One Glorious Friday

8am. I was awake. I thought I was the last one up until I heard Bruno’s breath under the bed as I got dressed.

I make coffee.

8.15am. Bruno arrives downstairs. We sit on the couch together and read the news.

Trump accuses judge and Letitia James of bias in surprise court address during fraud trial closing arguments.

Florida school district pulls dictionaries from class room for ‘sexual conduct’ descriptions. (We hold America up as a symbol of what?)

Melania Trump's mother Amalija Knavs dies, aged 78. (Perhaps, she died of shame)

Selena Gomez, the actress and singer has been tapped to portray '70s music icon Linda Ronstadt in a brand new biopic. (I guess they are going to make biopics of everyone? You know, screw every last cent out of the idea)

It took me 30 years to learn to love lapsang souchong tea – but now it’s all gone horribly wrong, with supply issues. (Yuk!)

8.45am. I make peanut butter toast and coffee. Despite repeated reminders Sam has forgotten to buy vegemite. Grrr.

9:13am. I leave the house with Bruno and Otto. It’s gonna be hot today, so we are getting our walk done in the relative cool.

I have some rubbish in my hand to put in the bin on the corner, bulky items that would just fill our garbage unnecessarily. It is one of my petty tyrannies against the council making our rubbish collection potentially more expensive recently. Anyway, something in my hand (said the actress to the bishop) just doesn’t really work with the two of them specially starting out. They tie me in knots. The colourful old receptionist from Biba comes the other way and comments on me being tied in knots. What can I say?

The Sun is shining. It’s a glorious morning.

The bulldogs are feisty as we walk up Gertrude Street. The two of them do synchronise wee’ing on the (large) garden cnr George Street. (The one the council replanted and which is now half dead)

A shirtless black guy with a ripped torso, just wearing basketball shorts, comes walking towards us at Napier Street, he has tattoos on his well developed chest. He smiles, and says hi, as we pass each other by.

A shopping trolley is pushed behind us up Gertrude Street with a squeaky wheel, just like in Thoroughly Modern Millie… no no no, my dictation catches me out… “Shoo Shoo, Shoo Shoo.”

Walking down Brunswick Street, a cute well-built, Italian guy comes the other way. Big eyes, toothy smile. He smiles at the Bulldogs. And then smiles at me. Yes, good morning, I think.

Straight after the Italian boy, a baby faced Middle Eastern guy in a black t-shirt and black track pants with a big bulge in the front of his track pants. He is prattling away in, I don't know, Persian on the phone as I pervert at how hung he is. Nice, I think.

There are chicks in exercise gear, boys in shorts with thick calves, women in headscarves, old women with walking sticks, a fat man in a hoodie walking with us, towards us, or away from us.

We meet a dog owner friend outside the Connie Benn Centre, she says she still misses Buddy.

9.35am. Corner of Moor Street and Brunswick Street, a cute round face, black guy comes towards us in skin tight shorts and t-shirt. He gives way to a car turning into Moor Street from Brunswick Street. I want to push him out in front of the car. It’s your right of way, sunshine, take it, claim it.

9:44am. Approaching Victoria Street, a guy in tight jeans and black hair looking like Oliver out of Saltburn gets out of his car and buys a parking ticket. Then, as the bulldogs take a shit and generally faff about, he takes out a banana peels it down and starts eating it suggestively.

After we turn into Johnson Street, a bunch of babbling chicks walks along behind us yapping on. Thankfully they turn off at Young Street.

A guy in black shorts with good legs walks in front of us. He’s got one of those strange haircuts that is cut around in the straight line on the curve of his skull.

The sun shines beautifully. The sky is radiant blue. The problem with walking at this time of the morning is none of the dog bowls are out for the dogs to have a drink. They both pant with big, pink tongues.

And the epidemic of smashed glass on the footpath continues. I think the smash glass everywhere is a sign of some sort of trouble in society, surely? At best, it’s a sign of no one caring about their environment, at worst it’s a deliberate attack on the environment they live in. And that just reads unhappiness.

9:50am. I look up Rochester Street and two chicks have parked their car in the middle of the street to unload it. Despite the fact there are plenty of car parks in which they could park. Another sign of the times. 

“I’m unloading here do you mind?” she'd say if anyone questioned her.

“Yes, I do mind, you are blocking the fucking street.”

“How dare you speak to me like that…”

“Did I add, you bitch.”

9:55am. As we approach, Chapel Street, a gormless skinny guy in a black t-shirt and white pants with a blue floral pattern, that look distinctly like girl’s pants, is vaping as he comes the other way.

10:03am. Corner of our street, the Sister’s of Charity are approaching from the distance in further up the street. They look like a couple of ghosts floating along the footpath. As we meet up, one of the nuns says that Bruno and Otto look like twins.

A woman turns out of the last street before home with a Vizsla and walks towards Gertrude Street in front of us. The dog’s golden fur shining in the sunshine.

10:09am. We’re home.

1pm. I head down the street. The building work at 131 Smith Street is really loud, I assume really annoying people live on the east side of Gore Street.

I’ve nearly got to the corner of the street when I realised I’d forgotten my wallet. What is wrong with you? I say to myself? Is it the sun shiny day? Is it the blue sky?

It is a glorious day 27 degrees.

11:14 am. I walk into Woolworths. I am interested in buying some new white coffee mugs. We’ve broken quite a few in the last while. I am very particular about my white coffee mugs, I only like certain mugs. Yesterday’s attempt to buy some in Spotlight was a dismal failure. I, actually, like the Woolworths brand, but Woolworths in Fitzroy doesn’t stock them. I see they stock them in the Moonee Ponds site, and they look promising. A four pack for $10.

So, I go down to the Fitzroy shop to see what they have, just on the off-chance that they do stock them. They don’t.

Oh yes, I know, the dizzy heights of life, yes, yes, it’s all glitz and glamour here, but sometimes you just have to go and buy new mugs.

11.21am. St Marks Recycle. I get an old James Stewart, Dean Martin, George Kennedy & Rachel Welsh Western called Bandolero (1968)

1148 films in my collection.

I get a Charlie Chaplin movie Lamplight, (1952) billed as his greatest talkie. I see it is badly scratched, but at $1 I’m willing to give it a go. It turns out to be no good.

11:35am, I leave St Marks Recycle.

I get to the bakery and see a black Subaru Outback pull up and the cute son, shaggy blonde hair, young surfer look, gets out and walks up Smith Street so I follow behind him. Just because he walks in front of me, you know as you do. Board shorts, t-shirt. Growing into an adult. I’m sure the girls, or the boys, have noticed him already. I wish I was his age again, the destruction caused by climate change in the future and his potentially sad end, withstanding. Knowing what I know now, I guess. Sure. Could you imagine? If there was a god, we would. You know, if you had a real god that actually did god shit, and not some mythical uptight representation of conservative values, that would be possible.

A muscle, I reckon gay, guy with an incredible arse walks past me in shorts and singlet. He hugs another guy he meets in the street coming towards us with more than just ‘a friend’ vibe. The muscles in that guy’s butt had to be seen to be appreciated.

11:49am. I’m home.

We ate burgers for lunch with large chips. Sam accuses me of being, oh, I don’t know what, for wanting two separate large chips.

I get to re-writing my current short story. I add the things I’ve thought of in the last day, or so. I re-write the end.

I put the fan on and watch YouTube for the afternoon.

Sam eventually comes and lies on the couch and laughs inanely to TikTok videos.

The sun sparkles outside, the day remains glorious, even if we’re not out in it. We can still see it being glorious beyond the back doors.