You know, sometimes I look around my house, especially when the sun is setting and the day is drifting into night, when the light has become fragile at the panes of glass and it seems so still and quiet, contained and silent and it, almost, makes me feel sad. Not sad in a sad way, but sad in a reflective way. Melancholy, maybe, for all the things that have gone before, all the people I have known, all the good times and, yes, all the bad times - for all the things that have been.

I always wanted to live on my own, right from the very start, when I moved out of home and bought my first house. Tom still can't believe that I have never rented. I was fortunate to have had an old aunt, who despite having been married for thirty five years, was most probably a lesbian (Lottie had been reading up on the "gay" gene, at one stage, how it is, allegedly, passed down through the maternal side and came to the conclusion that my aunt was where I got mine from. Thanks Auntie, I love you even more because of it. I miss you, when I think about you like this) and who never had children, who left me enough money to buy myself a house. It didn't seem like such a big deal at the time, I didn't feel rich, or anything like that, but was more involved in finding a house that I could afford, which was, probably, the cheapest house in Fitzroy, at the time, but a house and mine. So, I guess I was lucky, even though I didn't think that way at the time. I was breaking out and discovering the world and that's what was on my mind, rather than reflecting on my good fortune.

Well, anyway, people turned up and flatmates need homes and friend's needed to congregate and I never ever did manage to live on my own, until now - which is kind of ridiculous, as my current house is twice as big as my first house, which would have been a much better proposition as a single person's dwelling, anyway...

Don't get me wrong, I've had the best time, the most fun and have had the most amazing friends because I shared my house and life. We all had more fun than any group of friends ever deserved to have. We loved, we laughed, we played, we talked, we fought, at times and we all, nearly, not quite, slept with one another. We scared new-comers, who didn't quite fit in, we embraced and loved those who did - some fitted into both categories, Tom ran from the house, on his first visit, but then became the main instigator in the scaring, eventually. It was a big party house, there for a time and we all partook, guided and cajoled... we got quite a reputation and a number of us had the strange experience, when we were out some place of being invited to a great party by a perfect stranger, which, as I'm sure you have guessed, turned out to be here.

Many a time some trade would utter, as his first words, as he was being led in, I've been here before.

I loved every minute of it and wouldn't change one, single second...... which is probably why my time on my own hasn't quite been the euphoric experience that I have harboured since my first days in Fitzroy.

When the sun is going down and the day has become brittle and I sit (purposefully) in my lounge room and drink in the quiet, I can still see all the faces and I can still hear all the laughter.

And I'm not really sure if I want to live on my own, any longer.

Anyway, my (rather long-winded) point is that I no longer am going to be living on my own. Josh lands on my doorstep tonight, after five years in Berlin, for a couple of months, at the least. He is hyperactive and naughty and I love him dearly.

And Mark called me earlier this week to say that our friend, David M, is heading to India and is looking for some where to live when he comes back, in a couple of months, for six months. Then today, David called me, when I was flat out and some how I found myself saying yes, to which David M practically squealed with delight and then said, I'd so love to live with you Chris, it would be for six months to a year, max. It will be great! (Suddenly, it is a year?) He's centred and spiritual and oozes calm and tranquility, (Even if most of his yoga students don't know he was once a filthy crystal addict, bottom, I do) which only makes me want to mess his hair and throw dirt on him.

And he who shall never be mentioned - one of my closest friends, who specifically forbade me to ever mention him in my journal that I have kept through all of the above mentioned times and which I, from time to time, threaten to publish - asked me months ago if he could move in...

which I had started to consider, just recently.

So, there goes the neighbourhood... here, take my hand, hang on tight, here we go again. Every thing will be grand.

And my house old mate, Simon, called today - I called his boyfriend, Bern, for car advice, yesterday - to say that we hadn't seen each other for three years - three fucking years, my how busy we all have got - and that I'd better get my arse over to his place on Sunday for a Xmas barby, as it had been far too long.

Is there something in the air... other than smoke?

Who is going to be next?

Or is that three?