Saturday, April 30, 2016

Walking Home

Afternoon In The City

Sex and Lies?

It rained for most of the day. (yesterday) I sat at my computer in the lounge room for all of it. Being vile about Dante with David took up most of the afternoon. But at 4pm, I felt like I’d pissed the day away. I wanted to keep up the momentum of exercise and keeping in shape, so when the rain cleared up sufficiently I went for a walk. I kind of wanted to ride my bike all afternoon, but rightly, or wrongly, I don’t much like riding my bike in the rain. At least when I am walking, if it starts to rain I can easily find a doorway, or some shelter, in which to wait it out, or I can just pull my hoodie over my head and keep walking. Riding in the rain seems much more perilous.

I went for a walk just before 4pm. It is kind of the last moment in the day that I can go if I am going to be home when Sam gets home. I put in my wet weather earpieces, instead of my headphones, and put on my old blue hoodie and shorts and off I went.

I was home by 4.45pm. It has been kind of warm, despite the rain, so I was somewhat sweaty when I got back, which I am sure is a good sign, isn’t it? Doesn’t sweating mean you have exercised? Got your heart rate up? You know, that sort of thing. Sam wasn’t home when I got back, I text him to see if he was near by for tea. 4.52pm. He text back saying he was. He sent me back an odd text saying he was disappointed having caught up with someone. He sent me another text straight after saying the previous text was meant for Charlie. I got in the shower.

I made tea when I got out. Sam hadn’t arrived home.

5.30pm and Sam still hadn’t arrived home, which was kind of a long time for him to complete the walk.

I was listening to the end of Rolling Stones in Hyde Park, which I’d been listening to on my walk.

Million Dollar Hot Seat started, I turned off the music. Still no Sam.

I'd been playing the Rolling Stones quite loud, and suddenly it was relatively quiet with only the noise of the TV. 

Million Dollar Hot Seat proceeded. 

The dogs were outside.

5.35. I started texting Sam, worried that something may have happened to him, as it never took that long for him to complete the walk home. perhaps, my sense of the dramatic got the better of me, but what if something did happen to him? A run away car, some fool with a gun, a robber with a knife, I am not immune from the world psycho drama as portrayed on the TV.

I let the dogs in, in anticipation of Sam's arrival.

Then Bear was yapping. Sam entered the room in his track pants and t-shirt.

"Oh, you are home already, I didn't hear you come in."

He seemed evasive.

"You're changed already?"

"I had a shower."

"You had a shower?"


"Oh," I said. That didn't seem like his normal behaviour. "Why did you have a shower?"

I can't remember why he said he had a shower, but it didn't really add up, not in my mind anyway. 

Was he being evasive, or was I imagining it? "So, why did you have a shower.

"I wasn't feeling well."

You weren't feeling well? It seemed like an odd reason. "But why did you have a shower?"

"I had a burning arse." The implication was from hot food.

You had a burning arse. And a shower would help that how? It didn't add up. What he was saying was not normal Sam. This is not what I get from him, some thing wasn't the same.

I said nothing else, instead processing what had happened thus far. None of it was our normal conversation.

And quiet descended, silence came between us. 

I didn't intended to go into silent treatment mode, no, not really, but Sam did too and the more time we spent in silence the more silent I became. I expected, or I would expect, Sam to ask me what was wrong when I am quiet, but he didn't. He didn't question it, in fact, he didn't question it at all, as it turned out, all night. That is unusual for him. He would always ask. He would ask more than once until he got some sort of answer out of me, but he didn't. That is not his normal behaviour either. 

What was I left to think? He met up with someone, with who he was apparently disappointed, which he accidentally text to me and not his best friend Charlie. He had a shower as soon as he got home, which is really out of character, for no apparent reason. What was I to think.

He never questioned why I was quiet at home, as though he didn't need to question why I was quiet, it was as if we both knew the reason.

What was I left to think?

I was waiting for him to tell me? But he didn't. He never said a word, which only made me more quiet.

I lay in bed in silence and thought to myself, what is it they say, you should never go to bed angry.

And you know, if he did hook up with someone, so what? I've lived in open relationships before, quite successfully too. We're 6 years into our relationship and not really having much sex any more, it makes sense, he's younger than me, but why didn't he just ask? Or bring it up. I reckon I'd be cool with that. Yeah, I would.

But he didn't. He chose to lie about it. And if he lied about this, what else has he lied about? Trust is really important to me. I can deal with anything, anything at all, if you are honest with me.

Perhaps, it is my karma for being vile about Dante yesterday?

– Okay, so I published this 6 months later, as I didn’t really want anyone to read this at the time. But, as a part of my review of my blog when I was deleting draft files, or publishing them, I decided to publish it, more for my own benefit, than anybody else’s. Ah, I don’t know why? I guess, I think that nobody is going to read it now, but it will be there for my eyes, as I often go back and review and rewrite my blog. It’s now 06th October and I am sitting up in bed at 9am, the sun is shining in through my balcony doors and Buddy is snoring next to me. What did I think of the above? Such is Life.

The Work Shop

Friday, April 29, 2016

Nothing but a Leather Choker

David, it all happened at home, apparently. There was quite a fuss. She arrived at hospital wearing nothing but a leather choker. (creates a pretty picture, now doesn’t it) She is still outraged about why they did not give her a bed, instead they stuck her in a wheel chair. Yes, she has made a formal complaint, apparently.

The boyfriend was so freaked out, tweaked out, fucked up, that he stayed in Dante's house for 4 days before he dared to leave, could bare to drag himself out. To be fair, a boyfriend for Dante is someone who hasn't left by morning. So who knows who he was? Sebastian had to lock up the house after Twitchy eventually managed to pull it all together. Apparently, Sebastian is none too please with this turn of events. I'm guessing that means that Sebastian had to monitor the "boyfriends" goings on over this period.

Dante said, that he had noticed that his left hand side had become paralysed and his heart was missing a beat as they... dear God it doesn't bare thinking about, such a mental picture could be scaring... were "at it." Apparently, she has a heart, who knew. So he asked the boyfriend, from Ireland, Mr Potato Head, to call 000, which he did, which saved Dante's life. She remains in Love with him. Christian.

Omg!!! That's full on!!! I'm more in shock, saddened... than seeing it as funny!!! It's quite tragic quite frankly !!! Oh Dear!!! Speak laterxx. The leather choker, though, is quite the touch!!!


Oh darling, the only thing that would have made it funnier would have been if the bitch died! In her own vomit, with the syringe still in her fucken arm! And Sebastian Instagramming the whole thing.

Do you eat seafood risotto? Diner, tomorrow night? I'm cooking.


6:18pm. You are outrageous!

Risotto sounds great 

Mr Potato Head Saved the Day

Subject: are you still being silly

Dear Gloria , Yes , Happiness is the new Black .

As for the less fortunate , let me say this .

It all happened at home ! Apparently. There was quite a fuss . She arrived at hospital wearing nothing but a leather choker. She is still outraged about why they did not give her a bed , but , stuck her in a wheel chair . Yes , she has made a formal complaint.

The boyfriend was so freaked out he stayed in Dante's house for 4 days before daring to leave. Sebastian locked up the house after that. Alas, he is not to keen on seeing Dante again. She said, that she had noticed that her left hand side had become paralysed and her heart was missing a beat, pardon the pun. So she asked the boyfriend, from Ireland, Mr potato head, to call 000 which he did and saved her life. She remains in Love with him.

I am pleased that you have considered carefully, not to embrace universal concepts and quasi religious crap

A property heiress huh, well considering all the suffering you have been through, you deserve it. However, still no Diamonds.


Are we bitches? Sure we are. Does Dante bring it on himself? Yes, he does. OMG! The disasters Dante has been involved in. No, really... Well, not the stroke... well, actually, he did... well, maybe, it could be argued, (heavy drug use, no sleep, previous stroke, you do the maths) there is a chance? He's been very quiet and mysterious about this latest incident, leaving it up to us to find out for ourselves. And prying minds will make shit up if you keep it from them. I thought he'd been very quiet, just lately. 

There has been a life time of friendship where Dante has played the one-upmanship game with all of us. Years of him trying to gain on the rest of us, the problem being is that he is not very good at it. And the rest of us are pretty smart, and good at it. Vicious Queens? Sure we are. What else are friends for? Brothers. Sisters. And Dante has gone out of his way in his attempts to be top dog. Socially. The problem is that he has just stuck his foot in it every time. And there have been monumental stuff ups and mistakes on his part. And we've all had a good laugh. You know, if anybody is going to fuck it up, Dante is the one. So you will have to excuse us bitches for being, um, er, bitches, but it is what he has always bought out in all of us.

There has been two failed businesses, two bankruptcies, a car lost in a river, another car mysteriously taken by a "friend" and never seen again. One boyfriend (I use the term in its loosest sense) who lied about his HIV status and guess what... One guy who he followed to Sydney and the cusp of ruin, yet again. He's lost his licence for drug driving. Twice. He got a dog, that turned vicious and used to attack everyone who visited, but Dante couldn't see the problem. Worst dog ever and it lived until a ripe old age. I think it drowned in the flat flood. There was the sperm donation to a lesbian friend that went horribly wrong. There was a kidnapping in Europe, that stretched from Santorini to Berlin and back. Oh, I am making shit up now? I wish I was?

Recently, Dante has lost his job and doesn't seem to be able to get another one. He let a previous loser hookup lose his place for him by flood, (explain that to the apartment owners below who lost their apartments too... after months of loud music and partying to boot) and just when that particular phase was supposed to be sorted, it turned out the loser had put thousands of dollars worth of bills in Dante's name, for which he had to pay. (can you go bankrupt 3 times?) The list goes on, he is a disaster.

He is now partying hard with people he barely knows, such as his life has become. He's acting like an 18 year old and he just won't hear that there is anything wrong with his behaviour, using drugs with a younger and younger crowd, despite all of us telling him what a mistake he is making... off his face and dealing to support his habit.

All of that when he has already had a stroke, a few years ago. Far too young to be having a stroke, to be sure, but, really, is there any age... he's 20 years passed 20 and really, has pissed away every advantage he ever had.

So, this is what it has got to... it is so tragic it is now laughable, and that is what we do. Judge us? Sure, we're being utter fucking bitches, but eventually all you can do is point and laugh. 

That is what we do, in the face of adversity, we laugh and hug each other tight.

Okay, you want me to say that Dante is a nice guy under all of that? That he has a heart of gold and that despite his plethora of failings, he is one of the sweetest guys I know? That is what you want me to say, isn't it? I'm chuckling now. This is the funniest line I have written. (It is really an "in" joke) I wish Tom was still alive, I wish David was reading this, they would kill themselves laughing. It is what we've always done, it has driven Dante nuts over the years. Is Dante a nice guy, we'd pose the question, but never answer it, never answer it so Dante could hear that is.

The answer is in the question? The question would never have been asked, if the answer wasn't obvious, something Dante has never quite grasped.

Too fucken delicious

Subject: are you still being silly

Et Vous? Things are working out quite well , the Freedom of information aspect is starting to filter in , it read like a horror story . My phyc will have a field day . 

If I were you I would sell the "diamonds" and redress the "Box" with Toad skin. That's just me.

Are you tying to tell me that, nor even your Mother left you her Diamonds? Mine is leaving me with $35000 worth. I don't need to wax lyrical about ex-husbands , I was sensible and never really had one.

I do hope that you , like so many others , have not made "The Universe" your New Age Church in the sky , which provides for you as a supreme power would.

You are just getting all misty , like all Australians , about rusty iron.

I am happy for you that you have retired , good for you luv . I do hope that your accountant has given you the green light to Gayly indulge in a facelift and lipo-suction. One can't be seen as retiring old AND looking it. You have a young husband , that's just life luv.

Use the cash or lose it all, so to speak.

Perhaps I will never see Dante again , but she is already doing it. Had her stroke being done in the sling , apparently , no wonder she is a friend of yours.

Bye for now Liz , I am actually quite happy myself . It's the way to go.


(David) OMG! It is too too delicious!, said Christian. I mean I could not write this stuff.

Darling, prepare yourself for the single funniest piece of news you have ever heard

What ? asked David

and I quote… she had her stroke "being done" in a sling, said Christian.

David called, we cackled like witches.

Subject: are you still being silly

Oh dear Lord, I spat my coffee across the coffee table like the United Nations fountain. I couldn’t write this stuff, darling. Poor bitch! I’m going to hell, for sure. But funny. The mental picture is just too delicious. There’s Dante giving it all boof and doof, upstairs at a sex on prem venue, the crystal pipe inserted in him like a tracheotomy, sucking it down like an industrial vacuum, slobbering every last drop. “Ah! Harder! Give it to me!…” then the eyes roll back in her head and she starts to dribble like a 1 year old. Oh, darling… Did she require an Oxford Street Taxi to get her sad old quivering carcass out of there? The picture I have in my head needs to be seen to be believed. Welcome to my fucken nightmare!

New Age Church, dohl? Any church, New Age, Old Age, Iron Age, would self immolate if I set foot inside, and I’d cackle and dance the atheist jig, maybe I’d even sacrifice a pig, just for the hell of it, cut off its tits and suck the still lactating beast right down, as I watched the fools burn. Screaming as the white hot flames licked at their fair skin. The only supreme power on this planet is my current husbands love, anything else is bogus, or plain nonsense. Fairytales, said with the conviction of retarded children.

One day I must do the old FOI thingy myself to see what the Feds have on Christian Fletcher Bank Robber. I was a suspect once. Apparently, I’ve got a file, Interpol photos and all. Apparently, I am considered an international criminal, in some circles.

My mother left me property, honey.

Facelifts? Young Husbands? Darl, I’ve lost 10 kilos, and I’m exercising every day, except when it is inclement, of course. My young husband will have to be having surgery himself just to keep up with me. Good thing he is divine.

Happiness is the new black, darling.

Gloria Wandrous

The Whales of August

Subject: Re: are you still being silly

You are remaining very quiet , at the moment . ! .

Was it something , I , said.

You really must consider that I have had to deal with all 7 of your divorced husbands.

I now call you Liz not Joan Taylor , and you poor bitch , not one fucking Diamond in your safe . Surely that means something.

I had lunch with Dante on Tuesday ,  he's has had another stroke , but is in good spirits and within 3 months she should be fine again . Lucky thing, it was sensory not motor stroke.

Anyway , you should be lying , stoned , on the couch , and not giving a flying F*** about anything.

A (ntony) xox

Subject: Re: are you still being silly

Silly? Darling? No, not here, not since 2007. Why do you ask?

I'm listening to the rain fall. It is midday and it is overcast and dark, even if the night shadows crept away from whence they came many hours ago. The grey of night seemingly quivers before my very eyes. I love the sound of the rain falling on my tin roof, there is something quite lovely about that sound. Romantic. Comforting, like the sun rising in the morning, or your mother loving you.

I think Dionne Warwick is the perfect sound track for rain falling on the roof. Say a little prayer. Walk on by. Trains and boats and planes. The girl’s in love with you. This house is not a home. Do you know the way to San Jose.

An infinite number of the universe's fingers strumming lightly on the roof above me. The rhythm of the rain, rocks me gently into submission for the rest of the day. Calm. Smooth. Relaxed. even if it is far too wet to consider leaving the front door.

I usually keep my 7 ex-husbands together in a diamond encrusted box set on the mantle, I’ll have to investigate for any signs of escape, but for now, I believe, there has been no getting out and about for any of them. Each one a diamond in their own right with a sparkle all of their own.

Ah Dante, funny you should mention him, I was just discussing The Whales Of August this morning with a dear friend. Give him my luv, if you ever see him again, and I’m sure he’ll be back to doing what he does best in no time.

I’m Splendid, darling, thanks for asking. I am enjoying my retirement immensely.

Et Vous?


Dante 2016

Dante 2016

(Dante had a stroke sometime ago and he has continued on his ice binge from hell life style ever since. He's been giving us all the shits for some time now, with his stupidity... and surprise, surprise, he has just has another stroke)
Today, 12:21 PM

Bahahahahahahaha... shot early this morning, said David
Oh… I might go to hell for that one, said Christian.
Why for telling the truth .... Pearly gates for you my darling ..., pearly gates .... said David. LMFAO!!! Gave me the best laugh this morning !!!
Bette Davis post stroke, even I got a that’s-too-far-twinge, as I hit send, said Christian. Between the cackles, you understand
No darling ... No darling .... Perfect ... Perfect… The Truth is never Pretty !!! , said David. Cackle cackle cackle

Thursday, April 28, 2016

May Your Life Be As Awesome As You Pretend It To Be On Facebook

May your life be as awesome as you pretend it to be on Facebook.


I'm a writer, a rockstar, a gangster, a space cadet, a raconteur. I am the great, dark mysterious man who brings light into my lover's lives. I am whoever I want to be, in my mind racing away from me with fantasy, or delusion, all I have to do is chose, click my heals 3 times and I am transformed like I am on the best drugs the world has ever developed, to the theme song of Doctor Who.

I am a sailor on a huge ocean going liner, the open sea is my friend. I drink whisky and play strip poker with the other sailors when the nights get long and we are bored.

I am a stripper, with my own drug habit and greased pole, with a benevolent pimp named Gerry who wears far too much gold, who smells of perfume and cum, who looks out for me with a pearl-handled shank.

I am a beautiful vampire, I dazzle my conquests with my alabaster skin and my prefect features, before I nuzzle their neck, before I bite their warm skin seductively and drink their blood.

I am a Mongolian goat herder who has nothing and who is the happiest man on the planet.

I am a deep sea diver searching for ancient treasure.

I drive a black Citroen D series from Melbourne to London with my adorable boyfriend who hangs off every word I utter. Ha, ha, it is to dream. You just know I'd hate him if he did.

I am a gambler and I sit at the high rollers table thinking nothing about putting down a million, or making a poor croupier, with a sparkle in his blue eyes, rich.

I am a grifter with a bleach-blonde pre-op transexual girlfriend named Bunny, living on my whits, living one step ahead of those who I have swindled. 

I am an insane mercenary who takes a gun and shoots all the frackers dead, one by one. I, of course, do not travel alone, I have my all-kicking, all-screaming, fierce drag queen singing pack, Frocks for Humanity, who ruthlessly track and eliminate the enemy by my side, often ahead of me. Those girl's are killers. All the bloated corporate enemy hears is the first bars of, "I am what I am," before the machine gun's fire.

I am a world famous painter, I ooze colour and movement. I am a member of the jet-set and I am lauded for my talent and whit. I die from a heroine overdose at the height of my fame, because it is chic and I am too bored to contribute to the world any longer.

I run Indian hotels off the beaten track with my man servant Abu and my trusty Hindustan Ambassador.

I support starving children in African countries along side dedicated doctors.

I climb mountains in Nepal just because they are there. I run my fingers over the dead, frozen corpses of those who came before me as a sign of respect.

I design beautiful waterlily gardens with poetic bridges, just because I can. I donate them to the blind when I am done.

I race cars in Monaco just to quaff the champagne when I win.

I discover the answer to global warming and save humanity.

I develop a truth serum for politicians and save the world's sanity.

I meditate in the Tibetan highlands in silence for the rest of my life.

Wednesday, April 27, 2016

Column Shift

Who amongst you could drive a column shift? I was watching a Youtube clip of a man driving a column shift Link - Buick Super 8 it all came back to me, like riding a bike, or water skiing.

You're out in the bush, staying on your uncles farm, many kilometres from anybody else, kilometres from help. Your uncle and aunt have driven to Queensland for holidays. They have taken their Mercedes 450 SEL 6.9, your aunt's Citroen DS is being used by another relative in Melbourne and the farm ute isn't working, the clutch has gone. The only car in the shed is a 1948 manual column shift Buick Super 8, your uncle's pride and joy. 

The grass fire is rapidly approaching. You have been given the order to leave, by text. How many of you could drive a manual column shift car to safety? 

I could. Could you?

I guess it is a skill I have, not one I have any real need to use, but I can. Like the blacksmith, or using a manual type writer. 

In fact, it is how I leaned to drive, kind of. I was always fascinated with cars, and I was smart and observant. I was on my uncle's farm and we were herding sheep. The flock all started to go the wrong way and we had to turn them around. My uncle was heading off to head them off and I was following. He turned to me and said, 

"Hey Chriso go move the ute so we can push them through the bottom paddock."

It was a stressful moment, we were about to lose the entire flock. I was a 14 year old city boy.

"But, but, but... I don't know how to drive."

My leather-faced uncle's eyes flashed as he turned to me and said, "Go and move the fucken ute when I fucken tell you to!"

I moved the ute. It wasn't any thing as exotic as a 1948 Buick Super 8, it was a beige Holden HK ute.

Ah the farm, the open spaces. What was it, 4000 aches up Warracknabeal way. My uncle was a good bloke, but my aunt Olive Joan was a poisonous, psychologically damaged, cruel, egocentric bitch.

Lottie said that we should all feel sorry for her as she'd had great tragedies in her life. She was attacked by a farm hand once. I told Lottie that she'd probably acted all bitch around him and he was just getting his own back. Lottie told me to hush with such talk. And her youngest son was killed in a farming accident. Some say he threw himself under the tray of that wheat truck to get away from her.  My father, who never had a bad word to say about anyone, said, Olive Joan didn't need any tragedies in her life to turn her into a fucking bitch. The old cunt is dead now, she's dancing with Satan, so what do I care. My sister and I sang a round of Ding Dong The Witch is Dead, when we heard.

When I was into collecting old cars, before I realised the insanity of it, I had a 1954 Hillman, which was column shift. That is the last column shift I drove, my two tone green Hillman coupe. Ah the feel of being behind the wheel of an old car, I miss that. But not the bills associated with them, I don't miss those.

Good morning world... as I stood on my balcony and watched the sun rise red and gorgeous

Tuesday, April 26, 2016

Racist Muslim Haters

If all the sad, racists amongst us, who are nonsensically against Muslims (2% of the population), and Muslim immigration into Australia, put all the effort they put into hating into fighting climate change the world would be a much better place. All that wasted effort railing against Muslim immigration could be harnessed to fight for the planet and not, effectively, against it, mankind could take a step forward, rather than the step backward Muslim haters seem determined to take us on. You could stop being sad twats and become heroes. Wouldn’t you like to know what that feels like?

To the (good) Christian haters of Islam, you do realise that Islam and Christianity are, essentially, the same religion. Just way back when, when your relatives were just as illiterate as you appear to be, someone somewhere read the big book of myths differently to the other religious wannabes around them and two versions of the same religion was born. Essentially, idiot religious types, you believe the same thing, it is just that you are too full of hate to realise it? I am sure the irony is lost on you, though. Make love not war, seems appropriate on a day like today. Love thy neighbour, what happened to that?

Monday, April 25, 2016

Anzac Day

I don’t buy into war culture, but, go right ahead and celebrate man’s inhumanity to man all you want, just don’t expect me to join with you. Wear a poppy in your hair. Blow a bugle. Dress up in old medals of distant relatives you never knew. Whatever you need to do.

Yeah right, Christian, so why don’t you just keep your opinions to yourself? This is sacred, or some such thing. That is what I expect people to say after stating my view. How can I put it, people have such belief in their own beliefs, now a days, that dissenting views are no longer allowed.

However, people seem to think they can push their Anzac Day ideas on whoever they want, thinking that everyone should participate and think the same way they do. I don’t think the same way. I don’t want to remember war, because it is pointless and we haven’t learnt anything as wars still rage across the planet. 

War culture is not a bunch of dewy-eyed 16 year olds lying about their age and running off to fight for their country, in some romantic, noble quest, to be slaughtered the moment they set foot on Turkish soil, such is the Anzac story. War culture is now leaders of major countries complicit in telling what lies needed to be told so they could invade foreign countries to steal their riches. War culture is dominant countries killing leaders and destroying countries for political gain to prop up their own economies. War Culture is civilians as collateral damage in times of peace to make the very rich even richer. The disenfranchisement of the people of developing countries to the point of the disenfranchised banding together and voila la we have global terrorism that is threatening all of us. War culture is the stripping of human rights and the torture of foreign citizens. War culture is big business, not the defending of countries and nations. This is not something I want to go and celebrate, or of which I want to feel proud.

Maybe the war on drugs, and the war on terrorism, and the war on refugees, and the war on truth, and the war on everything else that doesn't suit the politics of the day, has tainted my respect for those who went and fought actual wars, sucked the life out of any good feelings I had towards honour and valour and fighting for one's people, maybe? But, I am not ashamed of being a pacifist, either. 

Do I have to add, I’m not trying to make anyone think anything, you are free to think what you like, as I am free to think what I want. I am just telling you what I think.

Sunday, April 24, 2016

It was a glorious day for a drive down the coast

The sea view was sublime. Gorgeous.

Maybe, I cry easily

Maybe, I cry easily, I think, maybe, I do. A friend, Matt, posted a tearful post yesterday morning about Prince on Facebook. Matt is a huge Prince fan. It bought tears to my eyes. 

It led me to listen to music I loved for the following hour, 6am, sitting in the dark, during which I couldn't stop the tears rolling down my cheeks.

I quite like to cry, though, it is cleansing, I think. Or something? I guess it is a release. A rush of endorphins, perhaps? (Serotonin? Maybe?) I never try to stop myself from crying, it is peace, it is depth, and although I was sitting in the dark on my own yesterday morning, I don't mind who sees me cry.

I laugh easily. Pleasure and pain should come without effort. It should just come.
and I love easily too. 
I've found great love in my life, 
whose hearts were true.

Thank the universe for the musicians, every kind of mood. Don't morn them when they are gone, thank them for having been. They sign post our lives for us. When I think of a time in my life, music so often comes to mind.

Friday, April 22, 2016


Utterly shocked by the news of Prince's death. When I first read the news on Facebook this morning, momentarily, I thought it was talking about one of the old English Prince's, like Prince Phillip. (It was 6am and I was a little bleary-eyed with the brightness of my computer screen in the darkness of my lounge room)

I have 2 friends who huge are Prince fans, who are both crying uncontrollably this morning. While a part of me admires them for their passion, heroes are and important part of life, the other part of me thinks it is a little odd, essentially, crying uncontrollably about someone they have never met. This is not meant to be a criticism, not at all, but just a thought I had this morning as I played Purple Rain in his honour. Maybe there is something wrong with me, that I don't possess such passion?

Your musical heros help you discover things about yourself.

Thursday, April 21, 2016

Rain on the Roof

I'm listening to the rain fall. It is 6.30am and it is still dark, even if the shadows are just beginning to creep away from whence they came. The veil of night quivers before my very eyes. I love the sound of the rain falling on my tin roof, there is something quite lovely about that sound. Romantic. Comforting, like the sun rising in the morning and your mother loving you.

I think Dionne Warwick is the perfect sound track for rain falling on the roof. Say a little prayer. Walk on by. Trains and boats and planes. Do you know the way to San Jose.

An infinite number of the universe's fingers strumming lightly on the roof above me. The rhythm of the rain, rocks me gently into submission for the rest of the day. Calm. Smooth. Relaxed.

Wednesday, April 20, 2016

Socks and Sandals

I wore red and black crocs, with lime green and black socks, orange, yellow and red striped track pants and an old beige hoodie which is really too big for me, down to the shops. You know when it is early and you haven’t showered and you just need a little something. I caught sight of myself in the mirror as I left the house and said, “Now there is a crime against humanity.” If there was a god, I expected to be struck down. I wasn’t. I made it home. So, yet again, there is proof there is no god. Although, they did ask me for my pension card at the supermarket.

Tuesday, April 19, 2016

Sun rise

Monday, April 18, 2016

European Breakfast

I don't know why, but the smell of my coffee this morning reminded me of all those breakfasts in Europe. I wonder what that is saying to me?

Shane said, (he's been in London for 3 years now) Come! Come! Come! Although you would get very average crappy breakfast here... really bad beans and eggs and sausage and black pudding. But other parts of Europe are nice for breakfast!

I have to say, I like those airy french rolls with jam, and coffee, that they serve all over the continent.  

Now that I appear to have become allergic to work (will you take me in when I am old and penniless?) a trip to Europe could well be this year. (Although, my long since banished fear of flying seems to have resurfaced thanks to global terrorism)

Sam wants to go. We've been thinking about it for a couple of years, but new jobs and what to do with Buddy has got in the way. Now are jobs are old, or dispensed with, and we have a house mate, so let see how the year pans out.

I'm loving the sun rise this week

Sunday, April 17, 2016

Tax landlords for empty houses

Tax landlords for empty houses?

Where do they come up with these stupid ideas? If someone owns a house, it is nobodies business but their own what they do with that house. I know abused woman are the flavour of the month, but really houses owned privately have very little to do with the bad choices women make.

When did the govt opt out of providing such services? And when did we accept them opting out? Everything is now a levy, or a tax. Why can govt no longer pay for services? For example, we used to have free education and free medical (remember that?), why as a society can we no longer afford these things? What happened to govt revenue? Can someone please explain?

Saturday, April 16, 2016

Sexy old planes

Lockheed C-69 Constellation in silver is a sexy old plane, back in the day when planes were planes and pilots, actually, flew them.

Yes, I am very busy.

Wednesday, April 13, 2016


I was reading about 11.11 at 8.30. (8 + 3 = 11)

Have I ever written about 11.11? I guess I must have. I have seen it all my life, on clocks morning and night. You may notice that I save a lot of my posts at 11.11. 

I didn't tell anyone about it until I was with Mark, well into my 20s. I still remember it, we were driving down Langridge Street in Mark's old blue Range Rover... oh, wait. He got that car a few years into our relationship, after his other car was stolen, so it was a few years after we first met, so maybe I was in my 30s.

Since then, I have read all the stuff on the internet, there are books, websites, you name it. Some people are really serious about it. It boggles my mind. I don't believe all that stuff, but I still find it interesting.