That's the Plan

Beck bought a bag of Easter eggs and kept offering them to me all day, despite knowing my latest goal, to lose 10 kilos. People are funny, aren't they.

I've eaten steamed rice and tofu and vegetable for lunch this week, well, for the two days I was at work. I've eaten apples and oranges. No wine, although that went weeks ago as my work pants seemed to be getting a little tight, just lately.

No chocolate, no muffins, no deserts.

Now I just have to decide on what exercise I'm doing. I think, a new pair of running shoes to start off with walking to build up to running again.

But, to start off with, it's going to be diet.

That's the plan.

Who'd like to watch him and his two mates

Egads!

I stood on my sister's scales on the weekend and was shocked by what I saw. When I begged my sister to tell me that they were notoriously inaccurate, she said they were expensive and accurate to the gram.

I went to the doctor, for other reasons, and he confirmed my weight gain.

I've always been 71, 72 kilos and now I'm 85. I knew I had put on a little weight, but I've never been over 80 kilos in my life.

 

Out to Lunch

I took mum out to lunch, we sat by the door of mum's favourite cafe. Personally, I think the food is ordinary, but the selection of Italian waiters more than makes up for it. We both had chicken and avocado baguettes. Mum usually waits to hear what I order and then says she'll have the same.

She'd poured her tea into her milk jug and had dropped half of her baguette onto my plate. We'd discussed going to the ATM, which means cash for me, and buying a tatslotto ticket, on my registration, there will be no doubt about whose prize it is if we ever get a winning ticket.

Two women entered the cafe with one of those over-sized prams, you know, they match the 4WD now a days, urban jungle warfare vehicles.

She manoeuvred the pram into the walkway where there was another table vacant opposite ours. She looked around, looked at me, looked at the table then looked back at her table.

She walked over to me, bent at the knees, resting her hands on her legs. "Hello." Big smile, big eyes. “Lovely day.” I have to note that there was a touch of the maniacals about her, at this point. I suspect it was too many coffees and baby rattles for her. Oh, that could be just me. But, she did give me a fair shiver down my spine.

"Hello," I said in reply. I wanted to say, said the spider to the fly, I don’t know why, but I didn’t.

"Now, if I could just get you and your delightful mother – we both look at mum who at that point drops a piece of lettuce or chicken from her mouth into her lap - to move to that table on the other side of this couple next to you that would be fantastic." Big smile and shoulder squeeze on fantastic.

"I'm sorry?" I understood all right, but I was a little taken a back. I didn’t even look around to the proposed table.

“Oh.” Big eyes. Jazz hands. "If you could just move to that table, then we'd all be able to fit." Big smile, big eyes.

"Um… No… Thanks anyway." Patronising smile. It didn’t hurt to thank her, it softened the edge of her crushing defeat.

"Oh.” Very big eye. And her face kind of pulled into its very own face lift. Quite clever really, even if the effect was somewhat alarming, may scare small children. “I don't think you understand.” Emphasis on “don’t” dotting i’s and crossing t’s sharply. “Then I could move your table over next to mine then we'd all be able to sit down and I'd be able to get the pram in next to them."

Do you believe some people. "Oh, no, I understand, I'm just not moving." Further patronising smile complete with a slight head tilt.

Smile retracts to pursed lips. Eyes flash wild. "Well, (she almost vomited the “well”) thanks for all of your help!" she spits.

What is it with mothers and kids? They think they have a god given right because they have bred? Just because they have spat something out their cunt, they think the world owes them.

I wonder how the world will change when every country goes to a one child policy? It can't be too long away.

Let me just add, there were other vacant tables in the café, plenty of them, just not by the window.

As The Afternoon Starts To Fade

I'm on my own. It is bracing in its emptiness, gone is comforted by my solitude. What am I going to do with my night? It is still, quiet; my tinnitus gets louder as I think about being alone, as if to mock.

The garden is green, outside, through my clean windows. Nothing moves. Leaves caught in suspended animation. The flowers mauve. I've opened the window, the freshness filtering through the room feels like life seeping in. Essence.

No plans. No friends calling. I've been to lunch with my family in the country. It was nice. I've just been dropped home, in a Lexus. I've made tea. My skin tingles, a shiver runs through my bones.

Silence. Blink, blink.

The rain starts to fall. 

The Comedy Festival

Comedy festival

I went to the comedy festival.

I went to see Wes Snelling, in his pissed club singing diva. He's so clever, he writes the stuff. So original. Hysterical.

She got progressively more pissed until she was carried off the stage.

I went to see Will Anderson. I love Will. His social commentary is so spot on, he cracks me up. I love stand-up, its my favourite. Immediate, in your face, direct, honest.

It's time to let the stupid people go. We’ve got to stop benchmarking down to the lowest intellect.

Recently, after the tsunami warning on the Queensland coast, many people went down to the beach to watch the wave. The govt sent the police in to clear them off.

Why?

Let them go.

 

Sporty Beetle

Freedom

We were gorgeous young things there for a while. No, we were, beautiful. Dancing under the lights. All of us, we were all handsome. Sexy, hot boys. It was my own private Queer as Folk. Guys wanted us, wanted to be with us, be us. The love flowed and time stood still and we fucked ourselves stupid.

None of us knew exactly what that moment meant.

I don't think it ever occurred to us that it would never come again.

That was it, that was the moment.

handsome Gerald Butler

Straight Boys

I think I might walk down and see the hot potato boy, said Shane. I didn't tell you he was hot, did I?

I thought you meant the potato was hot?

No, the boy behind the counter.

Isn't he in Bridge Road?

No, Brunswick Street, said Shane. In fact, you could walk down with me.

No, I won't get in your way.

He's straight.

How do you know he's straight?

Because when I look at him he gets all shy.

I love that.

So do I, said Shane. It's so hot.

I was walking up Bourke Street tonight and this gorgeous guy was coming the other way. I just thought, fuck look at you. How beautiful. And he got it.

What did he do?

He smiled sweetly, kind of blushed. He knew what I was thinking. He couldn't help but look a little flattered.

See, that's what we need more of, together straight boys.

The one's that understand that it is only optional.

Yeah, we need more of them, said Shane.

Smoking

Shane, Sebastian and I went and ate Vietnamese in Victoria Street. Sebastian ordered, I forgot my glasses. We bought red wine at the bottlo, "Three bottles should do it."

The food was great – dimsims, quail, warm chicken salad, fried ice cream.

I sneaked cigarettes out on the street. I told them I was going to the toilet. Shane smelt in on the third return.

All of the non-smokers had a smoke on the walk back to the car.

Mark got on my case on Monday, I turned and stomped off crying like a girl and the only thing I wanted as I drove down the highway was a cigarette, so I did.

I know, weak as piss.

Shane's new boyfriend, Simon, I don't think it's official, is bringing pot around and I've been smoking a bit with he and Shane.

 

Plain Drew

My friends laughed when I scoffed at Drew Barrymore doing beauty cream adverts

"Let's face it she is only one good looking gene off being ugly."

The Urban Jungle

I took mum shopping, the weekly shop. It is always hell, dealing with the general public. The car park is always over flowing, lately it has been hot and finding a car park is difficult, people prowl for spots. Then there's the trolleys, the people, the fruit and veg section, the checkouts, the screaming kids, people coming and going, it's all urban warfare.

We'd made it out, we were in the car, we were nearly free again.

We got in the car and headed out.

Mum squealed, watch out! Two chicks appeared in my left field of vision.

I was doing a turn out of the Camberwell carpark, it was an ambitious 180 degree turn, which I didn't quite make. So, I backed up and corrected the angle and proceeded to head out to the road. These two air-head, batik wearing, dopes, in their own pearl adorned, Prada world, attempted to walk straight across in front of me, despite the fact that it was a road and obvious I was going to proceed straight ahead.

I said, nah fuck them! And we lurched forward and to the left.

Mum drew in a sharp breath and reached out; a hand across me as she would when she was a driver and I was a passenger, as a kid.

I said, I was going to run the two women down.

Truthfully, I was just stirring mum up. It's like driving with Hyacinth Bucket, most days, watch this, watch that. You get sick of it.

I saw them. I am equally sick of dopes like them too. So I just accelerated forward, as I was always going to do anyway. The stupid girls soon pulled up short, even the dumb know when their lives are threatened. They changed direction smartly, went behind the car. They heaved a sigh and I could actually see their pointy noses click out of joint as they had to take into account what somebody else was doing. You know the type, over washed, over stylised, over perfumed, over-bearing, self-focussed bimbos, who live to shop, with brains cells in short supply.

You know, there people are just idiots. It's the same as those people who walk behind a reversing car, or cars parking, not a care, not a thought.

"I'll run the bitches over," I said to mum. "They won't do that again, if I do."

"Oh, Christian!" said mum.

And, you know, I got to thinking about it. I could’ve run them over, it would be seen as an accident. They walked in front of my car, unfortunately I was moving forward. I wasn't speeding, under the influence of anything, breaking the law in anyway, it would be the perfect crime. Nobody would be any the wiser that I drove forward deliberately and with scant regard for their welfare. I'm mean, I'd only have got their feet, or knocked into them, causing bruises and cuts, realistically, nothing serious would have happened. Maybe, a broken leg, at worst. But, it would teach them to think as pedestrians in future.

But Lottie made me laugh. Ooooohhhhh Chrissssstiiiaann! Like at some point she actually believed I was going to run them down.

 

Everywhere Like A Virus

Facial recognition, one of the things humans are, actually, good at. We see faces every where and none of them really look strange to us. People we have never seen before always look a little familiar. We always kind of recognise people we have never seen before.

Moral Fortitude

You don't want to be a doctor because deep down you realise you'd probably be responsible for someone's death, so you chose law. And, it's not that layers aren't responsible for people's deaths, it's just as a lawyer you won't care.

Gerard Butler

Gerard Butler on Lederman. How cute is he? 

Cute face, 

sparkly eyes, 

adorable accent, 

hot crutch in his suit.

Baby Bracks

I'm not sure what to say

'ello there

Jack cups Ivan's genitals, as the two embrace hello.

"May I carry your bag, sir," whispers Jack.

Ivan takes a step back and blushes. "You can't say that." His smile contradicts him.

Jack knows Ivan was impressed and holds his gaze and stands his ground. He doesn't let the general public stop him.

Ivan leans in, looks left, looks right, slips his hand up in front of his mouth, "If you buy me a beer."

"Or five."

"It would help."

"As many as you want."

"How much money have you got?" Ivan raises his eyebrows.

The Self Discovery Team Building workshop has gone well. Jack and Ivan have become unexpectedly close.

The carousel lurches into action, and starts to turn with a squeak. Soon the bags are coming into sight at the far end of the conveyor. Soon the rubber belt is populated with suit cases, bags held together with belts, boxes stuck together with tape, brief cases, document holders, back packs, suit bags, even a hat box.

“Suit case.”

“Back pack.”

They both shrug and look down at the line of luggage. Soon their bags have appeared, they are scooped up by relieved travellers, smile, roll of the eyes.

“So, what bar are we heading for?” asks Jack.

“More importantly, where are we booking into after?” Ivan smiles.

The next two carousels lurch into action with fierce squeaks. Arrivals are announced. Another plane must be in.

“I want to get you nice and drunk.”

“My wife’s not back until tomorrow night.”

People are filling the escalators. Jack smiles broadly and slaps Ivan on the shoulders. He looks around. Life’s good. “That’s what I’m talking about.”

What The...?

I don't think I get me any more. What does "I" mean?

Percy Jackson and the Lightning Thief

I went to see Percy Jackson and the lightning thief. It wasn't my choice of movie and it was at Southland, what's more.

 
What a ridiculously pretty cast. Let’s face if the two leads had a child, it is likely that it would be a great big blue eye. Do they have a plot just outside Vegas, just next to the gay porn stars with huge cocks, where they grow them? Dark hair, blue eyes, perfect features. You should see what they all looked like at a training camp for young demigods.

I liked the premise of the movie, the Greek gods and their offspring, but it was teenage fare, to be truthful. They could, actually, learn something about Greek mythology, true.

And, you know, out in the burbs, at a suburban shopping mall, the boys are not without their charms.

Go on, You Know You Want To

I'm constantly surprised by the people who won't piss in the shower.
How squeamish can they be?
I mean, when the water is on, I'm not advocating pissing once the taps are off, I'm not suggesting turning it into a urinal, so that it smells like day old squirt every time you go in there.
Isn't that what the shower is for, after all?
Surely now, it is almost an environmental issue... do you know how many litres of water a toilet uses in one flush.

"Do you think it is like picking your nose and eating it?"

"What do you mean?"

"Everybody does it, but nobody wants to admit to it."

"Oh?"

"Like enjoying your own farts?"

"Well, everybody..."

"Stealing from your demented aunt's purse."

"Um..."

"Getting the family dog to lick your cock when you were twelve."

"You did that?"

"What?"

"The dog licking thing..."

"No... I had a friend."

Funeral for a Friend

I went to my friend Jill's mother's funeral today.

Twelve lines in a newspaper death notice - I counted them - and a gathering of your closest friends in a random room for an hour and your life is done.

Doesn't seem like enough. All that life lived. All of those memories.

Who thinks they are special?

Jill's now a little worried about her father.
"I just hope he gives me a little time to get over mum's death," said Jill as she got out of the car the other night. "I hope I've got some time."
You see, Jill's father now believes he has done his job. He nursed Jill's mother through her illness, he's earned a sizeable sum of money to leave to his two daughters, he now believes his job is done. His adored wife of many years is dead, he's now living with Jill and he's heading towards the wrong end of eighty.
"What do you think is going to happen?" said Jill.

Alice in 3d

I went to see Alice in Wonderland with Mark and Luke and Shane at Imax. I wanted to hate it, but didn’t. It was quite good.

It's not the original Alice in Wonderland story, it's an interpretation of what could have come next, or something like that. I haven't seen the original in years, so it was all a bit vague to me. liked it. I expected to hate it, but I thought it was good. The 3d I found a little distracting at the beginning, but I got used to it. Mark said that Avatar was much clearer and crisper in 3d - I guess I should go see it, some how it just doesn't appeal.

I liked the lead girl, she reminded me more of Gwyneth Paltrow than Courtney Love. That seems to have been the main criticism, that she looks like a heroin addict. I didn't see it.

Johnny Depp was good, not annoying at all, as I suspected. Helena Bonham Carter was great. Matt Lucas is a genius.

I want a Cheshire Cat.

Disturbing, or What?

My housemate watches So You Think You Can Dance, clapping at the bits he likes sitting in the lounge room on his own.

I find it disturbing.

It's something you'd expect from your special needs child.

It's just weird.

Suck My Cock

There was the loud shrill blow of a whistle, and a calling voice. "Hey buddy, not there, not there. You can't..." Then more whistle blowing.

Rob slipped the car into neutral and pulled on the handbrake. He checked his face in the rear view mirror, briefly. There was coffee residue around the corners of his lips, he wiped it away with his thumb and pointer finger.

Clack, clack, clack, sounded the truncheon on the closed car window. Rob licked the ends of his fingers and wiped at the corners of his mouth again.

He gazed sideways to see the torso and trousers of the young policeman. Dark blue pants that fitted him well.

Rob took a deep breath and pushed the window switch. Nothing, he’d killed the engine.

Clack, clack, clack, sounded the truncheon on the glass, again.

Rob fumbled with the keys, they slipped out of his hand onto the floor of the car. He leant forward resting his head on the steering wheel, as his hands swept the floor for the keys.

Clack, clack, clack.

“Okay, okay.” Go around the other side, that windows open.

Clack, clack, clack.

Rob’s fingers hunted desperately. Keys, just come to my fingers. He could hear himself exhaling as if the air was being squeezed out of him with each lunge at the floor.

Clack, clack…

Ah, the keys. Snatch. Into the ignition. Push his finger on the window switch. Zzzz, sounded the window as it slid open.

“Can I see your licence, sir?” Blond hair, aviator glasses, square chin, lithe body. Rob thought he looked like a twelve year old in his father’s sunglasses.

“How long have you been out of the academy?”

“Your licence please sir.”

Rob opened his wallet and slid out his licence.

“A year?

He handed the plastic card over.

"At the most?”

Rob rubbed his fingers across the young officer’s hand deliberately. The young officer's fingers were warm.

The young policeman removed his sunglasses to read.

“Not a scar on you,” said Rob. “What is this all about, anyway?”

“You preformed an illegal u-turn to enter the car park.”

“A u-turn? Illegal, you say?”

“You crossed over double white lines…”

“Double white lines?”

“Double white lines.”

It sounded so ridiculous. “Double white lines, oh I’m guilty… handsome.”

“Sir?”

“Yes.”

The young policeman raised his eye brows, pleading.

“You are handsome, I’m sure it’s not illegal to say that,” said Rob. “I’m sure it’s not the first time you’ve heard that, despite your tender years.”

“Sir, I am now writing you a ticket for crossing dual lines on a carriageway. Do you want to say anything?”

“I’d wager that your prick tastes like chocolate and smells like fresh cotton jocks and your mother's soap.”

"Sir... I meant, was there anything you'd like to say in your defence about the ticket I am just about to write out for you?"

"Um... no."

Cute as

Has The Weather Changed All Over The World?

My, my, it's still raining. It's kind of stop start balmy, rather than slow and steady like it used to be.

Let's hope it's falling in the catchment areas - that's what we're supposed to be saying, isn't it?

The weather here has changed, we get torrential rain now, big storms, suddenly the rain comes down. Melbourne's weather has become more tropical. It's much more humid than it used to be.

I guess, if we open our eyes, the weather has changed everywhere, all over the world.

And yet, the politicians are still dicking about, still putting their own careers ahead of what needs to be done - all those little lawyer fucks shoring up their superannuation in three year thought brackets.

I waited all afternoon for the skies to clear up so I could go bike riding, until I realised I could be waiting till tomorrow judging by the clouds, so around 4pm I headed off.

My final thought, as I headed off, as the light rain sprinkled my hair, helmet, was, What is the worst that can happen? (I might get wet?)

I laughed to myself, as I wheeled down my street, what fait am I tempting by thinking that thought just before I leave home on my pushy?

I deserved for a truck to run me down on Victoria Parade, just to prove the universe had a sense of humour.

 

Kiss him

Nature or Nurture

I was born gay, I have no doubt. I was always same sex attracted, even as a kid. With my cousins down the beach, it was always the boys I was attracted to.

I used to paw over my mum's women's magazines looking for the men's underpants ads, you know, when I was four, five, six.

At kindergarten, I used to get Steven Roth to drop his pants, in his tree house, so I could look at his penis. He was blond and cute and I reckon I had a crush on him. So what was I, five.

I remember being fascinated with the boys legs in assembly in grade 2/3, so I was eight, nine

I used to get very excited going to my dad's cricket club changing room after the match, nine onwards

I had sex for the first time with Nathan Miller in Grade 5, eleven.

All of my friends think they were born gay. Some of them had girlfriends who they feel they were pressured into having by society. So did I. It was a different time.

A young gay friend of mine says that he never ever had any thought that he might be with a woman, that kind of attraction has always been blank, nothing, to him. "Like knowing what it is like to live in Cuba."

I tried to conform, I had a girlfriend for a number of years. We're still great friends. I loved her, I so wanted to be different. I think that's the bit I object to the most, society pushes you into the hetro box, unthinkingly, uncaringly. Imagine how different our experience would be if being gay wasn't an issue. The authenic growing-up-gay experience. Can you imagine?

"Hey, mum & dad," blush, quick glance, (in my case), "this is Alex."

"Lovely to meet you Alex," says mum.

"Great to meet you son," says dad. His hand held out straight in front of him ready to shake.

"Mr and Mrs Fletcher, the pleasure is all mine," says Alex - always every mother's dream son.

We be sat next to each other at dinner. We'd be able to sneak touches under the table when nobody was looking.

I guess it's changing now. I guess it's all relative – thank the universe we didn't grow up in the 50's. You know, get taken down the back paddock and have a hot poker shoved up your arse for your difference, or beaten up, or whatever.

He dreamed of joining the navy and running away to sea with all the seamen

It Rained Like... Fuck Me!

Suddenly, the world was being pelted by rocks, falling from the sky. Clang, clang, clang, clang. It was weird, it reminded me of Magnolia. I looked cautiously out the window to see if the world was covered in frogs. But, they were hail stones the size of golf balls. Solid chunks of ice. Then it rained, like solid water, the sight of everything was obliterated, every window looked like the water wall at the NGV. For a while, there was more fluid than air. I'm sure if you'd gone out in it you would have been breathing liquid. Deluged. Unbelievable. Drowned.

I stopped drinking, just quit, cold turkey, finished. The every night drinking, not completely, you understand. What's hard about that?

I stopped smoking too. Oh yeah, I started again, last Friday night, the big night out. Stupid me, I'm an idiot!

But now I've quit, day 2.

We smoked pot and watched Doctor Who. Yeah, I know...

Good day to stay in bed.

Pale Trousers

Jack lay his clothes out on his bed. It was the Vietnam Vets reunion. Hobart. Saturday. He was nervous about flying. But, they were tough breed of men; made of steel, could do anything, were built to last. He'd only got interested in attending such occasions since his beloved Julie died a few years back. He wasn't sure why, it helped pass the days, he thought.

The shirts were neatly folded like they would be at a department store, two white, two blue, two gray. His toilet bag was next to them, tartan in colour, dark green. Socks. Underwear. Ties. A jumper. A dark blue sports jacket. A pair of black trousers.

Sara pulled a pair of cream pants from the wardrobe. "Why don't you take these grand pa, they'd look nice with your blue jacket, kind of navy."

"Are no." He took the pants from his granddaughter’s hands and slid them back into the cupboard.

"Oh why?" Sara protested. "I think they'd look nice."

"No darling." He stroked her hair. "Not those."

"Come on. They are much more fashionable. Don't you want to be fashionable?"

"Oh, I never went in for all of that nonsense."

"Now's your chance! Before you die!"

"I rather think I have a few more years in me yet."

"Oh come on, unless you can come up with a good reason..."

"As you age, my darling, you tend to wear pale trousers less and less." He drew in breath and bit his top lip. "To avoid the dot of shame."

Sara raised her eyebrows. She opened and closed her mouth.

 

Dreaming of Nania, of course

What's Left...

"The worst has happened," he said. He was smiling, that much was clear. "I don't need to worry now. There's nothing left to worry about." He shrugged. He looked calmer than he had looked in a long time. Funny. He'd lost it all. The business, he’d hung on tenaciously. Maybe the house, if luck really turned its back.

"You seem to be very calm about it. That's everything, isn't it?"

He laughed, almost to himself. He rubbed his chin, lost in thought, so it would seem. "It's... it's... and I know this might sound strange, but it's kind of liberating. Nothing can hurt me now. I can stop stressing, like I have been for the past...how long?"

"It's done?"

"It's done!" The stress had left his face. Suddenly, he looked his age again.

"All over..."

"I'm still standing. I'm still alive. I can still look up and see the blue sky. I can still smell the orange blossom. I can pick you one, if you want?"

"What's left? Anything?"

"I've got you, haven't I?"

They hugged, tightly. They hadn't hugged, as boyfriends do for a very long time.

"Everything will be okay." It was a whisper. There were tears sliding slowly down his face.

"Yeah... it will." 

I've Taken a Sickie

I pulled a sickie. Oh, I just couldn't face it today, nah. I know when I'm going to stay home, it always starts the same way. I'd have a shower, make coffee, pour milk over my muesli and was in my room getting my clothes together. As I am bending down to get my socks, thinking about the things I have to do, you know, in the office, ho fucken hum, invariably feeling bored at the thought of it all, a whisper pushes it's way in and says softly, you could stay home. Just like that, out of no where, like an autoimmune response. And I think no, be gone thought! Ahhh! But it’s left its mark, a stain on an otherwise normal morning. I wrestle with it, push on trying to squash it down, get dressed, with that pesky whisper floating through my brain the whole time, tapping at the inside of my skull. And when I'm ready, all done, just gotta leave the house, nothing else to do - tippy-toes on the edge of the cliff - I faulter, as I kind of know I will, it wins, succeeds, gets its way. I decided, no, I'm not going. Then there is the trade off - I'll go for a bike ride, I'll go see my mum, I'll do all the things I need to get done, but haven't. I know I won’t. But, I've done my tax this week, registered my bank details with Medicare, cleaned up my study and have fixed the leak in the roof, so I have crossed things off my list already. That must count for something?

I know, it's a bit much when I'm only working three days a week, but I have plenty of sick leave, so what the fuck. And, I never take sick days, well hardly ever, not often. I always feel guilty right about now, though, stupid work ethic. The "I should have gones" ring resoundingly in my head. It usually takes an hour, or so, past 9am before I can relax and settle into it. Up until then, I still have the getting to work anxiety of the morning. It takes a while for it to wash away, squash down, dissolve.

We should all be able to take the odd day for ourselves, it's good for us, I reckon. Or does our now more conservative moral code prevent us any longer? Well, not me. Clearly.

Really, we're all such social conformists now – the rebellious streak has been killed off in us, or is being killed off by politicians, who are so affected by their ties with business. Keep them beige they are easier to mould as industry fodder that way. Keep them working so they can't think, keep them working so they can consume more and more stuff, whether they need it or not.

Now, I've just got to make sure I don't get a migraine, my usual excuse if ever I do take a sickie. If I'm not careful I end up with one, it must be because I put it in my head, no pun intended. Is that karma? It's a good thing I don't believe in it, hey? And if I could get my writing mojo back, that would be excellent and the day wouldn't be wasted.

I know I'm going to waste it.

But now, it must be time for another coffee.

Three images of men

He's saying it, and they're doing it

See something you like?

White bunny licks his paw