Sunday

5:40am. Mr fuzzy face wakes me up from a deep sleep. I could slap him, seriously. I tried to ignore him, but he gets up on the side of the bed again and whacks me with his paw. Grrrr! I get up. I’d hate for this to be the morning that he really does need to go out for a piss. This morning he did need to go out for a piss, he dashed out the back door and up the back of the yard. I want him to wake me if he really needs to go, of course. But so often he gets down stairs and just sits and looks at me as if to say, it’s nice down here, hey?

We both have a piss and then lie on the couch together. He takes up far more of the couch than I would have given him.

The birds are singing outside, a cacophony of bird sound. 

I watched Turned Out: Sexual Assault Behind Bars on YouTube, as [favourite car YouTuber] hadn’t posted as yet. The boys were very open about their prison sex. I mean, very open. Lock them away with no women and suddenly they fancy each other something chronic.

7.30am. Sam was up.

I start watching [favourite car YouTuber] when Sam reminds me that we have to walk the dogs to Aldi and then get into the city early to get our hair cut hopefully beating the hairdresser queue. (Remembering yesterday)

8.40am. We walk the dogs to Aldi.

The sun is shining down and it is quite hot, bright and summery. The footpath stretches out in front of us, kind of shimmery in the bright morning sun. Morning shadows contrasting sharply with the silvery concrete.

It was Buddy's first walk since his recovery from a sore leg. The vet did say rest Buddy for a week, on Thursday, but it’s a short walk to the supermarket. And he did the injury last Saturday. And he's been wanting to go out the front door for a walk, which is kind of unusual for him to want to do.

Of course, that didn’t stop the two of us suddenly regretting our decision halfway down Smith Street to the shops. We both kind of decided at the same time that perhaps we'd done the wrong thing, and we halved the distance we were gonna walk.

The sun shone brightly it was really warm for 8.30am in the morning, really nice though, actually, summery, blue sky not a cloud in the sky, everybody is out about in shorts and t-shirts.

People are out getting coffee, waiting in groups outside the coffee houses, houses? Cafes. Buddy, of course, wants to say hello to all of them, and generally they’re quite captivated by Buddy being off his lead and all. He just loves people, he loves to say hello and, he just stands next to them and looks up as if to say pat me, I’m cute.

8.58am. We’re at Woolies. The shorter walk. Buddy, Bruno and I wait while Sam shops. I watch the world go by from my vantage point.

It never ceases to amaze me how pedestrians won’t claim their right of way to cars when they’re crossing at a side street intersection. I guess it’s all part of the “isn’t life scary” phenomena. Make cars give way to you people, then you’re making it safer for everybody else, in the long run.

9:20 am. We are walking home.

A boy on a scooter with tiny shorts and great legs with the tiny shorts seemingly ridden all the way up his patootie zips out of the side street with what looks like a food delivery. Do people have breakfast delivered, I think? Of course, it is Sunday.

We drop off the food and the dogs and head back out the door.

9.45am. We walk into the city for haircuts. We are leaving early so there is less of a queue to wait in. Or no queue at all.

The sun is hot, it’s hot walking in it. The sky is a flawless blue.

The jacarandas are out, beautiful blue.

Sam walks 20 metres in front of me like he is ashamed to be seen with me as we walk down a deserted little Burke Street. I shouldn’t feel hurt by it, I know, often he was just walks ahead always somewhere in the distance. He says it’s because I am always typing shit into notes on my phone.

There is a guy nearly on the corner of Russell Street and Little Bourke, who has the reddest face of anyone I’ve ever seen, he is staggering, he can barely stand up, he looks at me and he says, “Keep it moving.”

“You should go home mate,” I say. I don’t stop and wait for his reaction. The state he was in, he really needed a friend to put him in a taxi.

Sam & I catch up at the hairdresser, there is a sign on the door that says, “We are closed Sunday.” Dam it! We both just look at each other, big eyes. We try not to... er... smile. This was the whole point of...

We walk up Bourke Street to JB HiFi. There is nothing I want, (I just want a haircut) and we leave fairly soon.

Sam is hungry wanting breakfast, so we go to Bread Top. “Nothing for you,” says Sam. (I've already had breakfast, of course) I get a pineapple bun, he gets two savoury buns.

10.27am. We sitting at McDonalds cnr Burke Street and Russell Street eating Bread Top at McDonald’s outside tables. Oh, I know, bad us. Oh, who cares it is McDonalds and other than us the tables are empty.

After we have eaten, we head up Bourke Street.

(I was dictating my journal as I followed Sam up Bourke Street, and my dictation picked this up) “Oh that’s nothing but trouble.” A bunch of boys all dressed alike, in white t-shirts and black shorts, on the tram stop in the centre of Bourke Street. They are yahooing and messing about with each other. (At least two of them would be blind drunk by the end of the night and jerking each other off, in my mind. Neh? What can I say?)

 

At the top of Bourke Street there are a handful of protesters staking out parliament house. Apparently, there is another protest today.

Oh wow! The stupid people are gathering together again for another protest, the reason for which nobody really seems to know. (We just don’t lyk it! Somfink? Ah, Freedom! Er! You can’t tell me anyfing!) It is a procession of look-at-us, look-at-us, look how dumb we all really fucken are. 

If you head into the city it is like going for a look at the zoo, although more reminiscent of Mad Bruno than Toronga Park. 

They head down Bourke Street a veritable Dumb As A Box Of Rocks bus and truck tour of the CBD, chanting their nonsensical mantras, holding up their meaningless messages, inexplicably holding up political signs relevant to presidents of other countries. (I’m not sure if a lot of them even know who is in power in this country) 

Still, if you have nothing else on today, like you’ve already washed your hair, and made out your Xmas list for 2024, it’s good for a point and a giggle, just to see what the dumbest section of society gets up to on a Sunday.

“We’re sayin’ no!”

“To what?”

“No! We’re sayin’ NO!” AHHH!”

 

We’re home again at 10.55, to two very excited bulldogs.

We’re back on our screens.

It is shocking that we have all sat back and watched Julian Assange get torture by multiple governments for telling the truth about corruption, and now he has had a stroke.

So, what has our bag of wind Prime Minister been doing instead of helping Assange?

 

Morrison’s conduct has been disgraceful. It’s also been insidious. Insidious is a powerful word that should only ever be invoked proportionately, but the charge is warranted on this occasion. Morrison went to war with an institution important to safeguarding trust in democracies in order to serve his immediate political interests. This behaviour can’t be shrugged off. It needs to be called out, and forcefully.

It is insidious.

Gladys for Warringah isn’t just a mildly amusing example of Morrison hatching a cunning plan that ultimately goes to custard. Australia’s prime minister has, for the past few weeks, been publicly at war with a state anti-corruption commission, while at the same time trying to inoculate himself against entirely justifiable criticism that he’s failed to produce a credible body to watch politicians at the federal level despite promising one for three years.

Just let those basic facts settle on you for a few minutes, really think about what’s just happened. Process this case study, in all its dimensions.

You’ll get to insidious pretty quickly.

 - Katherine Murphy

 

I watch the rest of [favourite car YouTuber] on YouTube.

Midday the bulldogs get a wash. It is a lovely sunny day. They are good with a wash, no freaking out. They just get into the shower themselves. Bruno first, as he is the more excitable of the two, then Buddy who is very relaxed about the whole thing. They look adorable wrapped up in towels afterwards.

We ate hamburgers for lunch.

We’re on the couches on our screens with the fan blowing for the rest of the afternoon.

I read about Instagramer cakeontherun and look at her fabulous recipes.

Late afternoon, I water all my plants.

The sun still shines.

Anne Rice has died, she was a bloody good writer.