Later

I went for that bike ride, it was mad dogs and English men out there. It was supposed to be 37 degrees and it may well have been. Wow! It's been a while since I was riding into any shade I could find, as I was at the end there. I only wore a singlet, well, it didn’t feel that hot when I left home. I can feel that my shoulders are pink, tingling, stinging. Sharp when I move as my shirt slides across my skin.

When I got back and I was standing in my kitchen red-faced and sweating and gasping for breath and shaking, my phone beeped and it was Ravi saying that he wanted to catch up.

Do you think he's psychic?

Of course, it was the same story.

"When will you be home?"

"I'll be home tomorrow afternoon."

"What time?"

"Around 2pm."

"How about the morning?"

"I see my mum in the mornings."

He knows that... but he lives on the fringe of the suburbs, out where you need a bus connection with the train to get home. And he doesn't drive, he's failed his test four times. It's a sore point now, he get's sniffy if I mention it.

Why does he do it, I thought? I guess, he's just answering the call and hoping for the best. I guess, I could be a little more accommodating? I don't know why I'm not? I could ditch my sick mother, after all, so he wouldn't have to miss the last bus.

"When will you be home in the morning?" he asks.

I kinda lose interest. I guess, I shouldn't be like that.

A Movie and a Glass of Vino

I just thought, no date for a Saturday night? Not so long ago, I had three of them on the go, but they seem to have drifted off. I guess, I didn't like any of them quite enough. They were all really nice, they all had nice things about them. Ravi smart and funny, Alex sensitive and funny, Ben boisterous, but none of them made me go wow! Turned my head. Made me follow sniffing the air. Ravi could have, but he always seemed to be unavailable.

You can't make it something that it isn't, that it ain't. I learned that long ago. And you know, I want more than just the sex thing, more than, Stick it in here!... and then listening to a baby seal barking until you've thoroughly clubbed it to death.

I want to talk and inspire and be made to think and be taken to, and get to take to, places we'd never go to otherwise.

Until then...

No date. Sad face. Besides, I was too drunk. Ha, ha.

David and I watched Frost/Nixon. I saw it as a play at the MTC. I thought the play was fantastic. The movie was pretty much the same, but didn't quite hold the dramatic suspense the way the play did. It was good though.

Now, I'm going to ride my bike. Gotta build up those thighs for when Mr. Right strolls on in. You know, be ready. Ha, ha. I'd better go see how hot it is outside.

More Wine

I had my first wine at 16.15, is that bad? Oh, I thought, toss it, it's a Saturday, after all, the weekend, for god’s sake. I didn't have to drive any where, all my chores were done, so to speak.

But, I was tonguing for it, I guess I should add that. Since I've quit smoking... I can taste the taste of it just when I think of it. I'm sure that's not good?

I wasn't leaving the house, it didn't matter if I fell over, not that I was planning to.

Now the newspapers and the politicians would have you believe that such a thing is a kin to binge drinking, or something, like no Aussie has ever drunk alcohol, or a problem, four o'clock in the afternoon, after all, but what do they know, they want to sell newspapers, or win votes.

Headlines read - Booze nation Aussies 'rather give up sex than grog'

I say we should all drink just a little more, relax, don't be so uptight. We're all so uptight.

As my favourite expresion goes, relax, it may never fucken happen!

Now, I've drunk half a bottle and I'm feeling no pain. I have to admit, I'm beginning to like the feeling, you know, slightly woozy. Is that bad?

Maybe, I'll fall down, kick my legs in the air and dribble, you know, giggling. That’s fun, just thinking about it makes me laugh.

I think I'll stop short of pissing myself, though, think of the laundry. Think of your jeans once they go cold... and are stuck to you. Oo! I had a friend who used to piss himself when he was drunk. Yeah, choice.

And, you know, paralytic vomiting isn't much fun. All that retching. Er! Sore stomach muscles, sore stomach muscles. And saliva for days.

Lick

He tastes like cum and good intensions

No photos

Please, please, no photos today

Nice mouth

Can we just talk

Dead Heiress

 So beautiful, Robin Whitehead

Sunset - One of My Own

I'm sure sunsets are good for the heart

Oh Madge, too much surgery

Why do these beautiful young men want to be with her and her hacked up face

Classic Alfa

Such a cool car

Sometimes I Have the Technical Capability of a Gnat

My computer speakers haven't been working for months now. I'd checked all the wires, connections, plugs, blue, green, white, check, check, check, but nothing seemed out of order. (Missy is sitting under my chair licking my feet as I type, I love it when she does that, that sand papery tongue on my skin, sends a chill up my spine.) But, I'm sure I heard them go zap, or bang, or pop, or criccckkk, or shhhhhhh, or something, (the speakers, not the cat) so I figured they were cactus and needed to be replaced. I've just been slack about getting around to doing it. I've been swapping to my lap-top if I wanted sound. But today, after taking my mum out to lunch, taking her shopping and then weeding her garden for a couple of hours, until my hands hurt and I couldn't pull the god damn weeds any longer, (pussy, no I wouldn't say I was a pussy) I decided I could go and do just that.

And I did.

I got home, ripped out the old speakers, installed the new ones and whacked on a favourite website to listen to its glorious dulcet tones and nothing.

Crap!

Grrr! What could it be? Don't tell me I'm going to have to take the whole thing into the shop, being the techno dunce that I am. In desperation, I checked the volume of my computer to find that it was set on mute.

Mute!

Double crap!

Click the box and la, la, la... sound.

Does that mean? I slid under the desk and pulled out the new speaker cable, pushed the old speakers across with my foot and plugged in their cable and la, la, la, they work just fine.

All this time, when I thought my speakers were rat shit, my computer was on mute.

Idiot!

 

He's with me, okay

I Would Have...

When you stopped that taxi for me on the street, it was very nice, did I thank you? You held the door open, you smiled, waved your hand through the air pointing inside the car. You were adorable, I so loved you at that moment.

But you did not want to see me again? You didn't say it, but you just walked away, with a slap of the car roof, you didn't look back. I knew then that I would never see you again. No kiss, no hug, no lingering look. Gone. Just like that. After all that time? That was it, that day. Who'd have known? You and me. I caught your eyes at the last minute, before you turned and headed up that street opposite. I should have known, I could see your departure, there in your blue, blue eyes. A last look, as though you were checking, the final scene. Curtain down, as you turned.

The last thing you said was my name, Marcus, as an indication that the taxi was there ready for me, by the side of the road. To gather my things, to get in, so I could leave. So you could leave, more importantly. I just didn’t hear it that way. I should have heard it as good bye, Marcus. I didn’t not then, not there. But, I have in the many times I have replayed it in my head, since. Marcus. An end. A coda. A completion. Good bye.

I just didn’t know it at the time. If I had, I would have paid more attention, noticed how the sun and the clouds were positioned. I would have taken more notice, of the day, of the time, of the people all around. I would have... felt the breeze, sniffed the air, taken a longer, last look of you. How your hair fell about your face. How your clothes hung from your body. How quickly you stepped as you walked away. How quickly you turned and left.

 

Wilmer Valderrama, allegedly, the girls like him because he's got a dick like a horse

Australia Day... or is that, "Wake up Australia!"

I slid through the day moving from one distraction to the next, oh so easily, twiddling my thumbs, scratching my arse, it was a public holiday, after all. Doing everything else but the job at hand, I have a talent for it.

Shane is in Perth. David is in New Zealand. Just me and Missy and she seemed cranky all day, after I pushed her fat arse off the pile of clean towels, first thing. Slit eyes, head spin, dirty look. If she'd had green vomit... In her defence, someone had stored the clean towels on the floor. WTF? (I'm sure it wasn't me) So, what’s a cat to think?

I had the house to myself. Ah, the solitude. I started out writing, but I quickly got to reading blogs, messing around with pictures, designing new banner headings, pasting letters, ransom note'esque, watching dvds, watching porn.

It's funny how it's 9am and then it's 2pm, just like fucken that.

I headed back to bed with my lap-top, hid in my room, upstairs, out of sight. I took myself away from all distractions to write... like they were rampant in an otherwise empty house.

The curtains were drawn - when aren't they in my bed room - and the balcony doors were open, a cool breeze blew. Safe in the shadows, like a cave, my cave.

I gave in and watched Walk the Line on dvd. I liked it, it was kind of authentic to the period, but an Academy Award win, you've got to be kidding me? I guess now that Hollywood only makes turkeys the benchmark for Oscar has dropped considerably.

But, Joaquin Phoenix that lips is as sexy as hell.

I must go see Avatar so I can hang shit on it.

The day slipped away, as days do, especially days off.

I had chicken risotto delivered to my eerie. Igor thanked sir for the 50 cent tip, he seemed pleased as he limped away. I felt cheap. I ate it with my hands, chicken stock dripped from my chin.

The guilt slipped up and tapped my shoulder, no matter how much I pushed it away.

I'd ridden my bike for two days, but not y'day. I couldn't face it, what kind of fitness shmuck does that make me? Spent on the third day. I guess, I should just embrace 100 kilos for what it will be... better than lung cancer, let’s face it. Although, coughing up blood to the surprise of the general public, I'm sure, would not be without its charms. Could you imagine Mr and Mrs Beige's look of horror... mucous and cherry red spittle, could just be worth it.

Somewhere around 8.30, I decided I just couldn't be so lame... guilt stabbed my heart... daylight savings is a godsend, now ain't it? I gotta have "stickability" with this fitness carry on, my mum's favourite word for us kids when we were growing up, not to give up on stuff... when my mum could remember words that is.

I decided last Friday that I had turned over a new cliché, cliché, cliché... really going to move my fat arse, actually stomach, until it is no longer there to move. No excuses you lazy sack of shit!

I pulled on my brown shorts and slipped on black socks and slid my feet into my runners - Christian Louboutin eat your fucken heart out - and pushed myself out the door with untied laces flapping around my thin ankles, like snakes. Okay, jelly snakes. Yep, still got thin ankles, I guess I should be proud.

Just go walking, remember you did have those two Drumsticks the night before last. (Ed note - the calorie laden ice creams and not the chooks leg, Boysenberry artery clogger and Caramel stroke inducer) Don't even think about the bottle of red Friday night and Saturday night. That's a bottle each night, not one spread over two nights. I don't even get pissed any longer. Binge drinking my fat cunt! How hard can a walk be?

I started walking, but it seemed too slow, so I got to jogging. It was cool. My shins burned a bit, but otherwise I did well. My preference in more recent years has been bike riding. I used to jog a lot, but dodgy knees, you know the tear. But, jogging is calming, it has a certain freedom, a certain headway, definite forward motion. It's good to feel your lungs gasp, sometimes. I managed to jog all the way up Elgin to Swanston. Okay, I did it in two, walking in the middle around Brunswick. Oh, all right, and around Lygon, but I jogged the rest. I ran away from that guilt, hovering around me all day like a fart.

It Is Time We Changed Our Flag

It is so time we changed our flag. You know, I couldn't care less about the republic, I can't see what difference that is going to make to any of us. And if you are talking about direct election a la American style Presidential type shenanigans, then suddenly I come over all monarchist and my feelings for old Lis increase exponentially. More politics for the very wealthy the world does not need. (Yes, yes, the queen is very wealthy, I know) We need less government not more.
However, the flag is different. We need a flag that says Australia, like Canada has a flag that so unmistakably says Canada.
We don't need a flag that says, Oh what country is that?
I guarentee you that a huge number of Australians would have trouble telling the New Zealand flag from the Australian flag. (Of course, I realise, we don't have to dumb down the argument, but I'm sure you understand my point)
And what are we best known for? What is the greatest iconic Australian image?

Change the Aussie Flag

Change the Aussie Flag

Fat Bottomed Boys

I've just been for another bike ride around the Yarra. Day 2. I'm going again tomorrow, if my arse can stand it, sitting down on the seat. It can be a bit sensative when you first go into training. Ha, ha, listen to me, training. No, it is, gotta think positively. I'm going to get fit again. What did my exgirlfriend used to say, You are all sinewy. I was never really sure what that meant, but it sounded lean. Let's see if I can get her to repeat that, especially now her husband Steve is going to fat. Ha, ha, the best man wins... will win.

The bike path was full of fat arsed boys in checked shorts, today. Don't know why?

Oh won't you take me home tonight?

Oh down beside your red firelight,

Oh and you give it all you got

Fat bottomed boys you make the rockin' world go round

Fat bottomed boys you make the rockin' world go round

Just wandering along... no hurry, looking for the next buffet, no doubt... no surprise to me how they ended up beefy butted boys.

You know there is a point when they begin to look like they have girl's bums, when the waistband gets real tight and the hips spread outwards and they get that Jupiter 2 shaped look.

My mate Fergus used to love them with big bums. "Something to hang onto," Fergus used to say. "All that flesh."

Another mate of mine used to say straight boys had fat bums. I was never too sure about that one. I guessed it was because they didn't exercise them quite like gay boys do.

Tom used to say that Melbourne boys had chunky arses. I was never convinced about that one either. Tom said that Sydney boys generally had smaller arses. Maybe it's the cooler climate?

I'm lucky, my arse doesn't get fat. I put all my weight on in the stomach. Ah, er, um, I guess that's lucky.

 

Tristan was full of nerves as he entered the swim suit section of the competition

Fletcher Crappy Jones

I manage to take my suit pants to the tailor to get repaired.

I went to Fletcher Jones and bought a suit and two pairs of pants, not so long ago. I went because my mum was paying and the shop was close to her place in Camberwell. But also because Fletcher Jones are supposed to be good quality and the customer service excellent. Not true. The pants leg of one of the pants came unstitched within the first couple of wears, so I took them back and they repaired them. Then not so long after the other leg came unstitched, so I again returned them.

This time the Fletcher Jones shop assistant believed the already repaired leg was the original product and she practically accused me of being a liar when I told her that both legs had been stitched badly and were faulty.

"We no longer do repairs, you will need to go to the tailor, I can give you the address."

WTF? "You did repairs a few weeks ago?"

"Ve no longer do, but I can send you..." she said. "Did you catch these with your foot?"

"Well, no they were only stitched with one stitch either side, which is the reason why they have come down."

"No, this is not possible."

"Um, I'm sorry, but I am telling you how they were."

"Go and look at any pair of pants in this shop and you will see this is how they are presented for sale," she said pointing at the already repair leg.

"No, I'm telling you how these pants were... do you think I don't have better things to do with my time than come in here and make up stories?"

"It is not possible, as I said go and look at any pair..."

I wanted to say get fucked Arnold Schwarzenegger's mother. "I don't really care about the pants you have in this shop, I am telling you how this pair was..."

"No, zis is not the case..."

"I've bought back faulty goods and you have practically accused me of being a liar, is this the usual standard of Fletcher Jones customer service?" I asked.

"I am telling you I can help you," she continued. "But, these pants have been vorn, so you vill need to get them dry cleaned first."

But, of course. "They had also been worn the first time you repaired them and you didn't make me get them dry cleaned then."

"You vill need to get them dry cleaned..."

She's doing this deliberately. "You know something, don't worry, I'll get them repaired myself..."

"I'm telling you I can help..."

"Forget it. You have been SO helpful," I said. And here it comes, predicatbly. I can't believe what I am about to say. "I've never shopped at Fletcher Jones before and I can tell you I will never shop here again."

I slid the pants back into the plastic bag and left the shop, doing my best heal turn.

And then, funnily enough, the pants leg on the suit, I bought, gave way and the hem fell down on them too. I was shocked! Zis is not possible!

Anyway, I'm off to Tony the Tailor to pick them up. 

Moving My Sedentary Arse

Okay, I've been for a bike ride. I didn't manage it yesterday, or Fri, Sat, Sun, Mon last weekend, but today I did. Hopefully, I can manage it tomorrow too. No reason not to, ha, ha! The fucking tennis is in the way, natch, however... I gave it and the suburban punters a wide birth.

Those boy bike riders in lycra, look as though they are riding with hardons, every one of them. Very nice.

And some of them jogging boys, just in shorts... woof! Especially the ones who haven't taken up the habit of wearing lycra under jogging shorts, you want to catch a glimpse of their jocks as they run, I know I do.

I so need to go get my hair cut, it's beginning to look like this.

Jonathan Taylor Thomas

You should see what it looks like when I come back from a ride with sweaty helmet hair. Oh, not pretty.

Although I like my hair longer, short hair is sooooooooo much easier to maintain.

I'm on day 11 of no smoking. So, that's pretty good, huh? And even then it was only for a week. 

I stared Jan 6th and gave up Jan 13th and before that it was some time before Xmas that I hadn't smoked for.

LouLou, who is looking after Bolago while Mark and Luke are away, asked me up for the weekend to "play" as she puts it. I said no because she is a big pot smoker.

I said no to G this weekend because I know he'll have the bong out.

I can't keep avoiding all of my pot smoking friends forever, I know. But just for now...

I never read the death notices, but yesterday I did, just out of the blue, don't know why. And there was one of my uni lecturers, Marg. She'd died suddenly a few days before. I liked her, she was unnaturally enthusiastic. You know quite the opposite from the cat's bum seriousness that most of the lecturers suffered from. 

But why, I ask? Why, when I never read the death notices, would I read the day that she was in? Funny huh?

It's a shame, she was nice.

The afternoon sun shone in the window onto the smooth skin on his flat stomach

It is connected directly to his... well, you know what it is connect to

You Only Get Unconditional Love With a Dog, Let's Face It.

I started to get the feeling that my friends were pissed off with me. I don't know why, but there seemed to be a reason for each to be cross with me. Maybe it was the pigs head nailed to my front door. Maybe it was the "who is this?" return text when I had text them. Ha, ha. Maybe, it's the silence - you know, you look up from your busy schedule and there it is. Maybe it was just me?

Jill because I drove to Lismore, rather than going on the road trip we had planned together. But that was in place of an air flight, 'cause I left it so late to book. Also, I criticised her work on The Bush Fire Alert Systems, as the info was sent to every household in Vic and not just those in the at risk areas. She's in charge of the marketing campaign. I said it was more political, in that case, than necessary. It's an election year after all. She looked very grim in responce.

Josh because I asked him to leave the house, after he had treated it as a motel for so long. He came to stay a night and stayed a week. Twice. Then he tried to repeat the trick and I called him on it. I didn't mind, really, but the final time David was giving me the shits and I didn't want a house guest. Shane reckons Josh has no reason to be pissed off. He disappeared and hasn't contacted me since, which is not usual for him. You do the maths.

David because no matter how many times I told him not to litter the house with his stuff he still did it. He was spoilt as a child, change of life baby boy in a Greek family who up until that point had managed only daughters. He just expects his way and is completely blind to any alternative. It's annoying, but Shane and I usually treat David's selfishness as a game. He can be quite generous, as well, but, in a way, when it benefits him too.

Rachel because I had got out of the habit of contacting her and I had notice that she had stopped contacting me. We used to text and email each other every day, I can't remember when that stopped.

G because he had just started contacting me again and it just worked out that I was quitting smoking and needed some alone time. He saw it as me ignoring him, yet again.

Aby because I'd ignored her and didn't go to visit when I went up north.

Well, that's how it seemed in my head anyway. I'm not sure why the paranoia was coming over me, but... maybe it's the withdrawal from pot and cigarettes, you know maybe I'm not going to come out of this unscathed. A ten year... oh let’s be honest, fifteen year daily pot habit.

And I know that I'm not the best friend as in keeping up 24 hour contact, but... that hasn’t changed, if you know what I mean?

Were they were being kind of offhand? Was I being particularly sensitive? I dunno?

I mentioned it to Beck and she said that I hadn’t changed. She said people are just getting more and more pissed off and shitty and crappy and caught up in their own little worlds, that’s what she’s noticed.

It’s funny that Beck and I are born a month apart and we both have the same cynical outlook on life and people. Funny we should end up working together.

So I started with Jill and had dinner with her last Monday night. She’s fine. She's had a stomach bug.

I called Rachel and she seems fine, just pissed off with the world and her marriage. You have to get out of it luv.

I emailed Josh and asked him why he was pissed off with me. He said he wasn’t, but I don’t believe him. False assumption, he said. But, what am I to think when the pattern of his friendship suddenly changes? Shane said it was a back down email, that clearly he was cross but he realises now that he is over being angry. He must realise that he was in the wrong, said Shane. Must he, I thought? Do people do that? Are we reading the same email. You know, as much as I love Josh... he can go... oh, I don't know. We've known each other for too long not to speak again.

G grunted down the phone and said, “What the fuck are you talking about?” He wanted pot. He always contacts me when he wants pot and he can't get it.

Ab called from Sydney and admitted that she was lonely and said she couldn’t wait to see me. She’s coming down in the next few weeks. She says she misses people like me, who make her laugh, who make her think.

David’s moving out, but that’s because one of his sycophants has offered him two rooms for the price of the one room he has with me, therefore enabling him to have an office from where to run his business. I hope the new chick isn't a neat freak, as David is so messy and he is blind to it. Comes from having your mother wipe your arse until you were ten. Actually, I hope the new chick is a neat freak. He, he! Is that mean?

So, why do we feel like this? Is it just fatigue? You know, end of year. Xmas madness. New Year. 2010, you say? Jesus fuck! Is it the weight of life getting you down? The grind of it all - get up, dust yourself off and do it all over again. You know, every day. Rush, rush, be on, be up, be on top. How many hours sleep do I deserve? Is it guilt? You know, my part in this, not being the best friend that I know that I can be. But what is that? I can't remember every small hurt or deceit, I know they are there, I know they occurred. Is it something else? The global Financial crisis? The environmental crisis? The booze in the streets crisis? Racist Australia? The wars. The earth quakes. The god damn tsunamis! The instability of our precious world and the knowledge we are not going to save it from here. We have to get between man and money to save the planet, which has never been successful in the past. Pity the poor children of today, they are toast!

But, as Beck said, it's clearly not me, it's them. She's a permanent member of the Christian fan club, as is Mark and Luke, as seems to be Shane. Jill too. The others are provisional, not unconditional.

You only get unconditional with a dog, let's face it.

 

Fast Cars and Booze, it's a Part of the Aussie Story

Just a few days later, after a crash that killer 5 young men, another group of young men was caught speeding.

"What does that say to the other families," asked the commissioner of police. "Where is the respect?"

What do either of these incidents have to do with one another?

Do the police just like the sound of their own voices when they sprout this crap?

And the conservative powers that be have gone into a spin. They are calling for Psych tests and brain scans and emotional history to ascertain if certain young men can even have a licence?

They are asking what can be done?

No, nothing can be done. Young men take risks, that's a part of being a young man and sometimes those risks end in disaster. That's just what happens? Nothing will change that.

You win some, you lose some 

Green fingers or what?

You know how I re-potted all of my plants a few months ago, well, I think they are doing pretty well because of it.

So That's My Day

The last few weeks when I've been over at my mum’s place, I've been thinking that I've never seen her garden so over grown with weeds. She has always been somewhat of a keen gardener and she has always got out there with a wide-brimmed hat and gloves and has scratched and pulled and manicured and chopped.

Now, all of a sudden, the weeds seem to be taller than the shrubs and more plentiful. The garden beds are positively bursting with all the wrong stuff. The place looks as though nobody really cares about it any longer.

As you know, I look after my mum, now a days. It's the reason I only work 3 days a week. I'm her carer. She has the beginning of Alzheimer’s and is beginning to struggle.

Anyway, after a few weeks looking at the garden in a kind of perplexed way - I'm sure with all the rain we've had lately, all of a sudden, the weeds have had a growth spurt - it suddenly dawned on me, Oh, I guess that's me. I suppose that's my job now. No, I'm not normally so slow, but it can take me a moment to get used to this power shift in the dynamic I have with my mother.

So, it is a lovely sunny day, the sky is blue, the sun is golden, I guess today is the day. It's my day off and I'm, actually, thinking it's going to be a nice way to spend the day. Maybe, some Jackie O sunglasses, a floral head scarf and some green gardening gloves. Ha, ha. I think I'd tend toward lesbian chic rather than anything quite so camp. Maybe, I should get myself a ute. Perhaps a flanny and some gum boots... then I could get a dog.

So, that’s my day. Christian's Garden Maintenance.

"Nothing too big that can't be pulled."

That's what the logo on the ute door would say.

 

A Glut Of Chihuahuas

There is a glut of Chihuahuas in California. Who'd have thought. I reckon it's because people buy them only to find out what nasty, bad tempered, snappy little dogs they really are. But, apparently, there is a shortage of them in New York, so they are being shipped across the USA from west to east. 

Who would have thought Chihuahuas were anything, you know, over supply, in short supply. The little bug-eyed varmints. 

They should put them in air tight containers to ship them east.

What would be the collective noun for Chihuahuas? I reckon a snarl.

Years ago, my friend, Leah's grandma used to have one, Mitsy. She was old and had a bad heart, for which she used to have to take pills. She used to arrive in her basket in which she had a velvet pillow and she'd be given pride of place, like one of the Queen's corgis. She'd growl and snap and she bit all of us once too often, so we used to chase her around, when gran was looking the other way, probably drinking tea, hoping we'd do 'er in. Leah used to get really pissed off with us.

Ah, fun times.

2007 Morgan Aero8

Can You Tell Which Is The Gay Twin And Which Is The Straight Twin?

He has the most adorable face, and when he wears his hat like that, just too cute

1970s Isuzu Opel 2 - every little brother's first car, in which he had his first kiss

He has been voted the most handsome man on more than one occasion

Morals Campaigner

I watched the story of Mary Whitehouse last night. My favourite scene.

She's talking to her husband.

"This oral sex? Have you heard of it?"

"Ay, yes..."

Mary looks perplexed. "You know what it is?"

"Ay," says her husband quietly.

"They... well..." She looks like she has tasted something sour. "Why? Why would you...?" She looks away then looks back to her husband. "I mean... if that's the state of their relationship, that they'd? have to resort to doing..." She screws up her face, just slightly. "... I guess we can only feel sorry for them."

I think morals campaigners are probably the scariest whacks on the fucked up totem pole, as they are the ones trying to impose a single point of view onto the majority.

Holier than thou... the minority knows what's best for the majority.

Of course, religion is the thing that has usually fucked them up.

Is it the most frightened and the most screwed up amongst us who become morals campaigners? In the same sense that it is the women who are most repulsed by their own bodies who are most likely going to tell their kids that nudity is wrong?

 

Jesus Xist

What is he good for? (U2'esque)

I stubbed my toe. "Jesus Xist!"

Things got really confusing. "Jesus Xist?"

The tsunami of water was three metres high when it crashed onto the beach. "Jesus Xist!"

There was the Grand Canyon there in front of me, as vast as everyone had ever claimed it was. "Jesus... Xist."

I returned to the car park to find my car stolen. "Jesus Xist!"

I saw a nice piece of arse. "Jesus Xist!" 😛

Sunset Coonabarabran

Orbicular - or do I mean heading around the same fucking circle... hopefully for the last fucking time

As the tow truck driver and I were gazing at my dead car by the side of the road in the dusky light of outback NSW, he pulled out his smokes and offered me one. I didn't have to be asked twice, such was the anxiety swirling around in my stomach.

When was that... last Wednesday? The one before. So, I've smoked for a week and a half.

Today was day 3 of quitting smoking. No use saying anything until after the first trimester, hey. I'd hate to stumble and trip on the bloody foetus of my giving up. I can hold my fingers up my cunt and across my mouth for that long, surely. I was a little scratchy on day one, let me tell you. I could have miscarried at any point. Angsty, yes that's what I would have called it. My mood could have spiralled out of control at any moment, but it didn't. I told Beck, after which she closed my office door and we didn't speak unless we had to, which wasn't much. Day two was easier.

It just makes me want to scream and throw my hands up in the air, you know. When am I going to be able to say 3 years of not smoking. When am I going to be able to say, Actually, I don't smoke, when someone offers me one? Still, I guess, it's better that I can say I have stopped than to have to say that I am still smoking.

How's this for a bruise? I got it while I was pruning a climbing rose. I kind of got caught on the thorn on a reverse bend where it went into my skin in the opposite way I was pulling the branch down and couldn't pull it out of my skin very easily. By the time I got it out, it looked like a fang had been in my arm. The blood was running down my arm and was dripping onto the bricks.

I can't get a really good picture of it, as it's on the underneath of my arm. I'm a bit nervous about such things, after ending up in hospital a few years ago with that infected elbow. But, it's neither hot nor red, just bruised, so I'm sure it will be fine. If I suddenly stop writing, you'll know I was wrong. Ha, ha. No, I don't expect that to happen.

Alex Came and Stayed

Alex came over and stayed the night. His house mate was having a party and Alex didn't really like the people who were going to attend, so he came and stayed with me. The first time we'd spent the night together. It was kind of cool.

I'd forgotten about sharing a bed all night, I kind of liked it. Playing footsies and cuddling. That other energy, pulling the doona in a different direction, it's nice, makes you feel a live and not selfishly wrapping yourself up like a kebab for the night. We even slept in each other's arms for a time, something I don't usually do as I get too hot.

I'd forgotten about gazing across, first thing, as the light broke and seeing two big brown eyes gazing back. He's so handsome. He smiled. "Good morning, sleepy head. It's 10.30." I wondered if he meant that 10.30 was late?

I'd forgotten about sour kissing morning breath, but I kissed him anyway, he was warm and keen.

We had coffee and OJ before he had to head off. Time to study, he said.

Aren't you on holidays?

At 35, he's trying to fast track his degree. I don't have time to piss around. Then he was gone, out into the day.

He commented favourably about my pruning in the front yard as he left.

"I want to see this trimmed and these edges straight by the time I get back."

I wondered how long I had before he came back?

Then I could think nothing but nice thoughts about him. You know, smiling and whistling, without even realising that I was smiling and whistling.

I'm Intolerant Of

I find I'm getting increasingly intolerant of things as I get older. I told Beck I thought there was something wrong with me but she didn't think there was, she said it happens, we just don't want to put up with things like we did when we were young pups, now that we are hitting our forties.

So, I find I'm getting intolerant of...

High heels click clack on the concrete behind me as I walk to work in the mornings. Ah, give me strength!

The yabber of voices talking nonsense on mobile phones anywhere in my vicinity.

"Can you take that some where else? It's why they call them mobile, after all."

Blood sucking lawyers; pushing the compensation barrow so that every aspect of our lives is affected and changed just so the LLB can earn millions of dollars at society's expense. It's no surprise to me that the forefathers banned them from advertising.

We can't do x, y & z any more, we might be sued by someone.

the diminishment of shame - people don't feel any shame at things that they shouldn't feel any shame over any longer, abortion, being a single mother, etc, which is good, but it also means they don't feel any shame at the things they should still feel shame about, being self focused and being cheap, mean, begging.

People who insist on running for the lift which is just leaving.

Fat people who sit in the next seat to you at the cinema or on an aeroplane.

Old women on motorised buggies, either walk or die, that's what I say.

Mothers with kids; their fucking prams and their squealing brats and the, obvious, belief that they can do anything they like and that their brats can disturb anyone they choose.

"Mother and child, mother and child, mother and child."

You haven't made the ultimate gift to the world, you just got sprogged up by some bloke while you had your ankles where your ears usually are.

You know, any idiot can get a driver’s licence, master a mobile phone plan, or have a kid. Have you noticed?

People who step out of shop doorways without looking.

Pedestrians who change direction not giving a damn whose path they step into.

Red heads.

Stupid people.

Everybody being scared.

of driver's who stop and hold up the traffic when they could squeeze through and keep going.

(not of red heads, of course. But, you have to say it, you know)

I used to be famously laid-back, nothing bothered me. What happened to that Christian? I wondered if I should go see a therapist. Everybody I know sees a therapist, so it would seem, but not me. Beck said no - Beck who does not see a therapist. She said people are just becoming more annoying, that it's them and not me. Nice thought, I thought, but surely some of it has to be me? Beck thinks I should go back to the gym. Beck has just discovered the gym and says she has never felt better. She says she now sees why everyone is becoming sooo annoying, it's because they sit on their fat arses for far too much of their lives. (eating junk food) Says Beck, who used to sit on her fat arse far too much. (eating junk food)

Of course, the more pressing news is that Channing burnt his weener with boiling water. Apparently, some sort of over sight saw boiling water poured down the front of his wetsuit to keep him warm on set. Now, that's gotta hurt.

And, apparently, it did.

Dreams of Pandora

Thousands of Avatar fans have reported feeling depressed and even suicidal at the prospect of never being able to visit the mystical planet depicted in the movie.

I say, Let them suicide, it's practically natural selection.

Are we really expected to take this stuff seriously?

There are people in the world who don't have access to fresh water, people. Get a grip!

or... is this marketing spin dreamed up by the advertising boofs?

 

A smile that lights up every room he is in

Gay

Yes, yes I am gay. Yes, I'm sure. Yes, very sure. Don't like girls, you see. I mean, I like them and all, very nice a lot of them. But, I don't "like them." If you know what I mean. Not attracted to them. Yes, I have tried it. Yes, more than once. You don't know how they know, if they don't try it? So, you've had a same sex experience yourself? No, I don't, actually, know what you mean. I just wondered how you could be certain yourself, you know, if you haven't tried.

Yes, I get that a lot. I'm not exactly sure what a gay man looks like. Well, seems like, then. No, I can't always tell. It would be handy, wouldn't it, although I'm not sure where you'd set the parameters? Yes, they do make a big deal of it. Secret handshake and the like. Nod. Wink. I think they mean it is a look, we give each other. Or, at least, one gives another. Yes, all in the eyes. So they say. No, it doesn't work every time. Don't know, it just doesn't. I don't think tags would be appropriate, no.

Show tunes? No, not especially. I do have a good eye for colour, but no, I couldn't blow wave your hair for you. Sew, hem, darn, no, I don't have any of those skills. I don't even know what two of them are?

No, I don't have a problem with it. No, no problem. I'm quite fine with it. It is who I am, after all. No, I wouldn't take the pill. No, no therapy either. There is nothing wrong with me, you see. No, nothing.

Normal? What is normal? What would you say? An example? Just one? Oh?

An attentive ear for a woman? Well, I'm listening to you aren't I, despite the blood

Says it all really

Look at those clouds. Is that Forbes

Just driving down the road Coonabarabran

Look at that sky in Gunnedah

Minyon falls looking out

Mark and Luke - King's Beach

Lamb & Potato Festival

This is where I came unstuck

Green and blue

This is where I spent my time while my car was being repaired. It was very pleasant

I wanted to stop and drink coffee on the veranda

You could pull me over

It looks inviting

Fixeruperer?

Home Sweet Home

Shane left his stash. His grandma died and he had to head up to the country. So, I spent the day in bed stoned. I can't be trusted, he knows that. 

I got up and updated my virus software. I had to buy a whole new licence because my old one was expired by twelve days and not the cheaper renewal option. It was the last thing that I forgot when I left. What gives? And why are those sites so user unfriendly. Of course, I never read any of the instructions, but they should know that. I should just have to follow the links, not hard work. And not too damn many of them, either. I haven't got all day/ Lets go, boom, blam, bing!

Then I rolled a spliff and went back to bed until late afternoon. At which time, I rolled another joint.Naturally.

I cancelled my mother until tomorrow, good thing I went to see her first, when I got back to Melbourne, last night. Kind of a visit in the bank. She cooked me diner and I had a shower. It was like the final big rest stop on the road home.

I played with my photos. I took phots all the way up to NSW and all the way back. You know, to amuse myself, on the drive, to give me something to do, being on my own. I even took one as I left up the Bolago driveway. 

There was a crazy, psychopathic truck driver following me for some time. I flew along in front of him on the down hills, him right behind me, losing him on the long, hilly sections. A bit later, I stopped on the side of the road on a long flat stretch coming out of the hilly section, to take some sunset scenes. I'd forgotten about him. The sun had just dipped behind the horizon, and it was dark, and desolate, except for the glorious colours in the sky. And suddenly, he was at the end of the straight stretch behind me, bright eyes blinking on in the dark. It was like a scene in "Duel," me getting back in the car and speeding off before he could catch me.

There's a picture of the water I drowned the car in. And a hot son at a waterfall, look at his bulge. The front view from the house. Then there's a collection of buildings along the way. It's a shame I never got the "sign for rent" sign. Mark and Luke on Kings Beach. There's a lot of clouds in the sky, I kind of went mad on them. The balcony I read on for the afternoon when the car was first being fixed. There were a lot I missed; a car up my arse, or just too slow to register in time.

I haven't left my room.

David says I should watch Grey Gardens, Drew Barrymore, Jessica Lange. He says it's great, but his taste is unforgivingly Disney.

I've poured a vodka.

Winding My Way Back to You...

Did I tell you that I slipped in for the last of the cooked breakfast? Back at the hotel, yesterday, after I nearly cried? The courtesy car delivered me across the arid waste lands of Dubbo in time, for it's last hurrah. I remember the lights were being turned off as I walked in.

Well, this morning, when I wasn't crying and could eat the whole breakfast menu, don't you think I scampered my arse down there by 7.15. I'd left the car at the dealer, I didn't have to go anywhere. I was met with a note stuck to the door crookedly and darkness.

Dear customers, due to a family emergency, Carol, our cook, has had to leave town and as we were unable to find a replacement. I'm sorry but we won't be able to serve breakfast this morning.

I was hoping for death, otherwise Carol should been in that kitchen cooking for me.

Did I tell you that yesterday morning I stood first thing at the toilet and pissed and farted and diarrhea spilt down the back of my leg, before all of my faculties were anywhere near awake. That chicken chow mien? This is not going well, I thought.

I had the same thought this morning, as I read the note stuck to the door.

"Oh, well, I see," I said as I turned towards somewhere else.

I've got everything with me, being a Virgo and not trusting of the cleaners, so I head outside to a cafe.

OMG! Coffee the perpetual drama. I don't know what you think this is, but please don't call it coffee, was so often my reaction. Swill, water with a strange taste, hot water... a hot beverage, I don't know. I can't describe some of them. Thank god I'm back in Fitzroy.

The thick, hot sun light was already threatening to go to bake when I stepped out into the street. Not yet 7.30 the landscape had the eerie feeling of once having catered for humans, but for some reason they had all disappeared. There is always the hint of threat with early morning, the threat that very soon the unnatural silence is about to be spoiled.

To my surprise the nearest cafe/bakery served a passable coffee. She didn't catch the small, but she brewed a long black from the machine, no added water. I didn't know what to call it when I went inside for my second, but she said that I had the black coffee, answering my suspicions about the state of her hearing.

I sat outside, one of the tables was still in the relative shade of the high peak of one of the few heritage builds still standing in the street.

As luck would have, there appeared two cute, obvious, brothers, the genetic gift apparent. Long shorts, t-shirts. They walked up with the older one's mousey girlfriend and some shopping. They all got coffees. Now, if it had just been the older brother with the girlfriend, I would have been just as happy to gaze across my coffee at him, but the younger brother, woof. Too cute. Especially when he leant across the table, which he did at varying times, and the black elastic band of his jocks showed and the top half of his black jocks hugging his cheeks slid out of his shorts.

There's gonna be a jail break, said the back of his t-shirt. And I reckon he could just about cause one.

Soldier on with Codral soldier on, I thought.

Somewhere before 9.30, the dealership rang to say the car was ready. The courtesy bus picked me up ten minutes later. The price was good. The manager was his smiling, efficient self. No trouble, he said, after I thanked him. The GTI sounded like his normal self, as I started the engine. His tail wagged and we were off.

I drove in two hour blocks, that way I didn't get too tired.

I went back to a coffee shop in Narrandera, Cafe G, because I reckon the two boys who run it are gay. Oh, they have to be gay.

Narrandera is pretty. I sat out side and had a short black and a muffin to break the trip. The sun was shining down brightly, it was hot, I had a tree for shade. I was right by the pedestrian crossing. The morning glided gently into afternoon.

This big, blond, overalled hunk, the type you get only when there is wide open spaces and their mother's feed them lots of whole milk and beef, came across the crossing.

Messy hair, stubble on his face, blue eyes, tanned and handsome.

He caught my gaze, he saw me looking at him.

Oops, I thought. Maybe, too obvious for a country town?

Big country smile. "G'day."

"Hi, how are you?" I replied.

"I'm hot," he said.

"Yeah..." I quickly glanced  to the sky, then looked back at him. You certainly are. "It's hot."

I watched him go. Would I say he swaggered or sauntered? I'm not sure. He headed to a blue ute with a Kelpie waiting patiently on the tray back.

West Wyalong. Findley. Both pretty. Tocumwal looked scenic by the lake. The country side changes from mountainous at Tenterfield, colourful through Armadale right through to Dubbo. After that it is farmland, paddocks, sheep. It was scorching hot by Shepparton, my right arm is burnt. To what were rolling green hills down the Hume, which are now, of course, rolling brown hills.

How many speed cameras are there on the Hume Hwy? That's ridiculous! Do the police, actually, do any work anymore, you know like policing dangerous drivers? Or is it just machines now?

What the hell happened to the Hume Hwy? It's completely changed. It's a freeway into Melbourne, with Blue Sticks as the entrance. Gone are the miles of barren wasteland, the industry, the ugliness. The gazillion sets of traffic lights. Talk about cosmetic surgery. When the hell did all that happen?

Remember, I left for Lismore from Bolago. I haven't driven up the Hume from Melbourne for years.

You know poor old Carol, I feel mean. When I did arrive at the last minute, when she had turned off all the lights, she still went and got me an orange juice, some milk and a spoon. And put the lights back on. She even sympathised with my car troubles. Oh yes, I gave her the full sob story, curled bottom lip, the works.

 

100ks Further Along

Here I am in Dubbo. Nice place, I can't wait to leave. Actually, it's yobbo central. The type of place that every second word the girls say is 'mate.' Not even pretty yobbos on the whole, either. Not that I'm looking much, good way to get a smack in the mouth. There are a couple I have spied though, strapping country lads with handsome faces, tanned and glowing and hot arses and packed jeans. Thick legs, open smiles.

The car wasn't so good when I went to pick it up, yesterday.

"Ah, don't know mate. Now the helle-pot, this jigger here is playin up," said Les. "It beats me, it was fine this morning."

"Oh," I say. Come on Les, don't let me down now. I'm sure my eyes were pleading.

"Ya best bet is drivin it to Dubbo to the Peugeot mechanic."

What????????????? "Oh, okay. So..." head starting to spin... "it's okay to drive?"

"Well, she's runnin on three cylinders." Les ran his hand through his greying beard. "But, I haven't got the part, don't know when I'd get it either."

"Oh." Fucking hell! "Well, sure, if that's my only option?"

"Yeah. Jeez. I reckon, mate. Sorry."

Les was great, don't get me wrong. Nice guy, helped me a lot.

"I tells ya, she must fly when she's running properly, cause she goes alright now, even on three cylinders."

"Yes, she does fly," I said. "How far is Dubbo?"

"Oh, about 100 ks."

What????????? "So, it'll be alright?"

"Yeah, that far," said Les. "And when you get back to Melbourne, you get all the oils replaced, that's what I'd recommend."

So, I drove the 100 ks on 3 cylinders and "she" - I've always thought of my car as male, if I thought about it at all - did go just fine. I don't know what that does to an engine, nothing, I hope.

I was a little stressed, I must say. At one point, it poured with rain and the road pooled with water again. After which, I smoked a cigarette for the first time ever in my car. I have to admit, I tossed the butt out the window. Head hung in shame. But, the place is fucken flooded!

Then the sun came out again and the sky turned bright blue with Simpson's clouds.

I was more stressed when I found out the alleged Peugeot mechanic is actually a Subaru Honda Jeep Hyundai Peugeot dealership. Fuck! I'd never take my car to a dealer and had a good out come. City Peugeot killed any confidence I had in them. Grrr! They don't care. Take a number. Yes, we can do it middle of next week, if the part gets here. Sorry, but I don't give a shit. The walls started to close in. Maybe, I was just tired. But, still 12 hours from home. It's now costing me more than if I'd bought the most expensive air ticket.

Why, oh why, did I drive through that flooded water????????????

So Dubbo. I decided to stay right in town. I found the 2 motels that Shane found on the internet in Melbourne for me, via mobile, just on the outskirts. But, I don't know, motels creep me out, just a bit. It's like staying in your own little cell removed from everyone else. A carpark the only thing in common. So, I decided that I was going to stay right in town, right in the heart of it. That's where you should stay, I reckon, if you are going to stay some where.

As I checked in to the Amaroo the nice check in girl said, "It's karaoke night tonight, I hope that won't disturb you."

"No." I laughed. "It's hardly likely to go until 3am, hey?"

"Actually, it does." She laughed.

The bars and lounges were full, full of twenty somethings, thirty somethings, mum dad and the kids, (there were a few hot eighteen year olds, let me tell you, with their mum and dads.) all pumped for a good time. People were in the main street drinking, and loitering and yahooing and doing burnouts all night. It had an air of King Street on a Saturday night. I was a bit surprised, the place was jumping.

I got the car to the mega dealership just after 8am. I pleaded to be my case. "I'm on my way back to Melbourne and I've got a sick Peugeot."

The service guy looked to, who was clearly, the manager who gave a subtle nod.

"If you just wait a minute, the manager will help you."

The manager listened to my case and asked for the keys and said to take a seat in the waiting room. Then he was in the car and it was around in the service centre in no time.

The manager was one of those well manicured, efficient types who clearly had the running of that mega cartropolis in the palm of his hand. He ran, he didn't walk.

Fifteen minutes he appeared in the waiting room.

Grimace. "How long were you planing to stay in Dubbo?"

"I wasn't planing to stay here at all."

"Oh, um, well, I don't have the part for you car," he said. Sad look. "But," smile "I could have it here at 8am in the morning and we could get you back on the road as soon as we can after that."

Now, I must have been a little more stressed than I realised, because it took every gram of energy I had not to burst into tears right there in front of him. I so didn't want to do that in a country town.

I'm allowed anyway, I'm a big poof.

I wanted to leap across the room and kiss him. "That's great! Thanks."

He beamed.

I left the car and took a ride in their curtesy bus back into Yobbo, um, er, Dubbo.

"Thank you very much," I said as I left. "You are just great."

He beamed again.

Oh, Nearly There

Ah, bugger it!

I was making good time back from Lismore; straight down the New England Hwy, cut through from Tamworth to Dubbo, onto the Newell Hwy, easy peasy. It was a gorgeous day, Simpsons clouds over head, the sun shining crisply. I'd stopped at all the information booths just to check for road closures due to the flooding in NSW. No closures, no flooded roads, all clear. Of course, I'd need to continue to check along the way.

Off the highway and onto those country roads with no lines and little traffic, roads where I could push my foot harder down on the accelerator without too much worry of the red and blue lights appearing in my rear vision mirror. Actually, really lovely liquorice straps of roads winding their way across rolling green hills, where I could wind down the windows and feel the breeze in my hair, cool on my sweaty neck and sunburnt driver's arm. I was thinking that driving really was the smart option. But, I do like driving; the panorama of the country side wide vision.

And I was nearly through the roads that could potentially flood and back onto the highway, when, from over the distant hills, black clouds started to roll towards me.

Oh, please don't rain, I thought.

Then there were clouds rolling in from a second front, seemingly attaching themselves to the hills below them in a grey veil.

I was now driving between the two fronts, hoping and wishing. An hour to go to the safety of the highway. Crossing fingers.

The sun disappeared and the rain drops started to fall on my windscreen. Lightening sparked through the gray mass above me. Thunder rolled. the brightness of the day evaporated.

The road dips into culverts where the excess water is able to escape to the other side. It's kind of quaint, a throwback to a bygone era, I used to think. They had all been dry, thus far. Then I got to the first with a puddle forming across it.

Then a second flooding with an ankle deep stream. Okay, over that too.

The water started to pool on the sides of the road, the bitumen was slick and shiny.

Then, around another corner and a line of five, or so, cars waiting at a torrent crossing the road. It was calve deep and roaring down the hill. We waited it started to dissipate fairly quickly, down to car door sill height. They were measuring the movement with a piece of metal rested next to the edge of the water line.

There was the sporty blonde chick who never seemed to be off her mobile phone, who drove the pretend 4WD, but a 4WD none the less. The older couple returning home locally. She was nice, chatty, funny. There was the old couple in the Honda Jazz, which they towed over with the only real 4WD present. There was the thirty something couple with three kids. I really didn't mean to flirt with him, but the boyish face, the cute, cute eyes, the natural smile, I couldn't help it. He had a hairy chest showing at the top of his poloshirt buttons. He got it too, you know the kind who just take it as a compliment, secret men's business. He waved and smiled his little boy face at me, as he got into the car and drove away. And there was Andrew the other Peugeot driver.

The others decided that it was now safe to attempt a crossing. The sporty chick wizzed off in her white charger, first from about sixth in the queue. The next few went across successfully and then it was my turn. It looked like a mile wide as a lined up to go. And then I went. I was nervous, I hadn't done anything like that before. You have to take it slow, but in my anxiousness I went too fast and created a wash that engulfed me and my car died in the middle. Ahhh! No!

And then it wouldn't go. Wouldn't start. Wouldn't even turn over. (Which I found out later was the worst thing to do. Once they die, you should let them dry out, or get a mechanic)

So, that was about 5pm.

The last guy to cross after me, another Peugeot driver, offered me a life into the next town, which, of course, was 60 kilometres away.

He asked where I was from? He asked me what I did? He asked me what I do for leisure?

Then he asked if I was spiritual?

No, I'm an atheist.

Oh, that surprises me.

Oh why? I asked with trepidation.

Oh, I guess I'm the exact opposite to you?

Oh why? I knew I shouldn't have asked, but what else was there to say?

I'm a creationist.

This just keeps getting better, I thought.

So for the next 50 k's we talked about Jesus. I tried not to engage, but he quietly kept on. I stared out the window and wondered why Scotty wasn't beaming me up?

When we got to town he said, well I'll leave you here.

Yep, thanks and I leapt from the car quickly.

it was kind of him to give me a lift though, don't get me wrong.

Then it took until 11pm to organise the tow truck and head back out in his bumpy cabin, with his mate, to get the car. Nice guys, but oh, I was sooo over it in the end.

"Come over in the morning and we'll look at it then," they said as they wandered off into the dark.

At 9.30, they said it only needed a new air filter which would be in town by 2pm.

"So some time after two said the smiley lady on the mechanics counter."

I went around and got a book form the car. What else was I going to do?

The mechanic smiled. "What are those roads called OS, auto... auto something..."

"Bahns," I offered.

"Yep," said the mechanic. "That's where your car belongs, not in puddles." He smiled that laconic smile of the aussie bush. "Don't drive it through any water, at all, the damn air filters way down here, it'll just suck water up every time."

Apparently, you can ruin the engine big time, if the water is sucked up into the pistons. Who'd have thought.

He looked at the car a bit like he had looked at me... city car with a city driver. It was clear on his face.

And now I'm stuck in a lovely county town while they try to get my car going. Good thing, I have a nice country pub to stay in, with a wide veranda around two sides, with a cool breeze and a view of the pretty main street.

The latest report is that they have found another problem with the car.

And I started smoking again, yesterday. I didn't smoke all over New Year, partying, taking drugs, dancing at Tropical Fruits, coming down. Not one cigarette.

Have a little mechanical failure and it's straight for the Styvies.