Sunday

7.30am. I got up. I was thinking it was Monday morning, until I was dressed, when I realised it was Sunday, with a certain amount of joy and renewed lightness about the day, as you may well understand.

I made coffee. David called before I had the coffee done. We laughed. He was getting ready to go to the airport to pick up his friend, David, who is arriving home from Sydney, having just returned from London.

David said Chang Mai (His drug rehab) was 6 years ago.

I laughed when he said he’d taken a serepax, 2 antidepressants and his thyroid medication. “Clearly, the thyroid medication isn‘t working,:” I said.

“What do you mean?” he questions.

But, I am laughing too much. I don’t know why it amused me so? But finally I manage to say, “How much did you say you weighed last time you were on the scales?”

Aerosmith retire from touring over frontman Steven Tyler’s vocal injury. Band say they made decision after it became apparent voice of lead singer would not be able to fully recover.

That is sad, I think, I am a bit of an Aerosmith fan.

8am. Sam and Otto were up.

8.30am. I make more coffee.

I watch Coldwarmotors. 1960 Impala 2 dr, 1959 Buick hardtop sedan.

Sam cleans. Well, it is Sunday, after all. I just lift my feet when he does the vacuuming, feeling no shame as the vacuuming is my job. 

Otto is feisty all morning, so he was put in his crate to chill out.

10am. Bruno went outside for a wee in the garden. When Bruno came back inside, I let Otto out of his crate and he went out the back, started sniffing the ground from the top of the stairs, sniffed right to the exact spot Bruno wee’d and wee’d there himself. It is truly their super sense, I think. Then he had a shit.

The sun was shining, and it was nice to stand in it for a short time to feel its warmth bath me.

10.20am. Sam wants to wash the dogs, but I am not feeling it. My right arm is still sore, it still aches. I must remember to mention it in one of my upcoming medical appointments.

Bruno sits with me on the couch.

10.35am. I started watching Dylan McCool and his 1958 Plymouth.

We ate fried rice for lunch with papadums.

1:56pm. We take the dogs for a walk. The sun is shining, the sky is almost blue not quite, with clouds, it’s still a cool day despite the sun.

We walk up the sunny side of Gertrude Street.

2:10pm. We turn into Nicholson Street and are instantly bathed in warm winter sunshine. I love that turn, I love the son (Whose son? Anyone’s son. Ha ha. Oh, my dictation putting that in my head again?) sun we encounter after we have turned, it’s really lovely. 

2.17pm. The sun is shining all the way down Nicholson Street.

2:19pm. We turn into Bell Street.

2:21pm. We’re at the corner of Mahoney Street and Bell Street. 

2:39pm. Bruno and Otto and I are waiting outside Coles whilst Sam shops. The usual number of people stop to pat the bulldogs. Bruno stretches himself out across the footpath, as he always does. People are enchanted by the way he lies out in the super dog pose.

The sun is shining, in fact, I’m a bit sweaty from the walk.

A woman comments, “someone’s tired,” she says. She is looking at Bruno lying on the footpath.

“He’s very good at making himself comfortable wherever he is,” I say.

Otto sits quietly too. He even sits on command.

I think there’s an advantage to looking as though you are writing on your phone, or speaking into it, as then you have to speak to the general public less often? You look distracted.

2:47pm. I rest my head against the facade of Coles and close my eyes with the sun shining on my face.

Sam re appears at 2:55pm. 

3:03pm. We’re home again.

3.24pm. We leave for Harvey Norman on Bell Street in the Peugeot to replace the shitty LG vacuum. The log book indicates it is its first drive since February.

We get breath tested in Lower Heidelberg Road by a young, cute redheaded copper who has a moustache, a toothy smile, and a big bulge in his pants. The boy has a big dick on him, I can see that from the cock height position I am sitting. “One continuous blow,” he says.

“Oh, mate…” I think, as I am gazing at his crotch.

3:47pm. We’re at Harvey Norman on Bell Street. 

I’m sitting on a grey plastic table and chairs. It’s up for sale as a clearance item for $699 outside the main entrance to Harvey Norman. The afternoon sun is shining beautifully, as far as winter sun shines beautifully, kind of warm, and embracing, and comforting, you know, because that’s how winter son is – I love the way my dictation writes sun as son, as we always want to know what everyone’s son are doing, now don’t we.

4.05pm. Sam is out and he’s not that happy with the product care warranty with Harvey Norman. It is not the simple replacement scheme he’d been led to believe it was. Harvey Norman is sending the piece of shit vacuum away to be assessed. Sam is not happy with that outcome.

“Let’s go,” is all he could manage initially.

4.09pm. We leave Bell Street.

Victoria Street > Dundas Street > Victoria Road > Westgath Street > High Street > Smith Street > Westgarth Street > Gore Street > Johnston Street > Chapel Street > George Street > Greeves Street

4.30pm. We’re home.

I watched What’s My Line. Johnny Olson and Maurice Chevalier, as I lay out on the couch wasting my life on YouTube. Still, What’s My Line is surely better that all that American politics I usually watch. Actually, I like What’s My Line, it is like a window into a world that no longer exists..

We ate roast chicken and roast vegetables for dinner.

We watched the Dog House, celebrity addition with Lydia Williams, Adam Cooney, Melissa Tkautz and John Wood 

We watched Mission: Impossible – Dead Reckoning Part One. What a load of shit. Tom Cruise is a terrible actor. He might be a great movie star, but a great actor he is not.

10.15pm. We went to bed.

Sam cleaned Bruno’s ears.

10.45pm. Lights out.