Friday Night Escape to the Country

Friday night escape to the country

Beck and I walked up Bourke Street together, just as I was smsing Rachel with my tsunamis joke – the one about the surf classic being won by an Indonesian on a wardrobe. I was heading back to Myer to buy some new work shoes. I went last night, but spent too long in the underwear department, gazing at the pictures and giving the eye to a gay couple, one of who was giving me the eye

The sock department Myer-lady was really lovely, old time shop assistant up for a chat. I heard about her kids, as she hunted for pure cotton socks for me. Nothing was too much trouble.

The bloke in the shoe department was named Andrew. As he was off getting me the required pair, I recognised his voice. When he came back I said, Are you Andrew, my ex L’s friend. He kind of recoiled and stumbled over his words.

“L…ah…from New Zealand?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Oh, I don’t have any contact with him.”

Andrew and L cheated behind their respective b/f’s backs.

I’d been to Andrew’s house, for goodness sake.

I said who I was, but he seemingly kept his distance after that. It was as though I had conjured the spirit of distant past and he didn’t like it. So, he got me my various pairs of shoes and he managed to fit them in silence.

Then when we were done, he asked if I still lived in Fitzroy?

So you do know who I am.

Then, when I was doing my last yes-wrap-them-I’ll-take-them sashay down the (red) carpet, I pulled my phone out of my pocket in response to its beep to see where it had clicked over to from all my standing and sitting and there on the screen was L’s name. Don’t you just love that shit?

I bought myself a brand new pair of 501’s, not, of course, on sale and another pair which looked good too, only a little discounted, avoiding the fad jeans that would date quicker than Kylie’s latest hit.

My shopping expertise and impeccable good taste seemed to have left me, from neglect, probably. But then I saw a shirt that I liked and then another, this goes with that, and that with that, and once I got going there seemed to be no stopping me – it all comes back like riding a fucking bike.

Five hundred bucks later I was wondering up Lonsdale Street struggling under the weight, as the rain started to sprinkle the world lightly, like fine dusting on the top of a cake.

But I did feel somewhat lightened of the burden of life, more able to make life-changing decisions, like clean up my wardrobe and get my house in order, so a little retail therapy is a good thing. Fancy that I’d scoffed at it for so long – a direct correlation to my meanness with money to be sure.

Mark called to see where I was, as I was struggling past the catholic university, as he and Luke were about to start a movie and if I was just down the road they’d wait for me.

Ab said that we all need to do a little retail therapy once in a while and that she didn’t ever see me ever fritter my money away – such a nice way to say that I was tight.

I called Tom to see if he wanted to come to Bolago, but he wasn’t inclined to allow himself to be at Bolago without a car and means of escape. Maybe he’d drive up on Sunday.

I called Lottie back as she’d lost my work number and it seemed to be troubling her on the message that she had left. The tickets that we searched for on Wednesday night, the ones that she thought Auntie P would think she was dopey for losing, hadn’t even arrived yet. She’d found out after she’d plucked up the courage to call P to find out. I’d see her Monday night for our first MTC play of the year.

I spoke to Manny as I packed my stuff up for the country. He been to the gym and was home preparing his meals. We agreed to see each other Sunday, but, of course, we turned each other on and we discussed me dropping in on my way through to Bolago, leaving it in my court finally to make the decision. Manny didn’t mind either way, but I could tell he was keen.

As I approached the freeway at 22.15, I called to say that I was too tired and that I was going to keep going to the country. He’d obviously got himself all prepared and he sounded a little disappointed. He does that thing where he says, I’ll leave it up to you and if I don’t see you within the next half hour I’ll know you’re not coming. When he wants me to do something he never concedes, he just puts it back onto me. So when I found myself sitting against the bonnet of the car – I got out to have a smoke as I talked – in Brunswick Road rubbing my hard-on…

I didn’t want to get to Bolago after mid-night, but I wanted Manny too.

And I was only, at that stage, five minutes away from him, so I let the car decide for me and within minutes I was at his door. I didn’t even need to knock, he heard me approaching. We ripped each other’s clothes off and were kissing in seconds. (It was 11.11 as we kneeled on the bed with spoofy cocks) And then I was putting my clothes back on and was going. Manny held out his hand and joked that that would be fifty bucks and I told him he was cheap.

I was back in the car and on the freeway by 23.20.

I hit our road at 23.59 and was at our front gate at 12.04. Not bad going. The Peugeot purred as it tore through the night.