Friday

6:20 am. Sam and I get up at the same time. We both pissed forever. Sam takes Otto downstairs.

I take the large plastic chicken container of rubbish out to the bin on the corner of our street, it is my fuck you to our council. Oh yes, I know, stupid really, but it was all chicken bones leftover from our roast chicken dinner.

I continue ripping the old posters off the power pole on the corner, which I started yesterday, when I went over to the bakery early to get bread. With all this rain, the posters stuck on top of the last one,  stuck on top of the last one, stuck on top of the last one, stuck on top of the last one, have started to disintegrate, and the layers and layers of damp paper, and circles of sticky tape that have lost all of their integrity, have become unstuck and they are flapping about in the wind like many tiny wind socks, or a drag queens fringed frock in a twirl, making sounds like the card stuck to a spoke bike wheel. The things we do, hey? But it just looks...

I can't help myself, David would say it is the Virgo in me. (He's been very quiet lately, he's either working, or having a break down. I should check)

There are quite a few people wandering about, at that hour of the morning – a couple of couples with dogs, a woman power dressed, probably going to the office, a woman in shorty shorts jogging, delivery guys for the shops, a power walker in black active wear pants.

When I return to the house, Otto sits and waits, while I make coffee, then we both sit on the couch together.

6.45am. Bruno arrives downstairs, he gets up on the couch with Otto and I, he is now using my left hand as a head rest. The big boof head.

I drink my coffee and read the news.

Shane MacGowan, Pogues songwriter and Irish music legend, dies aged 65. He sure had a head on him, I think. I sip my coffee. I put some Pogues music on. Er, okay, I think.

Trump attacks wife of New York judge after gag order reinstated by court. When will that overbearing, lying sack of shit just go away, I think. I sip my coffee.

The whole Israel/Hamas thing continues. I think the Israeli cease fire is over. Yadder, yadder, yadder, I think. I sip my coffee.

Brittany Higgins on the witness stand of Bruce Lehrmann’s, the fat ugly thing with bitch tits, defamation court case. Bruce, not Brittany. I sip my coffee again.

Bruno and Otto sleep side by side on the couch, just like Buddy and Bruno used to do...

7.30am. I make Vegemite toast and more coffee.

Bruno and Otto hang around the couch with no particular direction, you know, once I'd disturbed them getting up and preparing food, but finally both cuddle up next to me.

10 am. I have a shower.

10:25 am. I take the dogs for a walk. Otto gets his paw caught under the front door as I open it, in his enthusiasm to get going, straight off the bat. Yelp! Good start, I think.

It’s overcast, but warm, and breezy.

Bruno is slow right from the get go. Otto is keen and walks ahead.

We do the usual big block.

We say hello to Mrs Tilly, standing at her gate, (in our street) looking sad that she doesn’t have a dog of her own any more. She’s not sad though, she’s got quite a sharp sense of humour. She gives Bruno some food.

11:11am. We are standing outside the old hall. . (Oh, you know, I always like to make note of where I am at 11.11, it is my reference to the new age cosmic bullshit)

Bruno is so stop start, he was driving me mental. We crossed the road at the house where my old mate Tristan’s grandma lives, and I was telling Bruno off, and when I looked up Tristan’s grandma was standing at her door. (in our street)

“We’re having a little trouble,” I said. I was embarrassed.

“Oh well, it’s been a difficult morning for everyone,” she says. She laughs. “With this humidity.”

I don't see Tristan any longer, but I see his grandmother often. 

I wonder if I am just a cranky cunt, now a days?

11:25 am. We’re home.

Sam went to Coles. When he came back, he has a white envelope in his hand. “I think someone has left these in the letterbox at the wrong address.”

We ate red curry for lunch.

As we ate lunch, Sam reads an email from name (& name) that they have vacated his rental property on 26th November, and he realises what was in the before mentioned white envelope left in our letter box.

They owed thousands in back rent, since covid, and recently, Sam told them that he wanted it, or they’d have to move out, not that he gave them any deadline to move out. And so, they have moved out. Disappointed that Sam chose cash over compassion, regarding a substantial debt of rent they have owed him for going on 4 years, completely disregarding the fact that Sam has given them substantially reduced rent since they both lost their jobs long before covid to help them out... but it was never getting resolved.

“Look at the bright side, at least they are gone.”

1.20pm. I leave for Smith Street, to pay some bills and to have a sniff around The Salvos, you know, before the Xmas shoppers get in there. Oh, why not. I can do anything I like on my day off, and of all the things I have to do, I chose this. 

(Actually, I think it is just the roof man I have to get now, as I organised for the glass panel in the roof to be fixed. I guess, when it stops raining.)

1.27pm. I’m in the post office on Smith Street and the great unwashed have gathered in front of me in great numbers and the going is slow. My theory is always do this sort of thing in the morning, but it had slipped my mind until a short time ago. Genius, I think, I tap my foot.

Oh well. It’s hot in the post office.

1.32pm. And I’m next to be served.

There is undoubtedly some slapper with a passport application, there always is.

I buy a collection of 5 Mae West movies in St Kevin’s Recycle for $1. Five for $1? They are terrible old things and probably only worth $1, if that. They really are just a freak show curiosity element. (I wonder what Mae may have thought of that description?)

I buy Pet shop Boys, Very and, Further Listening 1992-1994

1.57pm. I walk to The Salvos. It has stopped raining momentarily. In fact, the sun is hot, well, hotish. (hot for the UK, getting hot for Aus)

There are all the Herbie Movies and Winnie the Pooh movies, I grab them, but I put them back before I leave. I’d grab them, but the problem I have is storage, or the lack thereof.

I get Missy Higgins singles, three of them. But, the cute, checkout boy, dark hair, olive skin, tattoos, said no to my suggestion of paying a dollar for them.

“No, it is just one standard charge for singles, albums, they are all the same price.” He says it like a newbie who doesn’t know the nuances of retail as yet, just the rules he has been told. 

He is adorable, though. It’s distracting. 

I hold his gaze and wonder if I should challenge him, but I am really imagining his dick in my hand. “Okay,” I say. The guy a few weeks ago gave me one for $1, I think. I go and put them back on the shelf and leave.

As I walk up Smith Street, I think to myself, I’ll try again to get them for $1 next time, from a different volunteer. I don’t really care, though, I don’t need them. Whatever.

I get Bruno some baby wipes in Woollies.

1:40 pm. I buy a caramel ice cream at Messina. It starts dripping almost immediately. It is nice, but I shouldn’t have, my blood sugar being what it is. I must remember that.

1:52 pm. I’m home. I have to wash my hands straight away.

I kiss Bruno and apologise to him for being grumpy with him on our morning walk.

I upload the Mae West movies. They are double sided and, of course, have no titles so I am uploading blind. Or do they have no titles.

3.47pm. There is a disturbance in the lane. A voice calling out in pain, loudly, probably drugged of drunk, banging on our roller door, repeatedly, moaning and groaning.

It sets Bruno off on a barking spree that seems to last all night.

I call the police. They arrive pretty soon.

4.10pm. Whoever it is, is still up against our roller door bouncing it in and out.

It is still overcast and grey and muggy.

I’m sitting outside on the wicker chairs, listening. Ollie is trolling for pats. While I listen. While our roller door does it vertical trampoline thing. Why can’t the coppers get him off the roller door.

When the banging on the roller door stopped, I went and watered the balcony plants and saw the police with the guy, and he didn’t look like a toothless loser at all. He was almost handsome, brown skin, Indian, Shri Lankan. I wondered if he is one of the long term refugees finally let out of detention? (Detention started by conservative Australian politicians not because it was good for Australia, but because it worked for them to get re-elected.)

Sometime later, Bruno still barking in security dog mode, I take him out to the front gate, which sometimes cures him of his barking, and I saw the policeman was back in plain clothes talking to the guy, who was still hanging around, apparently. The big strapping, bald copper. He must have been seeing to this guy in his own time. That seemed kind of nice, like he really was in 'it' to help people. Kind of restores your belief in human nature, somewhat.

We ate creamy chicken pasta for dinner.

We watched Gardening Australia. It was the Indonesian Special.

We watched Erotic Stories. Ep 01 Philia couples sex toys with Catherine McClements. Ep 02 The Deluge, the lesbian one with Kate Box and Danielle Cormack. I’d read reviews that these stories weren’t so good, but they were good, engaging, a small slice of life. I read Benjamin Law had something to do with them. I’ve liked stuff Benjamin Law did.

10pm. Bruno and Sam went to bed.

Otto comes to in his crate not long after, and I take him out for a wee and a poo. Then he sleeps on the couch next to me. He’s getting very, um, at home, shall we say, sleeping on the couch. The perfect miniature bulldog, even if he certainly isn’t as small as he used to be. He hangs his tongue out his mouth as he sleeps, just like Buddy used to do.

I re-write my journal. I have to be diligent with my dictated journal, as there are plenty of mistakes the voice dictation makes. I have to go through it, as often it just doesn’t translate properly from spoken word to the page.

Milo comes in at 10.25pm, insisting on attention, rubbing his head against me, and when I don’t stop typing to pat him, he turns around and repeatedly hits me with his tail. Cats?

I found that Dusty Springfield released a posthumous album in 2015? Faithful. I must tell Mark, as he loves her.

I cleaned the kitchen, with music on my headphones, dancing around the kitchen as I clean. Dancing in the kitchen at midnight like nobody is watching, as my little dog snores on the couch.

11.46pm. I took Otto for his final wee before bed. It is still fucking raining.