t do such things. Shouldn’t they be able to do this by now? Her car is over due for a service, which was the reason for the, apparent, urgency. I tried to explain that there is no substitute for a service, but I am not sure if I was being successful. I put oil in, it needed it. Jill insisted on buying coolant too, despite neither of us, really, knowing how to tell if her car needed it. She has a plastic bottle that has pink liquid, not the usual green, with two lines and some sort of hieroglyphics. What it meant neither of us knew? I’d read the manual, by the time we got back to my place. 

“It has to be at the top line,” I said as I stepped from the car…

“Okay,” she said.

“But your engine has to be cold.”


I closed he passenger side door. “Look in the morning.”

“Oh… but.” I could see she wanted to get me to do it, but a cold engine is a divine thing. Besides, I had more YouTube to watch and bed to get back to.

“First thing in the morning.” Buddy needed to lie down next to me in the big bed.

“I see,” she said. She curled her lip like Dame Edna, knowing there was nothing more to be said.

The afternoon was progressing fast and I had many hours to waste before Sam got home and started to organise me yet again.

Mitch was heading out to work when I got home. His aftershave lingers in the house long after he has gone. The front hallway smalls of him, he has the room closest to the front door. It is quite nice, as far as after shaves go, so I am not complaining. He must be doing the arvo shift. I think I’ll always think of him as aftershave man. Everything about him must smell of the scent, even his undies, I’d guess.

Leonard flushed the toilet 5 times while he was in the bathroom having a shower. Why, you ask? Why I ask? Why would anyone need to flush the toilet 5 times? No idea. What is the problem with the toilet, I wanted to ask?

Andy is really vague, but then again, he smokes a lot of pot. Every night. Sam thought I’d be sucked back into the pot smoking vortex, but not as yet. Ha ha, Sam. So little faith.

I lit a fire early. I felt cold around 4pm. I’m guessing, I don’t need to specify that exactly, hey. I wouldn’t light a fire if I was feeling hot. It was just the time, I don’t usually light fires until dinner time.

I’ve still got a headache from my neck. Too much computer, Sam would say. And I am afraid he is right. Too much looking down at my laptop in bed. Too much sitting at my coffee table and writing on my computer. But, what are you going to do?

I lay in front of the fire with my big, orange cushion and listened to Gerald Levert’s last album. The Teddy bear. It was peaceful, I dozed off, nearly, not quite, nearly. Buddy and me. Then Sam came home.

Another day down. A count down till when? What am I going to do with myself?

Monday, July 25, 2016

A Pot Of Succulents Is Cheaper Than Getting The Roof Repaired

I planted the succulents in an old bowl that I dragged out of the back of the kitchen cupboard. I got out my trusty drill and drilled a hole in the bottom of the bowl. The succulents that Sam put in the dish on the kitchen bench a week ago. The bits that fell off the pots on the balcony when we were cleaning out the attic so we could put all of the junk from Leonard's room into storage. Our new house mate. Yep, we now have 3 housemates.

Sam asked me if I was going back to work any time soon, to which I answered no. I don't know if I am kidding myself, but I now have money saved and I don't have any debts, so I am now going to try and write... yes, go on say it, a novel. How long have I been putting it off? Too long.

"If you are not going back to work..."

"No, I am not..."

"Then I am renting out the spare room."

So Sam advertised our spare room and now we have a third house mate. Leonard moved in a week ago. He is the silent housemate. He is the shadow, the one that nobody ever sees. In fact, I don't even think Mitch has met him and he has lived here for a week, so far.

Not that I am complaining, I think it is preferable if I don't see them. It was different when I lived with friends, Shane, David, Tim and Nicholas, Aby Austin, Kim Wild, but these are not living arrangements for friends. I've had enough of the corporate world, smarmy, egocentric, wannabes all vying for their own glory, usually at the expense of somebody else, all wrapped up in some bullshit about team building and best practice and performance reviews. Well, you know what, I don't want it any more. And while I didn't want to have housemates, wouldn't have gone down the housemate path, it isn't so bad.

So, the succulents were in the bowl that sits on the kitchen bench where the roof leaks. (I must get up there and start squirting around some more silicone) I've had 2 professional roof plumbers out to fix it and they have only made it worse. I have since been up there and I have nearly stopped it. But, nearly isn't quite good enough, now is it. Oh and winter is here. The funny thing is now that it doesn't leak all the time, just when the rain is at its heaviest. Anything other than a deluge and no leak, appears to be no leak. So, I have nearly got it, there is just one more spot, obviously. I am assuming that if I can't see it leaking then it is not leaking... I hope. So, the best assurance against the leak has been the stainless steel bowl we keep on the kitchen bench. Sam casually threw the succulent pieces into it the other day, which kind of gave the bowl a reason for being on the bench. And I kind of liked the open style of the stainless steel bowl, so I dug around in the back of the kitchen cupboard and found an old desert bowl on which all the glaze had washed thin. I got out my trusty drill and trusty masonry bit and bingo the bowl had a hole and then it was filled with the plant pieces. Lovely. And then I put the newly planted pot back into the stainless steel bowl, and it kind of now looks like it has a reason to be there.

A pot of succulents is cheaper than getting the roof repaired.

The novel, well, that is going to take a bit longer.

"Oh no, not that damn novel," I can hear my friends say. Actually, truthfully, they wouldn't say anything, not really. None of them think I am ever going to write it. It would be more of a whimper from them, if anything, rather than any kind of out loud protest. I give myself too much credit, no really I do.

Of course, I don't really believe I can do it either, not deep down, not really. But that is just my insecurities talking and I am not ever giving up the idea of writing it. No, I will forever entertain the idea. I believe it is possible. I believe I could do it, well, maybe, kind of. Well, you know, in this big, bad world anything is possible, even likely…

Fuck me, if Tony Abbott can be elected to Prime Minister, after all of the lies he told, I can write a fucking story, lets face it. If Donald Trump can be elected to President, with the crap that spews forth from his mouth, I can write a fucking story. If England can vote to leave Europe, when as a country they are, were, doing really well, I can write a fucking story. If a bear can take a crap in the woods…

So, first things first, I have to get my reading back on track. I’m really not enjoying 1984, I’m really not remembering it either. I’ll give it a bit more time. But I am not getting lost in it, I am always aware that it is a struggle.

Then I am going to write some short stories and see if one of them naturally evolves.

Then there are the two, or three, partially written novels that I have, but I feel least inclined. Oh who knows.

I do know one thing, I have very few excuses left not to write it.

Sunday, July 24, 2016

The Most Important Thing Is Honesty. Once You Can Fake That, You’ve Got It Made

We came home from Victoria Street and then went into town, to return the iPad case, of course. It is all a part of Sam's shopping modus de operandi, buy something one day, return it the next. It keeps the world turning… or, at least, I think that is the reason.

We walked into town to Myer. The sun was shining by early afternoon. It was nice. I still laugh at the people standing at the little red man at the lights at the crossing with not a car in sight, and yet they still stand there. I never know why? We’ve all become so conservative, so nanny-state products that when Sam and I dare to cross on the “red man” sometimes, if you listen closely, you can hear “them” inhale at our audacity.

Live a little people. Jay-walk, smoke a joint, cheat on your taxes, leave the job you hate with no job to go to, life is just too short.

Straight to Myer, down Little Bourke Street, in the back door, being back door kind of boys. Laugh, that always reminds me of Catherine Tate’s Derek.

I took charge of the lift buttons, on the way up and on the way down. I am still a lift nazi, clearly. Too many years spent in corporate building with big egos trying to run the lifts to suit themselves. It has had a bad influence on me, a lasting one, one I don’t seem to be able to get over. Any of the slow, or the lame, I close those lift doors right in their faces. Oh, there have just been too many times. Floating into a lift in dribs and drabs.

“Hold that lift, hold that lift, I must get on that lift!”

But there are 5 more lifts.

"Oh, is this lift going up” dither, dither... “oh, really” dither, dither... “sorry."

Get Out!

Or the idiot who keeps pushing the lift button when the full lift’s doors are trying to close.

Closing… open. Closing… open. Closing… open.

Or my very favourite, "I just need to finish this call," they said with their arm in the lift doorway holding up any number of people without a care.

Um, excuse me?

Come on people, pay attention, otherwise there is always another lift. All Aboard.

Sam got the Aesop hand lotion from the ground floor at Myer. He always lathers it on and then wipes it all over my hands to dispose of the excess.

We headed to Emporium, after Myer, because Sam didn't like the hoodie that I wore into the city. My favourite oversized, old, blue...

“What’s wrong with it?” I looked down at what I was wearing. Sure it is old, but I would call it comfortable.

"It is disgusting," said Sam. "You look like you are down on your luck."

Disgusting? I wouldn’t have called it disgusting, I thought is was fashionably off trend – or is that a contradiction? – you know, setting trends not following them? (Northern Suburbs Work Wear) Still, I guess it doesn’t matter so much what I think if Sam thinks it is disgusting. I looked down at what I was wearing again. Disgusting seemed a little harsh. But… um… as I said, it didn’t really matter what I thought, so much, as I wasn’t looking at me, I was looking away from disgusting.

We went to Uniglow in Emporium. But first we got Aesop hand lotion from the dispensers outside the Aesop shop. Again, Sam wiped the excess over my hands. He tells me it is lovely, I grin and bare it. I tried on hoodies, but despite the fact that I seem to wear them all the time, lately, they are not really me. I looked at the jumpers, merino V-neck. I wanted the charcoal, or the dark blue, but no they had none of those colours left, as they were on sale. This brave new consuming world never seems to have the colours you want, and we all just accept it. So, I got navy blue and red.

We saw Anton, Rachel's son, shopping in UniGlo. He's lovely, he’s always been a gorgeous boy. He was an angelic child, and now he is a handsome 21 year old/22 year old. Rachel is deservedly proud of him, as she is of all her 4 children. Anton is a sweet boy, always, seemingly, interested in what you are doing and what you have to say. I'm sure he is interested, he’s a nice lad, but even if he's not, as Groucho Marx said, The most important thing is honesty. Once you can fake that, you’ve got it made. He's a really nice boy.

I changed into the red jumper out side Uniglow. I did a twirl and Sam just looked at me. "Are you doing that for me?"

"Sure am," I said. "Better?" I asked.

"Yes, much," he said.

"Anything to alleviate your embarrassment."

"Very funny," Sam said.

“I looked disgusting, I think was the expression.”

He just let that hang in the air seemingly without a need for a correction.

I find I often walk with my arm through Sam's. I never hold his hand, I am not a hand holder, but I often link my arm through his. We are nearly always chatting away, even when we were walking up Lonsdale Street toward home, me pointing out the newest Lamborghini driving up the street, Sam telling me what the latest gadget is. Or we are joking with each other. Eating curry samosas, or arguing about getting one. I’m always the pro-samosa, Sam is the one against, if anyone is going to be against, that is. But often it is just a yes, yes snack man, like me. Green tea ice cream. Egg tart. Pork bun. 75 pieces of KFC for $5. Whatever? Or we are being judgemental about the people we see, you know, laughing and pointing. It is usually my judgement, but Sam can be too. I have had a, some might say, negative effect on him. I’d say, I’ve taken that sweet boy and rounded him out. Discreetly, of course. We never want to hurt anyone's feeling, we just want to amuse each other. Snigger so only the other one can see. Our world, lost in it. It is a lovely place to be. It is a nice state. We don’t really need anyone else in it, we are naturally just a team of two.

At The Shops

Victoria Street, buying groceries.
We walked down to Victoria Street, the sun was shinning, the sky was blue. We ate Thai for lunch. We remembered the green bags, or is it that I forget the green bags and Sam always remembers them. Maybe that is true. It seemed to be easier carrying the food home in the green bags, you can sling them over your shoulder.