Saturday

Fans and players set to swelter across Melbourne for this year's football grand final. That's what the news headline said. 

Seriously, what is wrong with the news? Too busy trying to get clicks, or ratings, or some such thing.

Nobody sweltered. It was a beautiful day, perfect weather for a final.

Bruno and Otto seemed to be okay today, we supervised them closely together. They, Bruno, seemed to be back to everything being just fine, that was until Otto, the little thrill seeker, bit Bruno on the testicles out in the garden. Shake of the head. Bruno growled at him and then headed inside, but that was it, what you'd expect him to do. What any of us would do who got bitten on the nuts with needle like teeth. He was still okay with Otto.

David is, down servicing his sycophants, and on his way over for dinner, which Sam is cooking, and then he and I are going to Death of A Salesman. Sam didn't want to go.

We're going to Miss Saigon in a few weeks. David has transferred his many given up addictions into one giant addiction to the musical Miss Saigon. Yes, I know, it seems to be a strange thing to which to be addicted, but he is, there you have it. I won't tell you how many times he has seen it already. Suffice to say, he shouldn't give up his therapist any time soon.

Turned On His New Brother

We had a bit of a set back. Bruno had been great all week with Otto, and even for most of today, Otto hung off his face, jumped all over Bruno, it was all going well, but in the evening, Bruno seemed to turn on Otto. He got grumpy, nasty really, not really sure why. He growled and snapped at Otto a couple of times, and was really shitty, and really out of character for him.

He was having a bad day, I guess.

He was on his chicken leg day, where he gets however four chicken legs and that's it. Sam feeds them. Sam feeds everyone. One meal, instead of two, just in the morning. And I know I can turn when I am 'hangry'.

Maybe that was it? Actually, it would be good if that was it then, at least, we'd have a reason.

Cute, huh

 

Bulldog World

It is interesting that getting Otto has given me back Buddy, in a sense, as Bruno has become Buddy. I even look at him differently, like he is the big adult, grown up bulldog and I don’t see him as ‘the little one’ as we have always called him, anymore. 

I have both my bulldogs back, just like I always had, and everything has been made right in bulldog world.

I didn’t really expect that.

The two of them are being adorable together.

When we got Bruno, I didn't know what best mates he and Buddy would become. Watching the two of them interact was just the most gorgeous thing.

And really, once Bud had died, it would have been really the easiest thing just to have one. It is much easier to have one.

So, really, one of the main reasons to get another bulldog was to see the two of them form their bond, and that bond is already beginning. I can see it how Otto hangs off Bruno's mouth and chin and neck and Bruno just stands there like it is the most normal thing.

Bruno already seems to be checking on Otto quite a lot.

I'm very pleased.

Otto & Bruno

Pretty cute, huh

 

Walking to Work 6.20am

 

24 Hours Later

5am. I got up and took Otto for a wee. Every two/three hours, night and day, outside to the same spot, for 3, or so, months, always after they have woken up, and after they have eaten, and they practically house train themselves. My bulldogs have all ‘gone’ right at the far end of the garden.

Bruno came downstairs with us, he was at the bedroom door and raring to go. It is my in-the-office day, so I get up early today anyway. I just got up a bit earlier.

I took Otto back upstairs and put him in his sleeping pen. I got dressed. 

I made Vegemite toast and coffee.

Bruno got on the couch closest to the kitchen and slept. He’s no longer the little guy, he’s now the big guy. How times change. He even looks big, like a big adult dog, he's not my little guy any more.

Bruno has really calmed down with Otto now, just in a day. First up he was over-excited trying to get to Otto to paw him and sniff him and generally loom over him with no regard for the size difference.

24 hours later, Otto is licking Bruno's face and chewing on his chin and Bruno is just standing there and letting him do it.

To start with, I thought, what have we done, with Bruno's over the the top reaction. Now, I think it is going to be just fine.

Anyway, I've got to get myself to the salt mines. I’d better get going. Kiss Bruno on the head as I leave.

Taking Bruno for a walk this morning in the glorious sunshine, just so he can walk off some of his excitement just a bit.
He is already getting calmer with Otto. Yay.

New Puppy

We got a new puppy, we picked him up today. Otto.

Back when we got Bruno, it went really smoothly with Buddy. There was one growl from Bud and that was it, not long after they were playing tug of rope together and they were mates from then on. Buddy was always chilled out with Bruno. Buddy was older than Bruno is now.

Bruno was 12 weeks when we got him.

We have dog-sat other dogs, but they have always been adults, and they have always been girls, and Bruno has always been really calm with them.

And, of course, I know dogs are all different, I kind of hoped it would go smoothly with Bruno and Otto, but it hasn't gone so smoothly.

Bruno has been super hyped up over Otto. He tries to hump Otto if we don't intervene and hold him back and he is at him so intensely. And Otto is young, 8 weeks, the youngest puppy we've had, so he is small, and relatively fragile just at the moment compared to Bruno. 

So, let's hope it is just a matter of Bruno getting used to him. And let's hope it only takes, you know, until tomorrow. Ha ha. Cross your fingers. I hope he calms down soon.

Lazy Day

I took Bruno for a walk in the morning. It was a lovely morning for a walk. I was listening to Billy Joel’s 52nd Street. I was also re-writing an old story, There Should, Of Course, Be Jam. I do a lot of writing on my phone.

I lay on the couch with a headache, I think it was coming from my neck, for most of the afternoon with Bruno watching YouTube.

I fertilised all my indoor plants later in the afternoon when I felt like I had to get up and do at least one thing for the day. You know, as lovely as it is lying on the couch all day, it doesn’t, exactly, leave you with any sort of sense of achievement. I fully intended to continue re-writing my old story, you know once I get going on a re-write it really does normally all flow, but it is hard to write with a headache.

I pretty quickly got back on the couch with Bruno, after watering my plants, until Sam made dinner. Yeah, I have dinner made for me. Yes, I know how lucky I am.

 

Cute blond guy who I chatted to throughout the tram ordeal. Yes, I sneaked a photo of him, he was just a gorgeous guy. And that is my shadow rather ominously stalking his shadow. Ha ha.

Birthday Lunch

It is really sunny and warm as I leave the house.

I decided to catch the tram instead of drive, I didn’t want to have to worry about parking. I stopped work at 11 and had a shower. I googled it would take 45 minutes, so I left at 11.30, having to be in St Kilda at 12.30pm. I walked to Nicholson Street to catch the 96. One came along immediately.

David text me. He only did 41 steps yesterday. Was that enough, he asked? And today he couldn’t get out of bed to take his car to be service. He called the mechanic and delayed it until 2pm.

“But, you won’t get it back today,” I said.

“No, the guy said I could have it back at 5pm.”

“Are you blowing him?”

“I don’t have the energy for that,” David said. “No, they said it was a quiet day anyway.”

12.01pm. Australia’s tallest building is going to be in Bourke Street, cnr Queen Street. I’m just passing the building site, it is still just the basement floors, but it is going to be some ridiculous height when it is done.

12.08. We stop at the Spencer Street stop. A large group just got on the tram. One of them has a birthday girl badge on. Oh, the people, the people. They are so loud. Oh, KILL ME NOW! One of them is singing. Kill them. Oh god! THIS IS A NIGHTMARE!!!! One of them is clapping. They are all yapping yap yapping.

I realise they have only got on down my end of the tram. I move seats. I end up opposite three 15 year old slappers bent into a huddle conspiratorially in their pod. One of them looks like Lucy’s female sidekick, Vivian Vance (when she was in her fifties, so, not so good for a 15 year old). That was all, actually, before my time, but the worldly amongst would know who she was.

12.16pm. The tram smells like bubble gum. Pink and sweet.

Oh, the slappers are eating fruit roll up thingies. Grrr. It’s one of those moments when I’d like to see one of them choke on their pink fruity thing. Oh, not really, the thought makes me smile, but the reality would not be funny, all that gagging and gasping for breath. No thanks. I'd have to step away and find another seat for a second time. I don't need that.

The sun is shining. Smile.

There is some Gavin wandering the tram shirtless. Young, strapping, western suburbs bogan in basketball shorts and nothing else. The 15 year old slappers can’t stop looking at him. The whole scene has pregnancy written all over it.

I love the feeling of the tram sprinting along the light rail track, like a rocket ship. When a tram zips along at speed like that, I always become aware of the shape of the receptacle that it really is. Next stop, the space station on Glamertron.

12.26pm. St Kilda Station. A really handsome Asian guy gets on dressed in a black singlet and black shorts with hi tech black headphones on his black hair. He is a big strapping boy. He smiles so sweetly as our eyes meet. I may have been staring, sure. I didn’t bring my headphones, as I was planning to write all the way to the lunch.

Some chick gets off the tram pulling her Lycra shorts out of her snatch. I’m sure I can see her long fingernails pulling the thin cotton from each of her lips as she walks past the window chatting to her friend.

12.29pm. I’ve been watching out for stop 135 all the way through St Kilda, then I miss it too busy writing this. I get off one after my stop. I can’t believe I did that. I walk back along marine Parade, but not right back to stop 135, what was the point. I found some stairs and headed down to Jacka Boulevard.

I’d googled it before I left, and it appeared to be a high rise building, but as I walked along Jacka Boulevard there were no high rise buildings.

Suddenly, I was a bit lost. I’d walked past the St Kilda Sea Baths, but there was no other building immediately after the St Kilda Sea Baths, let alone high rise buildings. The high rise must have been the buildings up on Marine Parade. It had to be The Sea Baths, they were in the right place according to a map I googled. And then I had to double back. I was wondering where it was when Gill called. 

“Is it next to the Sea Baths?”

“Yes. Can you see orange flags?”

“No, but I will.”

Then she came out to meet me.

I was the last there, everyone else had already arrived.

I sat at one end of the table by the window next to Kayleen, with her husband Rick, and opposite my cousin Emerson and next to the party girl herself, my Aunt Mary. She seems to be more present than the more recent times I’d seen her, but did she know who I was? I couldn’t tell you. Cousin Morgan, her brother Cousin (Big) Christian are sitting on the other side of Auntie Mary. (We were called Big Christian and Little Christian when we were kids) Cousin Chloe, who we all agreed was looking like her mother, Aunty Marge, and cousin Anna and Anna’s husband sat further up the table.

Kayleen and Rick and I chat away. They are nice. I haven’t seen Kayleen for the longest time. She is all the cousins I have mentioned cousin.

Bible thumping, Trump loving cousin Sarah-Jane, who is in America, and Cousin Gina, who is in Sydney weren’t there.

I have spaghetti Marinara. $42 worth. No, it wasn’t worth $42, but still what can you do.

Morgan asks me what wine I want, and I ask for red, as there only seems to be rose and champagne on offer so far. I don't really drink, not much, but if I am going to drink, I am going to drink red and not that other girlie muck. Cousin Little Rick (same big Rick/Little Rick situation. Funny, Little Rick was never little, he was an AFL football player in his twenties) (Big Rick and Little Rick were father and son) is sitting opposite, next to my sister Gill, and they both have red too.

I eat Auntie Mary’s chips, she’s only playing with them anyway. Kayleen offers me her chips too, so I eat hers as well.

There was chocolate mud cake birthday cake to eat. I drank coffee to wash drown the rich mud cake.

It was nice seeing all of them. We have all always got along well. We have all really liked each other, well, always. We have always liked each other.

Auntie Mary seems to have had a good time, although it is pretty difficult to tell now a days, she just seems to smile at everything.

Photos are taken.

3pm. Gill and I leave together. We only have to pay for our main meals, Emerson and Morgan were paying for everything else.

3.41pm. I’m standing on the tram stop number 135 waiting for the tram cnr Fitzroy Street and Jacka Boulevard. The sun is shining. There are some good sorts in football shorts getting changed on the tram stop. I guess they have been swimming, down the beach, or something, it is St Kilda after all. 

The sun is shining, a glorious afternoon sun. It almost feels like that feeling late in the afternoon having spent the entire day out in the sunshine, normally on the beach, but walking in the country would do it to.

A number 16 comes along and the nubile youths get on and are whisked away. I should have got on, but it was the oldest of the old trams, and I want a new air conditioned tram, and it wasn't going where I wanted to go anyway, just part way.

The time clicks away. I’m supposed to be getting back to work. Where is the 96 tram? The longer we wait, the busier the tram will be when it eventually comes.

3.52pm. I’m still waiting. Come on tram let’s get going. And then here it comes.

The tram is full, pretty much just one seat. There are a lot of young men on the tram.

There are two handsome backpackers up the back, one blond, one dark. The dark one keeps looking around, not at me, to see where we are. He has a handsome face and gorgeous eyes.

An old fat chick with a shopping jeep gets on. “Excuse me girls,” she says. And two girls in the front seats of the back section get up to give her their seats. Later, some girl goes to sit on the other seat and she says no. 

“Sorry, I’ve just had surgery and I can’t have anyone sitting next to me.” I think that kind of sounds like too much on public transport. 

Then she and the girl get chatting. The old chick with the shopping trolley says she has 9 grandsons. One of them has just started at Harvard. The young chick’s parents apparently had 5 sons in the family. They chat away happily about large families. Truthfully, it’s really nice, the generations happily chatting away, especially when it didn’t seem likely to start with.

The tram stops part of the way along the light rail track. 

16.04. We’re just sitting, I don’t know why.

It sits for a while inexplicably, then moves on.

We get tossed off the tram at Middle Park because there is a power failure in the lines going to the city.

The driver couldn’t really tell us anything, just wait. He told us to wait for the next tram at which point we will be able to tell if the power has been restored. He didn’t seem to really want to communicate with us, and he took our tram back down the tram line the way we’d come. So, we all wait.

I chat to the cute blond boy in black shorts and a singlet standing next to me on the platform. I call Sam to tell him, saying that if all else failed I’d catch a taxi. The cute blond guy had a tram tracker on his phone, he told me there were faults on the line and that perhaps I’d be catching a taxi home, like I'd said on the phone. He heard that, I think?

We all stand on Middle Park Station not really knowing what to do.

Eventually, the tram appeared coming back up the line from St Kilda towards us. It stopped just short of the platform, just short of any of us being able to get on, or even ask. The tramways worker appeared again on the platform, I think, to tell us there was no use waiting. He said he couldn’t tell us anything, in fact he said he wasn’t obliged to tell us anything. Yeah, great customer service you doofus.

At the same time, Sam calls back and tells me there is a number 12 tram a block away, there were no promises that it would be running, but it was worth a try.

I walk down Armstrong Street, leaving everyone else behind.

The sun was shining, at least it was a lovely afternoon.

Everyone else turned up one by one before the tram arrived, cute blond boy included.

16.42. I catch a tram @ Armstrong Street and Danks Street, but it is still on the wrong side of the power outage, so we are all getting off again pretty soon. 

The sun is shining down brightly.

The cute blond boy sits opposite me. He really is gorgeous. We chat. He has a lovely smile, when I amuse him.

16.46. The tram is trundling along but, as I said, it is still on the wrong side of the power outage so we are all getting off again soon

The number 12 stops at Clarendon Street and we all get off.

16.53. I’m now walking up Clarendon Street. I don’t know how I’m going to get home? Walk to the city? I feel like I could walk to the city, if only I had on runners rather black leather shoes. The cute blond boy is walking with me. He’s lovely. He talks momentarily on his phone, giving someone details of what’s going on. I hope it is his boyfriend he is talking to.

Secretly, I am looking for an ice cream shop, I just have the urge for ice cream. I guess I should be thinking about getting home? I guess I should be thinking about getting back to work. But truthfully, I am tonguing for a gelato.

17.00. I see The Red Cross Op Shop. What the hell, I think. The afternoon is a right off, why not? I say good bye to the cute blond boy and head inside. I find the CDs. Three for $7 the chick working, I guess volunteering, there tells me.

I get The Very Best Of The Eagles. Crowded House, Wood face. Billy Joel, 52 Street.

I have a quick look at the DVDs. There is Men of Italy, do they have gay porn and they don’t even realise it? I couldn’t resist. It cost me $3. It turned out to be really bad when I upload it. A waste of $3, really.

I keep walking up Clarendon Street. Should I just walk to the city? I stumble across Cash Converters, it is small and has nothing to interest me. It was, quite possibly, the smallest Cash Converters I have ever seen. Just tiny.

I keep heading in the direction of the city.

I keep running into people from the tram off which we were chucked. An older husband and wife were trying to arrange some sort of taxi. She said it was a 45 minute walk into Spencer Street from there. I wished them good luck. I told them I wished I had walking shoes on.

I see the Salvos across the road, I head over.

I got Head On DVD. Why didn’t I have this film already. I remember when I first saw it at the end of which I thought, I could have written that. Alex Dimitriades is always worth it.

I got Joe Cocker’s Cocker album. I was pleased with that.

The nice girl working there tells me they are closing soon. I say, “Just tell me when its time and I’ll leave.” I tell her I am just wasting time hoping the trams will start to run again.

She questions the trams not running.

17.29. She looks up her tram tracker and told me the 58 tram is coming along Kingsway in 7 minutes. She tells me to walk back up Clarendon Street to the first intersection, just up the street a bit and walk down York Street to the big intersection.

“You better go,” she says. “You only have 7 minutes.”

17.35pm. I’m on Kingsway waiting for a tram. It is a really shitty tram stop. Have I got used to the super tram stops I so often slag off as being just a huge waste of money, (wheelchair access with standing?) and really just an excuse for private tram companies to reduce the number of tram stops from the network.

They are having a questionnaire on my route the 86 at the moment, which is really just corporate speak for we need reasons to justify reducing the service we provide.

I have a tram stop near my house, between Brunswick Street and Smith Street which I am sure they are gunning for to delete from the network. I'll let you know if I am correct.

17.44. The tram is packed and hot, and it seems to be making lots of turns, I can’t really see there are too many people, and it is not a route with which I am familiar. It’s smells like hot people confined. I’m sweating. Some chick is speaking loudly into her phone, of course. Shut up. I presume this tram will cross Bourke Street at some point and I’ll get off. I have no idea where we are.

The 58 eventually went up William Street. I get off at Bourke Street. I wait for the tram cnr William and Bourke Street.

It always gives me chills when I get too close to 600 Bourke where I spent many unhappy years with the black law firm and all those fucking psychos, quite frankly. Tier one, celebrity CEO. That’s all I am saying. Biggest bunch of cunts!

17.50. I’m on the 86, what is it, 3 hours since I left the restaurant, something like that.

Some girl hangs doggedly onto the aisle seat, and have to squeeze past her and sit on the window side. I think I see she is sitting on $2, but when she gets up the coin is foreign, 10 something, too small for me to read.

There is a girl wearing transparent plastic high heal shoes. They just look sweaty. I wonder what her feet would smell like at the end of the day?

The tram clears out at Parliament, I guess that is nearly the end of the free tram zone. I’ve already touched on my Myki as I just couldn’t be bothered doing it any other way.

18.06pm. I’m getting off at Smith Street

18.08. Home again. Sam has taken Bruno for a walk.

I finished at 11am this morning and got back at 6pm. I do an hour of work, just finishing off a few things. 

We ate Fried Chicken and leftover fried rice for dinner.

My Aunt's Birthday Lunch

We had great parents, me and my twelve cousins have always said that. Our parents were great. All six of them, 3 families, we were very lucky.

They loved us, they did everything for us, well, you know, good things, not spoiling us things. They took us all away on holidays at Xmas. We had boats. We all became really good skiers, actually, great skiers.

They were really great people, our parents, we all agree. And, surprise, surprise, we all turned out just fine, all of us.

Well, they are all dead, except for one. My lovely aunt is the last one.

And today, we are all meeting for lunch to celebrate her 95th birthday. I think all twelve cousins are coming, plus a couple from the other side of the family to me.

My cousins had cousins who used to join us on holidays and then there were lots of us.

And it is lovely, we all like each other and we all get on fine. We all get on great.

The problem being, my aunt is in the clutches of dementia and she is struggling with who we all are, no matter how we might hope she doesn't.

She'll be wheeled in in a wheelchair, she'll be sat at the end of the table, with that slightly vacant dementia look on her face. We'll say hello to her hoping she knows who we are. There are two Christian Fletchers, my cousin and I have the same name, so that's always had its confusing moments, more so now. 

We'll all enjoy the meal and we'll chatter away, and laugh and tell stories, none of which she'll be able to participate in. She can a bit, minimal. And when it comes time to go, we'll kiss he as though she knows who we are. There are a lot of us, of course. And we'll all head home.

It's just sad, that's what it is. My lovely, gentle, aunt, such a gorgeous person, now kind of a non-person, a blank space, disappearing.

It just makes me feel kind of sad, more than it makes me feel anything else.

The Voice To Parliament

I was in Murchison on the weekend and I was surprised to see cars with 'Vote No' written on the back of them. Written across the paint work, on some of them.

The proposition for the referendum next month is 'do you support a First Nation's People's advisory group being set up to advise the government of the day on legislation that effects first Nations people.'

It is an advisory group, the only power it has is to advise government. That's it. That is the question.

I really don't know how anybody could be against that.

I would have thought that Australians would be happy for an advisory group to be setup to help advise on legislation that affects one of the most disadvantaged groups in our rich country. You know, that famous ‘fair go,” we all hear about.

The reason we are having a referendum to put it in the constitution is so it can't be used as a political football in the future by political parties.

(because political parties never use issues as political footballs)

I'm surprised that people who will never be affected by this, ever, are actively working against it. I really wonder why? 

Why would people actively work against something that will never affect them, but could potentially help so many others? Shake of the head.

Is This Avoidance?

I'm re-formatting my poetry blog, it needs it. It is hard work, though.

I had just finished re-formatting this blog, which I call my main blog, that took some time.

And before that, I re-formatted my story blog. And re-wrote a lot of it.

It seems I will do just about anything to avoid writing anything new. 😬

Ha ha.

"You old cow!" Murchison Saturday

 

Sam

Here's a poem I wrote about Sam a few years ago.

Your love is sublime

like putting ice cream

on waffles.

It made me smile reading that again, yesterday, when I was looking through my poetry blog.

I still think that way about him.

Perhaps, I Am Just A Whiner?

It all worked out fine, yesterday. (The figures being out of balance)

"Good work Christian." Pat on the back. (Well, there you go, a tick for honesty)

Perhaps, I am just a whiner? (Hmmm?)

Nyr? I don't know. (I don't. And if I am giving the impression that I care, that would be wrong. Oh, I care a bit. This much. Thumb and forefinger held a centimetre apart) (For the American viewers, that's about 0.4 of an inch)

I never used to suffer from anxiety. I just used to move through life unfazed. Do I worry too much about stuff now? 

Shrug. Maybe?

Anyway, it all worked out. (You know, I kind of knew it would)

😬

Fool Some of the People All of the Time

I did some calculations recently, for work, of course, and when I was done, they all worked out, like they always do. There was just a very minor error, and the figures were out in a very minor way, well within the margin of error that would have been accepted. The figures would have been signed off and we'd have been fine.

It was for the conclusion of a project, so nothing ongoing, and the figures would have been accepted, no questions would have been asked, and it would all have been a completed a .

Done.

I was about to send them off to Boris, after which I wouldn't have heard any more. On to the next project. Tra la la.

But, there was that minor error, and I had plenty of time to go over the figures one more time to see if I could pinpoint the dodgy figures, wherever they were, and bring the project into balance with a perfect set of figures. (Have you tuned out yet?)

Lovely. Shouldn't be a problem. Let's knock it over.

Big exhale. Except that wasn't what happened. I dug a little and more errors came up. Okay, I'll just fix those and then get back to the other problem. I dug a little more, and more errors, and more errors, and more errors. It was like trying to catch water in your hands.

We've ended up with... I've ended up with figures that are so out it makes Donald Trump look reasonable, with no idea why they are like that, not dissimilar to trying to understand why anyone would vote for Donald Trump, just no clue.

Really, I have no idea what the problem now is, which tends to suggest that someone has made a stupid mistake which doesn't bare logical scrutiny.

There was a moment, when I considered putting the figures back to what I had in the first place, and sending them off to Boris, who would have accepted them and signed off on them, and the matter would have been closed. Oh, I so should have just done that.

It would have been so unlikely that an auditor would have found the problem, it would have been a million to one chance they would have stumbled across it. The vast majority of auditors are newly minted finance boffins who have barely had time to grow pubic hair and are yet to get their first position, anywhere, and who are relatively clueless in all aspects of life. Most, but not all, of course.

When is it acceptable to send out an inferior product, all the while knowing it was inferior? Oh no, I couldn't just do that.

Oh, I should have just bodgied it up and finished it. Stupid me.

Morning Light

I love the morning light, you know 9am, with the sun shining brightly. It is new, the day is new, everything is new, and there is hope to be found in that newness. Hope that all good things are possible, with renewed, innocence, and joy, joy at the reflection of everything we are, at the possibility we will all be created new, with the new day, with that sun shining down on us, as if for the very first time.

The light, the light, the dappled light, falls on our dappled souls. We all want to be better, dissolve the shadows in our heart of hearts. The bright, lovely morning shows us things can be better, we can be better, everything can be better.

It's what occurs to me, whenever that gorgeous morning light sparkles in my eyes and dazzles my senses.

It is a moment, in so few moments, when I feel that it is great to be alive.

Relationships

You know what the difference is between just met, and 14 years in?

When you have just met, your boyfriend changes the blades of your shaver when he changes his.

Fourteen years in, he just changes his own.

Sunday

I dreamed I was sitting with (my dead friend) Anthony, we were going to go somewhere.

“Do you mind if I have first shower after I smoke this cigarette and drink this beer,” says Anthony. (who drank and smoked himself to death in real life)

“No, we have to get going,” I say. I was cross with him, as there was an unspecified urgency to us leaving.

So, I go and have the first shower ahead of him. But, I need to have a shit first. So, I sit on the toilet in the bathroom. But, it has a 45 degree lean. And when I look inside it, it is clogged up with business shirts, all striped like the ones (our house guest) Toby wears.

I leave the bathroom and run down the hallway to one of the other bedrooms to use the toilet there. It has a funnel coming up which shoots shit out the cistern at the user. I get covered in shit.

I woke at 2.30am and had a wee. I think Toby was watching TV in his room and Charlie was playing games in his room.

I went back to bed.

I was dreaming about Sam making dismissive fun of my journal writing when I woke again.

6.50am. I am up.

7am. I make coffee.

Milo lies next to me on the couch, as I started reading the news.

A heritage villa sat proudly on the banks of the Parramatta River for 135 years but now hopes of it being rebuilt in a new location are in tatters. The 1800s villa, Willow Grove, was set to be reassembled brick by brick at an alternative location after being torn down two years ago to make way for the Powerhouse Museum opening in 2025. A new location for the rebuild was never settled on. Now, 2 years later, the govt has scrapped plans to rebuild the villa. How typical is that of govt.

Some 60 year old died of a snake bite in Queensland.

I’m looking back through journals, face book messenger and the like for info to add to my April 2020 journals/blogs. My journals from that period are pretty sparse. (I think I was really concentrating on my CJ novel draft)

7.15am. Bruno appears in the lounge room. Milo jumps off the couch and slips under the coffee table, while Bruno jumps up onto the couch next to me. He gives me a look. I kiss his head.

7.25am. Sam is up.

7.30am. I make vegemite toast and coffee.

8am. I make more coffee, much to Sam’s protests, not that he is having any.

I’m sorting my 2020 journal. I’m looking at messages from Shane, Rachel and Mark to create some new 2020 posts.

8.45am. Sam starts to clean. He looks at me. I know what that look means. It is a pre-emptive look of disappointment, if I don’t start cleaning in the manner that he feels that I should.

I have a shit. Then I start to clean too. My job is vacuuming. I break out the Dyson. (Sadly, that is just wishful thinking as the last time we upgraded the vacuum we bought the inferior LG)

9.30am. I’m finished cleaning.

I pot up the succulent Sam got in Cambridge Street on our walk back from Victoria Street yesterday.

9.40am. I am finished.

I add conversations from Rachel and Shane to my April & June 2020 blogs.

I continue adding blog posts to April 2020, it’s increased from 7 posts to 27 posts.

11.11am. I have a shower.

11.54am. We walk into the city with Bruno for lunch.

12.24pm. We’re at David’s King of Spice Sichuan Master Pot (219) Russell Street)

Bruno lies out prostrate on the fake grass and mouths at the leaves lying there.

Sam orders sea food soup for me and signature beef soup for him. He brings out water that has been spoiled by the addition of lemon. Why ruin water with lemon, I ask you? We get drinks, mine is plum.

We sit on stools at a high table. The soup is really spicy, but good. It makes me cough the first few mouthfuls.

There is a constant parade of people walking by, the footpath is full of people, nearly all of them gaze at Bruno with a smile.

It was all very busy, there was lots going on.

I am fascinated by the cars continual changing in the centre of the road car spaces, they seem to change constantly. When, if you are looking for a car park, they never seem to change at all. It was like musical chairs with cars. One in, one out, one in, one out.

1.02pm. We were done. I consider having a look around the shops, but what for? What do I want? I can’t think of a single thing?

We head home.

Russell Street > Little Bourke Street > Parliamentary Reserve, where Bruno seems to sniff all the flowers. He cuts an older chick off as he rushes to a nearby garden bed.

“I’m sorry, his manners aren’t the best,” I say.

“Let him sniff,” she says. “He needs to be able to check all the messages, and then he needs to leave a message of his own.”

“He would agree,” I say.

We both laugh.

 Albert Street which is blocked off for the benefit of piece of shit property developers > Gisborne Street > Victoria Parade > Young Street > Gertrude Street > home.

1.38pm. We’re home again.

I lie on the couch eating an orange, wrestling for space with Bruno on the couch. I add 3 more blog posts to April 2020. I save the rest of Rachel’s messages for 2023.

David 3.08pm

NO - ONE - CARES

Christian

Shhh

I gave him a t-shirt with Shhhh, Nobody Cares written on it

Christian:

If your ‘up’ state is called Bipolar Barbie? What is your down mood called?

The YouTube clip of the at girl trying to jump off the rock ledge but falling

Never gets old

Darling

David:

Bipolar Benzie

Now …. SHHHHHHHHHH

I hate my life and I hate myself … This life is just one big MISERY 

Christian:

Oh darling, sit down and write something, you will feel much, much better 👎

David:

I don’t even have the energy for that 

I just want to have more up days than down … once a month of up is not enough 

Christian:

That’s all we can ask for… ❤️

Darling

David:

And you know the worst part about it ?

Christian:

Most people would envy your life?

David:

True … I’ll shut up now x

Then I felt mean, but I was fully concentrating on my journals/blog and I didn’t have the energy. Oh, I do give him a lot of my time, daily, whenever he’s feeling down, and I like doing it, because I like him, but I was just in a different headspace today.

Christian:

Darling

He didn't answer

Then I caught up my current blog posts, I had three to do to get my blog up to date.

Lunch & Shopping

David sent

The FATTEST PIG that EVER lived !!!

EVEEERRRRR

6.40am. Bruno wakes me up. We head downstairs together.

I send David an obese pig YouTube video.

I make coffee. It is already light at this time of the day at this time of the year. And you’ve got to love that.

I open up The Guardian.

Taylor Swift is the biggest pop star in the world again. Apparently? According to what? Who? I think to myself. Apparently, her latest tour has been so successful it has added to the GDP of economies. I guess you can’t really argue about that.

But, is that judging her to be the biggest pop star in the world according to accountants?

She has now re-recorded 4 of her old albums, in response to her song rights being sold with no regard for her. You know, that is pretty good going. Don’t get mad, get even, hey?

7.26am. Sam is up.

7.30am. I started to make coffee and toast, when I realise, I had to go to the bakery and get a new loaf of bread until they open again on Wednesday, so I did that. They struggled with change, as they always seem to now, with me paying cash all the time. I’m simply not going to pay the bank fees when I can use cash and not pay them. And, it often means I get a discount just because they don’t have the change to give me.

I made toast. I’m still eating charcoal activated bread. I really like it.

I chatted to Mark – 10 years ago today, Australia got itself back on track by electing @HonTonyAbbott - TheYoungLiberalAus – seriously?

We both chatted about the disaster that was Tony Abbott. The worst prime Minister in history, that was until Scott Morrison came along, of course.

I listen to Gnarls Barkley Crazy. I don’t know if it is a TikTok thing at the moment, not that I watch TikTok, but I keep hearing it, and I like it.

I watched What’s My Line. Oh, I love that show, it is such an indulgence, do you like that. (It is me wasting my life, in all truth) All those old movie stars I’ve only ever got to see in old black and white movies, I get to see as themselves, and quite often when they were young. It is interesting to see them in the prime.

10am. I made more coffee and vegemite toast for Sam. (He is so bossy)

I decide to stop wasting my time on YouTube and get back to writing my April 2020 journal/blog, even though I decided not to do that, as it is just an indulgence and nobody is going to read it now, and to concentrate on new writing, but I think it is preferable to be writing my April 2020 journal rather than staring at YouTube mindlessly.

11.44am. David calls to say he’s having a really down, can’t get out of bed, day. “I want someone to lift my head and feed me yogurt,” he says (just like the pig in the obese pig YouTube clip I sent him)

I have a shower.

12.20pm. Sam is in mid indecision about what to do, once I come back downstairs.

Sam instructs me to clean my teeth.

“But, we are about to eat lunch, I don’t want to spoil it.”

“Brush your teeth, you are not brushing them two times a day regularly, now are you?”

“No.” I go and brush my teeth.

12.35pm. We walk Bruno to Victoria Street.

The sun is trying to shine. The cool breeze is blowing.

13.15. I’m in the Salvos

I get Laurel Canyon (2002). I’m pretty sure I don’t have it, but to tell you the truth with 1035 films, at last count, I can’t exactly remember all of them anymore.

Now 1038 films.

I loved it when I first saw it, and for ages I got it confused with Mullholland Drive, so I don’t think I have it. Cross your fingers.

I got a greatest hits by Janis Joplin which unbelievably has a track on it that I don’t have.  Mary Jane. That just didn’t seem possible, but checking my collection it kept coming up no.

Sam and Bruno walked on.

The sun is warm when it comes out.

1.20pm. I’m at the Vietnamese restaurant for lunch, sitting out on the footpath.

Sam instructs me to wash my hands. He’s always been bossy, I think, but is he getting worse, lately? I’m still wondering about that when I go and wash my hands.

We ate Vietnamese pancake and rice noodles with ground beef and salad.

Sam goes in to wash his hands when we were done. When he came back, I went and washed my hands.

1.45pm. We’re done with lunch. We walk off heading to the shops. Suddenly, the owner of the restaurant is behind us. I thought Sam paid, because he didn’t tell me to pay. And Sam thought I’d paid. How embarrassing. But we’d eaten there many times, surely, they knew it was just a mistake. I think they did, as he apologised to me.

“No, I’m sorry,” I say. I repeat that I thought Sam had paid.

Oops.

1.48pm. Bruno and I are waiting in the doorway to The Hive while Sam shops. A fat chick in a shot green silk cagoule walks past us as we approach the centre with an aggressive Jack Russell straining on its lead to get to Bruno. A short time later she is back, with the Jack Russell just as aggressive. Then she walks back again, her shit of a dog still barking and trying to get to Bruno. Bruno is so funny, he just gives a withering stare in return

1.52pm. Sam reappears.

1.53pm. Bruno and I are waiting outside Minh Phat in the cold. It feels like it is going to rain, and we have the long walk home immanently in front of us.

A white Subaru Impreza is parked in front of us with extensive hail damage. The guy gets out of the car and smiles at Bruno.

There is a house being auctioned in Nicholson Street with an auction flag flying out the front. Bruno decides he doesn’t like the look of it and starts barking at it. He doesn’t listen when he thinks there is something that may be dangerous… or something like that, who knows what goes on in their heads

It looks like it is going to rain as we head over to the butcher for meat. There is a ratty looking chick walking up Victoria Street towards us as we cross at the lights, with a huge dog on a lead. Bruno and I walk more in the raised left lane of the new raised tram stops, when suddenly the big dog bolts over to Bruno. He was just interested in sniffing Bruno pretty much, more so than being aggressive, but the chick on the other end of the lead clearly had no control over him for that split second that he bounded over to Bruno. It was fine on this occasion, which may say it all, but it is one of my fears with all these socially challenged individuals with big aggressive dogs – there are a few about the place – that moment when they lose control of their killer on a rope and it is free to attack.

Sam, who was in front of us, turned around and said, “Did that dog just try to attack Bruno?”

“No, it wasn’t an attack,” I said. “It was just a sniff.”

2.04pm. We’re at the butcher in Victoria Street.

The sun comes out again. It shines brightly on the footpath and it is nice. It is nice to feel the warmth, it is nice to see the its brightness lighting up the world.

The guy in the wheelchair missing a leg with what looks like gangrene in his remaining foot is getting off trams and getting back on them again. He’s a demanding got-any-change-mate kind of guy. I’ve bumped into him a number of times when I have been waiting while Sam shops in and around Victoria Street. He is particularly aggressive. I wonder if he is asking for change on the trams.

2.11pm. Sam reappears.

The sun shines brightly. We start heading for home up Victoria Street.

That particularly good looking nutjob who has those muscular legs, who wears those tight shorts with the hard not to notice sizable bulge in the front of them, (Oh, I know, and I don’t mean to, um, notice, but I’m not dead) is sitting on the seats at the tram stop on the corner, the hood of his hoodie over his head. He is chatting away to himself and dribbling all at the same time. It looks as though he is building something imaginary with his hands out in front of himself.

2.30pm. We’re halfway up Victoria Parade and the rain starts to fall, rats! There is no shelter up Victoria Parade, and you just can’t make a run for it with a bulldog, that is never going to work. What to do, as the rain gets heavier. But wait, there is one bit of shelter, the walkway to Melbourne Pathology next to the Porsche dealer. Bruno lies out on the concrete, always able to get comfortable.

Not too long after, maybe 15 minutes, the sun comes out and the rain stops. We still have to share the footpath with all the football fans, but you can’t get everything.

Sam remembers to get a cutting of a succulent that caught his eye when we were walking to the shops, despite me telling him that I thought we had enough plants and that, in fact, we could be giving some of our plants away. I love growing them and potting them up and the like, but lately I haven’t been giving them away to friends too much. We’re still being a little unsocial, really still a hangover from Covid lockdown.

2.49pm. We’re home.

I watch YouTube Shorts. Oh, are they sucking the hours out of life, or what. I’m just glad I don’t have a TikTok habit.

I watch Rolling Stones ‘School Boy Blues’ on YouTube with my headphones on.

I watch Rolling Stones ‘I Think I Am Going Mad’ on YouTube with my headphones on.

I watch Gnarls Barkley ‘Crazy’ on YouTube with my headphones on.

I listen to The Stones new single, Angry, again. There is a process with a new Stones single – it is the same for any favourite artist that has a new single out. There have to be multiple listens to it.

We watched the end of Three Thousand Years of Longing. The genie thing. Maybe at another time, in a different mood, I might have enjoyed it, but it was like I just missed some of it and I never really seriously caught it up again.

We ate 5 spice pork belly with tofu and egg for dinner.

The boys next door were out in the back yard playing music loudly. 

(The twenty something boys who line up in front of our security camera, focussed on the side of our house and the number of windows that are there, with their dicks out to piss in their garden) 

When I opened the back door to tell them to turn it down, I didn’t think the music was all that loud, so I close the door again. The problem was that they were playing the music in their kitchen, but they were sitting out in their back yard

We watched Guardians of the Tomb. I felt like I’d seen it all before, and that’s being kind of kind.

We watched The Electrical Life of Louis Wain, an English guy from the turn of the last century who painted cats. Who, rom all accounts, was a cat nut. I think the implication was that cats weren’t popular as pets in 1900.

9.45pm. We went to bed, as the boys were still noisy next door.

I am still re-writing my April 2020 journal, so I can fill in all the blank days in April 2020 on my blog, and there were plenty around April/May 2020. The beginning of the pandemic, seems like a time when I’d write more, not less. Unless, of course, you subscribe to the theory that the busier you are the more you get done.

Actually, at the beginning of the pandemic, I was really into writing my novel code name CJ. Wow! Whatever happened to that.

10.55pm. Sam calls lights out, puts on the sleep music and expects me to fallow suit. Be under no illusions, ‘Nan’ won’t have any disobedience.

Calling My Big Brother

4.30am. I get up and have a wee. I always seem to get up around 4am for a wee now a days.

Good thing I go right back to sleep.

I was just thinking about travelling around America, and going to a Stones concert in New York City, sinking into that twilight feeling of existing, when…

4.50am. Bruno’s furry face appears next to me in the dark. He stands very still gazing at me. He is nothing, if he is not patient. 

I take him out for a wee. (if I don’t get up and take him to the back yard, he will jump up onto the bed with his front paws and sniff in my ear, but it didn’t get to that stage this morning)

I get back into bed and listen to Sam snoring.

The heaviness returns very quickly, I sink into my memory foam mattress. I hope I fall back to sleep very…

7.05am. I wake up. Sam is already up. Bruno is still in bed. Bruno and I head downstairs.

7.15am. I make coffee.

7.45am. I make vegemite toast and more coffee.

The Tote Hotel Collingwood has been saved as a live music venue by a community campaign to buy it. I’m so pleased.

Danny Masterson gets 30 years for rape. Wow! 30 years for 2 rapes? Isn’t that more than for murder?

Greece, which burned with bush fires recently, now has four days of cataclysmic rain having lashed the central Greek region of Thessaly, triggering landslides, flooding, road and bridge collapses and severing water supplies.

10.32am. Charlie is up. He’s wearing a black top and he looks more developed in the chest than normal? Is he doing weight lifting, I wonder? he makes coffee and goes back to his room.

I continue to re-write my April 2020 blog.

12.30pm. David calls. I hang up on him and send him this message.

Christian

“Oh no, it’s her!”

Lately, he has continually asked me if this is what I think when I see his name come up on my phone when it rings.

“No, I don’t,” I tell him.

He calls back.

He’s up! He tells me bi-polar Barbie is back. A friend of his told him some time ago that her preferred him when he was depressed rather than manic.

“I’d have to agree with him,” I said.

“You’d both prefer me to be depressed?” questioned David.

I laughed. “Yes.”

Ever since he said he has missed her, his ‘up’ state, which he calls Bipolar Barbie.

Today he announced she was back. The flying high Bipolar Barbie.

“Fasten your seatbelts and check that your tray table is in the upright position, as it is going to be a bumpy ride.”

There was the time when David and Shane and I lived together that sometimes I would hear Shane calling from the other room.

“Help! No! That’s abuse! Stop touching me!”

And, you know, Shane would let anyone touch him, seriously.

1.15pm. We ate fried rice for lunch.

I call my brother Will for his birthday. I tell him we’ve had the hottest winter on record. He replies, “Which is stupid because they have only been taking statistics or such a short time.”

I ignore, what I assume is his climate change denying comment.

I tell him that I might just quit work if they insist on me going back into the office and he tells me he thinks that would be a good idea, in a big brother kind of way. Funny when my big brother acts like a big brother confirming to me that I have a big brother.

I continue re-writing my April 2020 journal for most of the day.

2.35pm. I take Bruno for a walk.

2.38pm. We leave the house. It is cold, grey and bleak to tell you the truth. We walk up Gertrude Street like it is a normal walk. I message Sam and ask what the weather forecast was. Rain was predicted in 28 minutes, with it raining for 19 minutes. Hmm? We’re not going to get right round a 45 to 50 minute walk without getting wet.

2.51pm. We’re at Brunswick Street.

We walked back to Smith Street along the south side of Gertrude Street just because it was a different side of the street to walk along. Then we could walk up and down Smith Street under shelter.

At 3.29pm. It’s raining as we leave St Marks. We head back down Smith Street. Bruno stops and stops and stops and stops, until I yell at him. I don’t mind him stopping to sniff, but not after every step I take.

Don’t you hate people who float out of shops into you path and then proceed to walk at a glacial pace right in front of you? I know I do. Jasus! Get out of my way.

3.40pm. We’re home again.

I make more coffee much to Sam’s chagrin.

4.10pm. I am watching my favourite car YouTube channel, Coldwarmotors' mid week video, with them visiting two car junk yards.

I watched WatchJRGo – cute American car YouTuber who reminds me of my, um, not exactly ex, cute Jeff Titan – His new shop windows were completely rotten so they have all been replaced

Sam went to the supermarket. I watched What’s My Line. Guy Randolph Churchill, Guy Lombardo, Tallulah Bankhead, Kim Novak. (Oh kids you can google them, they are nearly all before my time too, but you know, do some historical research, like I did – well, mines in the form of watching old movies – and you might learn something)

Sam retuned a few minutes after 6pm demanding I stopped watching What’s My line and to put on the misery hour.

We ate roast lamb and broccoli for dinner.

We watched Gardening Australia, actually, Sam watched it, I watched my favouirte Aussie car YouTubers, MightyCarMods put a turbo in a Toyota Camry.

I watched the end of Mighty Car Mods as Sam watched the beginning of Wheel of Time.

We watched some other strange 3 wishes from a genie movie, Three Thousand Years of Longing with Idris Elba and Tilda Swinton. It seemed to be very wordy, which normally I don’t mind, but again, there was the feeling of nothing new to see here. So much content is now needed for all the streaming services that they are now making anything, clearly.

10.50pm. We went to bed.

I watched my favourite American political commentator, David Packman, and some Trump stuff. It’s like a car crash, Trump. What a self-serving pustulant piece of shit he is. 

Then some I watched some Karen’s, oh, just to have a laugh at other people’s misfortune.

Lights out 11.53pm.

Flowers are Flowering. Trees are Budding.

The water geraniums have flowered in the pond. They are such gorgeous bright yellow flowers. Always nice to see them every year.

There are green buds on all of the trees, it would seem. Sam loves pointing out the green buds on the trees as we take Bruno for a walk. 

Sam's really cute when he points out the new leaves on the trees, it seems to give him such joy to see them.

I guess it gives us all joy.

Bruno and I went for a walk today, mid morning, in the perfect sun. It was a gorgeous day, really nice.

I was very pleased to be listening to the new Rolling Stones single, Angry, as we walked in the morning sun. It made me anything but angry. Bruno sniffed, as Bruno does, and I danced, even if it was only in my mind.

Spring Time

What a gorgeous day it is. It is just sparkling with sunny blue skies, and a bit of a breeze. You've just got to love spring now don't you when the world seems to wake up again and come alive. The air feels fresh and light. The magpies sing their mellifluous song. 

It's glorious, it can't help but make you happy. I know it makes me happy.

Bruno is in the lounge room stretched out in the sunshine shining in the lounge room window. Bulldogs love to sun bake.

Then Bruno scratches on the back door, and he heads out onto the back veranda where he raises his face to the sky and he looks as though he is in very deep contemplation. He can either smell something, or hear something, I presume. He stands for extended lengths of time with his (adorable) face raised up slightly and stretched out, as though he is a philosopher, philosophising on life, deep in contemplation.

Then he heads back inside and lies back in some sunny spot, or hops on the couch and closes his eyes as though he has dealt with all the troubles of the world, well, his world.

By late morning, I'd done all of my work that I had to do thus far, and the way things have been going over the last few weeks I am unlikely to get a whole lot more work to do, so I moved myself, and my laptop, into the kitchen where the sun is shining in onto the floor, standing with my be-socked feet in the sunshine pooling on the floor. And it warmed the whole of my body, beautifully, like standing in warm honey, without the stickiness, of course.

Are You Furious?

Aren't you furious that big business and conservative politicians have destroyed the climate of the planet? Or, at least, helped to.

I know I am.

The hottest winter on record, in my part of the world.

And what was it in July, five days in a row which were the hottest days ever.

And conservative commentators are still saying there is no climate change problem.

We're the custodians of 'the blue' planet, and from all accounts we're not doing a great job.

I often wonder if the people who don't care about the health of the planet are those people who don't travel. You know, when you travel, you see first hand the amazingly beautiful things and places this planet has to offer. Surely, if you saw all those things, you'd just naturally want to take care of the planet.

You know, all those place that are so incredibly beautiful they just make you draw in breath and stare. Your skin becoming goosebumpy, and you have to pinch yourself to know that it is in fact real.

I often think, maybe the climate deniers only ever look out on their own ugliness.

I don't know? I don't understand climate deniers. Surely, the sooner we get it fixed, the sooner we can all stop worrying about it. It's not as though it is only going to affect a certain section of society, now is it.

Let's fix it. 😬 Is that too naive?

Actually, I really like it. It was interesting there for a couple of days, when I put peanut butter on it rather than my usual Vegemite, and I had black bread and a brown topping, the reverse in colours of my usual breakfast. I wondered how I was going to put a black spread on black bread, but it turned out to be easy. I am going to buy it more often. It's meant to be good for your stomach. I'm not sure if that means you have to have something wrong with your stomach first?

 

A Moment Of Panic

I semi panicked. I thought I was dying. My shit came out black. I mean, really black. Black like tar. Black like I had never seen it before. Isn't that a sign of blood in your stools. What did that mean? Damn! Bowl cancer? But I'd done bowl cancer tests, and recently. And they were clear. Doctors miss stuff every day, though, I thought. Should I sue? OMG! I guess it meant cancer of something? I'd have to make an appointment with my doctor. Go for tests. I wasn't usually one to react like this, but I had just been reading about it, how bowel cancer was striking people at a younger and younger age. They thought it was lifestyle. Too much sedentary behaviour. I lay on the couch too much, when I should be up and about. My head was spinning. You know, my sensible self told me it was probably unlikely, but the possibility was there. I mean, how many years did I smoke? Too many. And it was a major cause of bowel, liver, kidney, bladder cancer, cancer, cancer, just think of those warnings on cigarette packets. OMG! Am I going to die?

Oh, it was early, and perhaps I was in a weakened, just-woken-up state. It was a hell of a thing to be confronted with so early in the day, you know, before all of your sensors have had a chance to switch on.

I walked into the kitchen. And, it was there I started to laugh, laugh at myself, laugh put loud. There on the kitchen bench...

I had completely forgotten that the only loaf at the bakery of day old bread - well, I only toast it any way - a few days ago when I went to get bread was charcoal activated Vienna loaf, which I'd been having for my breakfast for the last few day.

I chuckled away. Of course, I never believed it for a second, I thought, as I switched on the coffee machine and grabbed the loaf to make more toast for my breakfast this morning.

I'd switched to peanut butter for my breakfast, instead of my usual Vegemite, as you just can't apply Vegemite successfully to black bread. And the peanut butter colour was a rather nice contrast against black.

Lunch

Pressed sandwiches for lunch, and they were good too. Sam makes great pressed sandwiches. Actually, Sam makes a lot of great food, lucky me, I know.

 

Happy Birthday Shelly

The Virgo birthdays all start to happen now. It starts with Shane and then Shelly, my brother, my favourite great aunt who I still count despite the fact she has been dead since I was 25, me, then Anthony who is dead, the idiot drank himself to death, such a waste, and it ends with Adriana, (oh, I so must call her, she's just split from Freddie the last time I saw her, bad Christian) LouLou just misses out by a day, or so. 

Shelly is one of my friends, who I really don’t see much of any more. She lives in Perth, she has for many years.

So, mid morning, a couple of days ago on her birthday, I think about calling her. I go to call her, but I hesitate. Oh, I don’t know why? It’s been a few years since I have spoken to her, but we have known each other since we were 16 year olds.

When I hesitated about calling her, I think… had it been too long? What have I got to tell her? Was it just my own insecurities making me question it? I looked up her birthday (I put all of my friend’s birthdays into my contacts some years ago) and it turns out to be one of the big ones. There is no hesitation after that.

I call her.

The phone rings, I feel nervous while it rings. Stupid really. (Does everyone feel that way? Or is it just me?) It answers. “Hello.” That didn’t sound like Shelly? Surely no one else would answer her phone?

“Shelly?” I ask.

“Yes.”

“Shelly... Ann... Lois?” (A nick name since we were kids) I hear an intake of breath, a good inhale, of recognition.

“Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday dear Shel-ly, happy birthday to you” I give three cheers.

"Oh, Christian." She is pleased. It is like no time has passed at all. Me and Shel.

“It’s the big one,” I say. “I just had to call you.”

“Shelly Anne Lois, it just takes me right back. Instantly,” she says. She laughs.

“You threw me when you answered…”

“Why?”

“It just didn’t sound like you,” I say. “I’m thinking surely no one else has answered your phone.”

Shelly laughs again.

“This was the birthday that affected me the most,” I say. “I never thought about my age before this one. This was the one.”

“It just doesn’t sound real. [she says the number],” says Shelly. “It just doesn’t sound like I am talking about myself.”

“Yes, I know,” I say. “I never feel any different, Unless I look in the mirror…”

“Yes, tell me about it…”

“…than I have ever felt, until I turned…” I say. “I just feel the same inside.”

I tell her the story from a few years ago of me heading down to Coles to get something I desperately needed, possible milk for coffee I had already made. I just left the house quickly without checking my appearance – crocs, track pants with holes in them, footy socks pulled up over the bottom of the track pants, a huge motheaten t-shirt hanging out from under an old hoodie that was far too many sizes too big for me, hair standing on end, un-showered – crossing the road and seeing out of my peripheral vision some old dero coming towards me, poor luv, I thought, which, when I looked again, was my own reflection in the big supermarket glass windows.

We both laugh.

“Oh Chriso, it is so good to hear your voice,” says Shel. “What have you been up to?”

“Oh, you know, I was a bit of a homebody before lock down,” I say. “I’ve become even more of a homebody since then.”

“You still with Sa… Sam.”

“Yes, still together.”

“How are you?” I ask. “You still with your guy?” Gavin, I couldn’t remember his name momentarily, I stumbled, the pot smoker, but she wasn’t, so it didn’t really matter. “No, I’d had enough of him, you know what I mean?”

“All these years later, hey Shel.”

“All these years,” says Shel.

“Who’d have thought?”

“Those conversations we used to have… late into the night”

“Yes, I remember,” I say.

"I loved those times," says Shelly. "I hold them dear to me to this day."

But, pretty soon work encroaches on our call. Boris emails me, and I have to sort some stuff out.

“Don’t go,” says Shelly.

“I have to,” I say.

“Oh, I could keep talking,” says Shel.

“Yeah, me too.”

“It’s always nice talking to you.”

“And you too,” I say. “You have to move back to Melbourne.”

“You have to come to Perth to visit,” says Shelly.

"It's so far," I say.

"Oh, it's not," says Shelly.