I think a vast expanse of blue sky nourishes our souls

He had the most perfect happy trail of any man

Who Doesn't Love a Retro Mercedes

2009 Gullwing America 300 SL Panamericana

iPhone4

OMG! The iPhone4 is out. Stop the press! Oh, ah! I hope I won't have trouble breathing when I see my first one. Is the world spinning a little differently? Wait, I'm sure it is.

Sam was very excited! He's been waiting for it. This day. It's one of the interesting things about going out with a semi-nerd IT geek boy. (except when he laughs, nay, scoffs at my phone, lap-top, pc.) He was going to get an iPhone4 today, today was the Day! And when he didn't it was a disaster!  But, he already has the previous iPhone and the new one is a dud? What's the big deal? Apparently, I didn't quite understand? You just have to keep up in the techno race. Now he's yesterday’s news.

You couldn't pre-order, apparently. And it was no use going to a provider, you had to go straight to mecca, the Apple shops in Doncaster or Chadstone. That much I understood.

I think it's kind of cute, to be truthful. It doesn't really matter what you are passionate about – iPhones, square dancing, stamps, blood – as long as you are passionate about something. You know, interesting. It could be about shrunken African heads that stare you down, I don't care.

I didn't even mind being dropped by the wayside. We'll catch up tomorrow night, okay?

Yeah, sure. Wry smile.

But, the iphone4 is a dud?

No, you get a case with it, which makes it work.

But surely, they have to release an upgraded phone without the fault.

Yes, in September.

So, why don't you wait until September.

Wait? Until September? I'll get a new one in September?

But aren't you getting one now?

Yes.

But?

He was looking at me by this stage as though I was an alien, or an idiot, or like I'd walked into the black party in lime green.

You're funny, he said. He kissed me. 

And there is nothing wrong with your phone... but he was gone.

So...? I decided to stop thinking about it, trying to make sense of it. It's clearly a secret I haven't been let in on. I clearly don't have the gene. I still only use my phone to text and call people. And mostly it's just texts.

Don't tell him, but I even think all this is adorable.

 

His eyes could beguile you in seconds

You Know, When I Was Young And Foolish

I used to think I was the reincarnation of Albert Camus. It struck me suddenly when I read his own story, you know, when I was young. I had a resonance with his writing that I can't explain. I identified with his existential character in The Outsider, I felt like one, at the time. Probably because I wanted to lift boy's shirts, if the truth be known. And he was killed in a car accident driving his French sports car, which seemed fitting.

He smoked, he drank, he drove fast cars, all the things a writer should be.

I had a romanticised idea about him.
I love the absurd.

You know, when I was young and foolish.

My new writer of choice to study and read up on is Trueman Capote. Of course, I cannot be the reincarnation of him, as I was born before he died. I don't think I am him, reincarnated, or not. But, I'm liking his writing.

The film Capote put the idea into my head to read In Cold Blood and more recently a story about Harper Lee nudged my memory.
I've read some of his short stories already and now I'm going to read his novels, as I never have before.

He hung out at Studio 54 with Liza and Gore.

Let's get drunk and walk into the sea. You know, be interesting, or something. Do something, be something!
Is it better to live hard and die young than to turn beige in the late afternoon sun of our old age. You know, like parchment, or so much old leather. What is the attraction of your bowels and brain failing, I never did understand.
Or, is it better to simply live well? There is no other meaning to life.

Reduce The Amount Of Leeway Given To Speeding Motorists To Raise Taxes

NSW police say the R. T. A. is considering plans to reduce the amount of leeway given to speeding motorists to as low as 4 km/h.

The reduced tolerances are part of a tougher stance on speeding adopted by the NSW government, which includes six mobile speed cameras appearing on Sydney streets from July 19. (I'm surprised it isn't called a war)

Driving fines are expected to rise by $137 million in the next year, partially because of mobile speed cameras, the state budget reported. (Ed note - note this is the main reason for the decreased tolerance, I would say) The cameras, which can fine six drivers every second, will be set up in vans operated by a RTA-contracted company. Signs will inform drivers they have been "checked" after they pass the vans, which also shoot video.

Clearly indicating it is now a budgetary issue rather than a safety issue.

The proposal, which would follow a similar approach by our very own Nana State Victorian government, has been criticised by senior highway patrol officers, who believe the margin for error is too small. One senior policeman said that a 4 km/h tolerance is so small that a new set of tyres or the width of a speedometer needle could land motorists on the wrong side of the law. He said some radars have an error margin of plus or minus 3 km/h, while most police allow a margin of 8 or 9 km/h at 60 km/h.

The RTA is responsible for the limit on fixed cameras, as well as those in the new mobile vans.

It's a sad state of affairs that reduced margins in speeding are about raising money not about saving peoples lives. This is an excellent way for the govt to make a profit on the general public's misery. There's not use having those bigger pesky margins as that only causes the government to lose money.

This is heading down the same path as the idiot Victorian Government, another govt bereft of ideas. Labour so needs to be voted out of state office at the next Victorian State election.

Vote Greens everyone, just to flex our power and show the governments in power that democracy means government by the people.

Vote out governments that have lost touch. The policing of roads should be about the safety of the general public and not about cheap ways to balance the states books.

No Matter What The Govt Tells You, What Spin They Put On It, It’s So They Can Charge Us More Money

The new Smart Electricity metre was installed, a day, or so, a go. It glows with red devil's eyes on the front veranda, we've all noticed. What is that? we've said startled. Is that an ominous sign of things to come, do you think?

You know, if only the occupants of the Amityville House noticed sooner.

Now watch your bills skyrocket.

Maybe, I Need to Go and Buy Some New Clothes

"OMG! you are wearing white?" were Sebastian's first words when he entered the kitchen, groceries in hand.
I was, in fact, wearing my favourite old jumper that I have had for years, which is, indeed, white. It's my warmest jumper in the cold, cold days. Admittedly, I haven't worn it in a while.

I didn't realise how much black I must wear.
Although, thinking that I might wear this for a change when I put the white jumper on, might just have been a give away.

I guess I do, thinking about it. Wear black.

I was a little surprised though, that it would be that noticeable that it would require a comment.
Maybe, it was an auto-immune Melbourne gay gene response?

Maybe, I need to go and buy some new clothes?
Not one of my favourite pursuits. I know, I'm a semi-failed gay boy, I know. I know.
Sebastian cooked dinner.
I made a banana cake with cream cheese icing.
Now surely that's very gay? How about if I add the word gorgeous?

Yes, I'm Pretty Confident

Tim, Nicholas and I ate breakfast in Cowes; big breakfast, eggs, toast, sausages, baked beans, mushrooms, tomatoes. Coffee. Out in the sun, in a court yard, on a corner. It's just nice to taste the sea air, the salt on your lips, the freedom it promises, even if it is winter. Still, the sun was warm on my back.

We wandered around the shops, which all seem jam packed full of stuff. Landfill for the most part, to be truthful. We find the "collectibles" shop and peruse it for a time. There are several pieces of the pottery I collect, at good prices too, but lately I've decided not to collect any more. I have enough "stuff." besides, nothing lasts forever and you are just setting yourself up for disappointment when some of it breaks. It seems just as fulfilling to gaze at it in the shop cabinet.

We drive back in the sunshine, with the breath-taking water views as a back drop, well, at least for the first part. You know, that lovely silvery shinny water stretching off into the never never, off to the far horizon, flat out all the way to forever. We slip through the crisp country air towards home, some music playing, quiet as boys are. Nicholas favours classic rock, Tim is quiet in the back seat, for the most part.

I have to admit, I thought about Sam the whole time I was away.

I get home to a quiet house, just me and Missy. I catch my breath. It’s nice to have some alone time. You know how much I like alone time. I have lunch with Sam most days, I see him several nights per week. He has slept over more than any um, boyfriend I’ve had in the last ten years. He's getting more of my time than Manny, Josh or Maurice combined, every did, and I don't mind for a millisecond. But, it's also nice to miss him, too. Have some space to appreciate him.

Luke has left some pot in the mull bowl, when I get home, so I roll a joint and smoke it. The first pot for the weekend.

I type my journals.

Sam texts. I say I’m home, come over. He says he’s coming over. I light a fire and think life doesn’t get much better. I shake my head and laugh. It’s a battle to fight ones natural cynicism and to let go of that alone time amour.

I feel shocking, to tell you the truth. I know I have oesophagi's, I know it flares up when I smoke. I’m in pain, how stupid do you say I am?

I so have to stop tomorrow.

The cigarettes are on the kitchen bench and the mull bowl is still on the coffee table. Sam sees them straight away. He points to both and looks at me in amazement.

I hug him and kiss him and tell him that I predict that I'm still in the good books, despite it.

He replies, You're pretty confident.

I hug him tight and say, Yes, I am pretty confident.

He laughs like he's heard it all.

I tell him to tell me that I'm wrong.

He smiles and leans in and kisses me gently on the mouth.

The adorable boy and I cuddle up. We have the house to ourselves. He’s quite simply gorgeous. I gaze at him and feel ever so happy.

Down the Coast

I go see mum, she is sitting in one of the upright chairs in the foyer when I get there. We sit and chat about stuff generally. Of course, it comes up about her going home. My brother, Will’s, words about the doctors not allowing her to go home, come into my head. I try it. It’s still not working, she just arcs up like a bitch.

"I’m not going to die here!" she says.

You know, it breaks my heart.

The day drifts away. I grab my Aztec coat, well it's cold and my backpack and head to Tim and Nicholas’s about 3pm, by foot.

It’s driving lessons for Nicholas in the form of a country drive down the coast. We drive to Newhaven, just over the bridge on Phillip Island and stay at Helen’s cute as hell house overlooking the water.

We eat at the San Remo pub. The meals are expensive, but huge, matching the track suit pants of most of the women there.

The first person Nicholas meets is his drug deal, of course, who offers him pot and a joint. He turns both down, because it’s his weekend driving, after all. You know, zero blood levels for learners. Would you believe? So, there was absolutely no need for me to buy cigarettes and smoke the whole time, but I did. At least, I could have blamed it on the dope. This way? I’m just piss week. I’ve smoked cigarettes two weeks on and two weeks off. I last smoked for a night last Thursday, but hadn’t smoked since then. I have to stop tomorrow, my reflux is playing up. You see, not only am I as weak as piss, but it’s actually causing me pain. How stupid am I?

We go home and watch 101 Dalmatians and get plastered on wine.

Mark calls around midnight to ask where I am? He and Luke have been to Guido’s and are speeding off their heads and are heading out for the night.

I tell him I’m at Philip Island. Mark asks why a couple would want to take me away on the weekend with them, how nana are they? I explain that it is Nicholas’s country drive as practice for his licence. Mark asks why Sam wasn’t with me. I tell him that Sam is a little disappointed not to have come away and Mark agrees.

“I don’t blame him, I’d be disappointed too.”

“But Tim and Nicholas don’t know him. It was Nicholas’s thing really, not so much a weekend away.”

They say they are at my place rolling joints.

I stay up late and watch From the cradle to the Grave. Just because there were hot men in it, I have to admit. It was crap, but it was shiny and slick and pretty.

Sam text me through the night.

I think about him the whole time. You know, warmly, sexily, nice that I’m missing him, kind of thoughts, rather than wishing he was there. I don’t want it to move too quickly and burn out too fast. It's nice to feel that space, you know, so you can appreciate the person who normally fills it.

This is hysterical

A cross-dressing man has been caught having sex with a dog in a moat at an old English castle.

The dog chased the 33-year-old transvestite while on a walk with its female owner around the grounds of Cornwall's Pendennis Castle — a fortress built by King Henri VIII — on the morning of July 10, the newspaper reports.

When the woman finally found the dog, she saw the man had mounted it.
Can you picture this, some tranny humping your dog?
"Jees Narelle, that's not somepthink ya see every day."

Police were called to the scene while staff detained the man.
Can you imagine what the, traditionally, straight-laced police would have thought? "You wouldn't fucken believe it even if I fucken told you."

The tranny was escorted home and made a full confession.
Not, in a state of undress, one would assume. Do you think his lippy was smudged across his face? Think about it.

A police spokesperson said: "Other agencies were liaised with and he was handed over to them."
One guess what agencies?

The man received a caution for outraging public decency.
And the dog got a bunch of flowers and an apology and a promise that he would call.

We Need To Talk

Yesterday was my day off. I set my alarm and got up early, as my doctor's clinic was on "appointment on the day" bookings only, as a number of the doctors were away, mine included, so they weren't making appointments. You had to call first thing and grab whatever available appointment there was.

Yeah, good onya, I thought.

I just wanted to get two scripts renewed. I suggested to the receptionist that these could be done in a spare moment and left at the desk for me, there fore I would not, in fact, need an appointment, but she was having none of that.

SMS. 09.00. Good morning babe, sorry for yesterday. I’m on my “Man period” :) How are you? – Sam

Should I answer? Should I make coffee first, before I even contemplate answering.

I decided not to respond straight away.

Maybe a little coffee. Certainly, some muesli. Perhaps, a shower even.

I was still barely awake, coffee just made when Sam called and hit me with that famous line, We need to talk. (Although, the earlier attempt at the apology was good to see.)

Admittedly, my first response to this was, You know what, I'd rather throw myself under the 86 tram than to have to talk, talk, talk, talk, endlessly fucking talk... the equivalent of cardio paddling our relationship back into some sort of newly breathing husk of it's former self.

I told him to come over after work. Shane's in Queensland, we'd have the house to ourselves.

Then I went to see my mum. She didn’t want to go to the same cafe today, so we headed up Doncaster Road, heading for the country, as she'd asked for. We had barely got onto Doncaster Road when she said let’s find somewhere around here, this is nice. We stopped and bought her some hair colour at one of the discount chemist shops, just passed Shopping Town, scouting for a cafe. The weather was awful and there didn’t seem to be any cafes close by. She is easily tricked, now a days, so I just drove back to the usual Belmore Road shops a different way and she was happy. We ate in the cafe across the road from the one we ate at usually. I drove back to the nursing home the long way around, I'm pretty sure she didn't catch on. I don’t think she did.

I was home by early afternoon.

SMS. 15.43. Hey cranky pants :) I’m going to the doctor @ 16.45, which means I should be home about the time you get there, but if I’m not, I won’t be long – Christian

SMS. 15.44. Hm, are you okay? I cya tonight – Sam

SMS. 15.46. I’m fine, just going to be treated for stress caused by a certain someone in my life – Christian

SMS. 15.47. Seriously??!! U freak me out now – Sam

SMS. 15.47. Big smile.

SMS. 16.14. Are you okay? – Christian

SMS. 16.15. No, I’m freaked out because u freaked out (wink) – Sam

SMS. 16.16. I’m not freaked out – Christian

My doctor’s appointment was at 16.45 with Tom Wilson. It didn't last long, just two scripts and a flu shot.

Just as I pulled up into the lane way next to my house, Sam text me. Literally, as my wheels rolled up the driveway from the road.

SMS. 17.34. Are you home yet? – Sam

SMS. 17.35. Yes, just got here – Christian

Then I saw him walking along G. Street, next to the pub, and I smiled and I felt good, just for seeing him.

We have to talk first, of course. He lays out his accusations. I tell him he’s a drama queen.

He says he was hurt by my decision to smoke pot and my decision to go away without him on the weekend. He says, of course, he wants to smoke pot with me, but he thinks that would not be a good thing. He doesn’t think I should, he says I go through a door into another world, when I do and he doesn’t like it.

I tell him that I felt guilty about going away without him, but he doesn’t know Tim and Nicholas and that it was organised weeks ago.

We eat Indian. We chat and make fun and joke about not being able to choose the dishes from the menu. I tell him we’re going around to the shop in person then – it’s literally – just around the corner, he raises his eyebrows and says really, as he pulls his jacket on. There does just seem to be he and I as we laugh on our way around to make the order face to face.

We watch television in each other’s arms.

Letter to Self

 This letter is the beginning of my London journal, completed a few years ago. I know it's not quite written in the traditional style of a letter to your younger self, but here it is.

Saturday 24th March

I pieced together most of my journal for when I lived in London from the letters I sent to Leah at the time, and from a, somewhat, incomplete journal I wrote intermittently while I was there.

"Oh, I was too busy to be sitting and writing all the time," says 20 year old Christian. "Besides, it never occurred to me to write it all down."

Forty year old Christian looks “directly into the lens” and raises his eye-brows.

Leah gave me the letters a few years ago, after I had asked her if she still had them. I wrote to her nearly every day. She was coming down from Sydney to clean her stuff out of her mum's garage in Melbourne, finally, so I asked her to look while she was doing the cleaning up. She gave them to me to read, after which she said that she wanted them back to re-read them for herself. I think I gave her the idea.

"I'm going to type them up..."

“Why?” said Leah.

“Oh, I didn’t really keep the journal that I meant to when I was overseas, that first time. It helps me fill in the blanks. Besides, it’s good to say hello to my twenty year old self again. It’s the journal I meant to keep.”

“But bubby why? That was so long ago.”

My Forty year old self completely dominated my twenty year old self. No, you’re not going to say that, you’re not going to embarrass us like that. You talk shit, you don’t even write in complete sentences. You use baby language and embarrassing expressions. Everything was “nice.” How about a little description when you wrote about the gardens at Hampton Court Palace. How about describing a place instead of just saying you went there and it was “nice.” Tell us how you felt about stuff. Sheesh. You didn’t make it easy, not a clue as a writer. You only talked about the most banal things, generally.

The sun was shining, the sky was blue.

Hands in the air! Exasperated look.

Twenty year old Christian looks perplexed.

A boy went out into the world to do a man’s job. I would have done such a better job, writing off screeds of beautiful prose, talking about places in fascinating detail. What a waste to send those tunnel vision twenty year old eyes out into the world.

“But you didn’t.”

“Hello, it’s nice to meet you,” says forty year old Christian.

“Yeah, well? Nice to meet you?” Twenty year old Christian smiles nervously. “I’m not so sure,” he says.

So forty year old Christian rewrote passages freely, added details that he remembered to be true. He re-jigged sentences to make them make sense, adding whatever he wanted to.

“If I just added these few words and connect that idea to that idea, and changed this sentence, that paragraph would, actually, then make sense. Because, I have no idea what it means now.”

"But... but... but?"

I have tried to keep within the spirit of the letters, only adding or changing to make what is already there make sense. I have expanded ideas, as I understood their original meaning to be - it's amazing what you can remember. I haven’t added any new ideas or material, which I didn’t feel was already contained in the original meaning.

“But that was my idea,” says twenty year old Christian. “You’re changing stuff.”

“Just making it sharper and clearer, just trying to help, babe,” says forty year old Christian. “I’m just completing your second draft. Relax, it’s in good hands.”

“You make me look like an imbecile.”

Forty year old Christian shrugs. “What can I say, you were.”

“That’s not fair.”

“You didn’t even... you know... with anyone,” says forty year old Christian. “The whole year, what an opportunity you had to taste the flesh of Europe. Away from home, away from inquisitive eyes.”

“I was in a relationship... and... and... and Rachel and I just hung out... she didn’t, either.”

(Ed note - Leah was my girlfriend, who I left back in Australia. Rachel was one of my best friends who I travelled with)

“Well, I’m talking about you. And, you need to ditch the girlfriend too.”

“But, I love her...”

“You always will. But, just not like that.”

They stare each other down, momentarily.

“I never thought about it,” says twenty year old Christian, barely opening his mouth. “You know, sex. It never crossed my mind.”

“I told you, you were an imbecile.” Forty year old Christian snorts through his nose and looks disdainfully at his younger counter part. “Ten years behind, I’ve always said that I was ten years behind and as far as I can see, it was pretty much your fault, those of us who came after you have been trying to make up time ever since.”

Twenty year old Christian looks sheepish.

Forty year old Christian looks stern. (with an itchy arm pit, but that’s neither here nor there, actually.)

"I did my best."

"Best, is a clear misuse of the word."

"What should I do?"

"You should push yourself harder, reach further, write longer, believe (in yourself) stronger, be better, because you are all of those things, are capable of all of those things. You can be anything, do anything... don't be afraid... just don't be afraid."

Twenty year old Christian looks wide-eyed.

"Write more and don't be lazy," says forty year old Christian. "You are lazy."

"I don't like you."

"I don't like you either!"

"Go on, finish all the things I didn't. You show me, since you think you are sooooooo smart."

“Here’s the one piece of information I can give you...”

“What?”

“You are gay! G...A...Y.”

“I am not!”

“Idiot!”

Is This Going To Keep Happening?

I told Sam over lunch that I am going down to Phillip Island with Tim and Nicholas at the weekend and that I would probably smoke some pot.

I kind of felt guilty that I wasn't inviting him. But, you know, all in good time.

He emailed me in the afternoon and said he couldn't continue having a relationship with a smoker.

He emailed me later in the afternoon and asked me to tell him that he'd made the right decision. I told him to look deep inside himself and he would find the answer.

So, I bought a packet of cigarettes on my way home and sat on a seat on the footpath, in the cold, at the top of Bourke Street and smoked one,  feeling what it was like to be dumped... again.

My first cigarette in how long? Is that irony?

I laughed at myself when I thought, I'm giving up on men. Then I stood up, took hold of my brief case firmly by the handle and headed home.

Last night, I tossed the cigarettes in the fire when he text me later, asking if I was stoned, or smoking? The cigarettes went in the fire just before I answered no.

He text me quite a few times wanting to know if I understood his decision?

 
If you don't want to, you don't want to, for whatever reason, I'm cool with that, I said. I feet sad about it, to be truthful, but I can't make you feel in a certain way.

I thought, for a boy who wants to dump me, has dumped me, you seem to be keeping up contact. Under other circumstances, I would have found it adorable.

The Many Faces of Christian

I laughed at Mark for sending emails to The Circle, yesterday morning, but then I spent the whole day watching What's My Line on YouTube. I never claimed that hypocrisy was beyond me.

Oh yes, busy days all around, as they say.

I started out with a cup of coffee and the on-line news around 10am, you know, easing into the day. There was an article about 93 year old Zsa Zsa Gabour falling out of bed and breaking her hip, as she answered the phone. This, naturally, led onto... link... link... click... click... 1950's game show... about the blindfolded panel guessing the mystery celebrity of the day. I watched 40 year old Zsa, then her sister Eva, and her sister Magda, you know, as you do. Then Joan Crawford. Natalie Wood, Dustin Hoffman, Mickey Rooney, Ava Gardiner, Sammy Davis Jnr, Jerry Lewis, Doris Day, Bob Hope, Lucille Ball, Jack Lemmon and the rest. I can't get enough of it. I love it!

Suddenly, it was 3.30pm, the day had slipped away and I had to go do things. You know, as it can.

Oh, I love YouTube! It brings every thing back to the present, where, before, essentially, all those things were somewhat lost to us. I love it, I think it's grand. I can lose days on YouTube.

And Was It?

30-year-old US man Matthew M. exposed himself several times telling those he flashed they would see the "biggest penis in the world".

Okay, let's see it. He should head down Commercial Road on a Saturday night and try that same trick.

Police arrested him at his apartment, where he was allegedly surrounded by bags of cocaine. Matt, Matt, Matt, Matt. Matt?

He was charged with two counts of exposure of sexual organs, and possession of cocaine and drug paraphernalia.

He is being held on $26,000 bail. For flashing your willy?

But, more importantly, was it? Hands raised in the air, questioning look. He's pretty cute we all want to see it. Was it worth looking at? Was it big? Was it filling up with blood, Matt? Would you let us touch it? Enquiring minds want to know? Why don't they confirm the most interesting parts (ha, ha) of the story.

Rainy, Rainy Day

Rainy, rainy day.

It was shining as I kissed Sam good bye this morning and headed out into the day. The sun was warm, sparkling, even, as I left the house. But then, sprinkle, sprinkle, followed by kerthunk, kerthunk of the windscreen wipers and it had turned grey even before I'd go to meeting my sister at lunch. I wanted to say, as I gazed skywards, Okay, as they used to say, enough already, Hughie. But, grimace, drought and all, dare I speak those words? You know, the farmers need it. The farmers? THE farmers? Why are we so concerned about the farmers? I ask you? I should be more concerned about my garden? But, I'm more concerned about the once green vista of the Garden State, which seems to have vanished, pretty much, in the more recent years. Remember when all of Melbourne's plentiful parks (you know, the ones that are left which haven't had yet another sports arena built on them) used to radiate with verdant hues? You know, if it looks pretty, that's what we're all concerned about, isn't it? That's why I'm not saying, enough already. So, yay for rain! Yay! Yay! Where's my Vuvuzela? Gritted teeth. Fists ready to roll into balls and shake sky-wards, as I run for the car.

Apparently So

The seasons come and the seasons go, as do droughts, apparently so. Water falls from the clouds, pitter pat, our most precious commodity, more and more precious every year with the growing world population...

... and the climate is going to crap, crap, crap! The climate is going to crap.

The climate is going to crap?

Yeessssss. Yes! Yes!

The climate is going to crap!

Post script

Oh yes, post script, I won him back over the following day. He came for dinner to return my jacket, which I'd left at his place the Saturday night after the green curry. You know, my boyish charm worked it's magic. Ha, ha.

I lit an open fire and sat him in front of it, a few comfy cushions and the lights down low. I listened to him telling me it wasn't going to work and how I was going to drive him mad with my pot smoking and my recalcitrant ways. I decided a gentle form of attack was my best approach. So, I might drive you mad occasionally, well, at least you know you alive, if I do. But it will never be deliberate. Puppy dog smile. Lean in, big hug, big kiss (Apparently, I'm a great kisser, {not my words} it's not only he who has said so) and I felt him melt into my embrace and from there, I'd pretty much won him back. Ha, ha. Boy's aren't that complicated.

Oh, Now Where Was I?

Oh, now where was I? Write something, yes. I was going to find that letter to my younger self. Good idea, especially since I've already written it. But, I didn't find it, I'll get to it, but you know, back through the archives, what a head ache. Er! 

It's been an interesting week. End of the financial year and all. Jees, all that work, I had to get done, that I have got done now. Whew! Yay! Pat on the back. Now, you see, it all started last Friday, when I was really putting the old nose to the grindstone and getting stuck in. I'd forgotten how much hard work those not-quite-the-B/Fword can be. I mean to say.

Well, Sam had gone shopping waiting for me to finish working. He was texting me from David Jones telling me that it would be all my fault if he spends his entire year's pay entertaining himself waiting for me to be done. So, in the spirit of the occasion I was making certain promises that I wouldn't, eventually, be able to keep.

Yes, yes, I'll be finished soon. Yes, yes, not long now. Okay, fifteen minutes. Yadda, yadda, yadda, until I finally had to stop and say, you know what, I really need to get this done.

Okay, I'm going home now.

Okay, sorry.

So, I finished what I had to do and headed home an hour, or so, later. All sweet... so I thought.

Saturday, I headed off to see my mum. Apparently, she was dark on me for leaving her in the home, so said my brother and sister-in-law. It didn’t show when I saw her. We got money from the bank and bought a TattsLotto ticket and petrol. We went for a drive in the country to Warrandyte, then we ate pancakes at the pancake parlour.

I looked at her across the wooden table and felt sad. It is sad, watching your mother decline.

I feel kind of let down when I came home. Bored, well? I felt ordinary, everything felt ordinary. Call it staring my own mortality right in the face. 

I should call Sam, I thought. Maybe, I wouldn't be such good company. Shane was away. I might just build a fire and lie on the couch and watch teev mindlessly. That's what I felt like doing, you know, get my centre back, if you like. The V8 super cars were on, I hadn't watched them since I was a kid. It felt comforting, you know, like a glass of warm milk as a little tacker.

Sam text. He was in the city, did I want to catch up? Yes, it felt good, I should have text him, after all.

From the moment he arrived, I could see he was, well, at that stage, troubled.

You see, what I didn't really get was that he didn't head home, the previous night, because of my I-have-to-get-this-finished text, in fact, he misunderstood that text altogether. No, it was becoming apparent twenty four hours later, he went home because he was, well, really pissed off.

I was oblivious.

I could see his point, when it was pointed out to me. Grimace. I put up my case, tried to jolly him out of it. Laughed at the most inappropriate moments, oops. He wasn't buying it. You made me wait around for all that time and then you didn't turn up when you finally said you would.

But, but, but...

I'm going home.

Okay, I thought. Go home. But, actually, I stayed silent, by that stage. I was still taken aback.

And, surprise, surprise, he left.

I lay by the soft glow of the open fire, with the V8's going zoom, zoom and thought, what just happened?

So, I text him, Hey cranky pants?

Again, not one of my finest texts. He text back with anger. Grr! Gritted teeth. I asked him what he wanted me to do. His response was, you had better get your arse over here.

Okay, on my way. I picked up my keys and left for his place, with my tail firmly between my legs. I unreservedly apologised for everything and fell asleep in his arms. Oh, there was some of the other thing in between, smile, but I'm sure you don't want those details. And he cooked me a green curry, more than I deserved, so he said. At midnight I got up and left, as I had to be at Nicholas' early to take him driving.

Nicholas, Tim, Wendy, their next door neighbour and dog lover, and I went driving. Nicholas was to have two instructors, me and Wendy. Probably not ideal.

First stop the market at Fed Square, held in the multi level car park, all grey and concrete without an aspect. Apparently, it is supposed to be something of an upmarket affair, designer and the like. But really, it’s the same kind of tat as you’d find in any market. It was busy. There seemed to be a disproportionate number of people to what was on offer. Primarily, we went to see Tim and Nicholas’s friend’s dog stall, even that only seemed to consist of a few designer dog collars and leads.

I like the green and yellow ceramic jars and the small hands under a glass dome, which turned out to be hand soaps. I thought they were cute. Tim said they were creepy and bordered on paedophilia.

Then we went to Elwood for breakfast/lunch. We all had the big breakfast special of scrambled eggs, except for Tim who had Thai fish cakes. We all said afterwards we wished we’d chosen something different. Although, Elwood was gorgeous.

“Can we pat your Pug?” Nicholas asked a nice lady walking her Pug named Ming. Nicholas smiled broadly as he looked at me. I’d told Nicholas, not so long ago, that of all the small dogs, I quite liked Pugs. Ming was gorgeous, a little character. His little fat head rubbing in the palm of my hand with his snuffly noises was adorable. His owner said he loves attention.

Then we drove down the beach road to the Nepean Hwy, with Wendy and I both telling Nicholas what to do. We drove all the way down to Frankston, It was sunny and warm. There was a mother on the sand at the beginning of the Frankston jetty with two carrot topped kids. A couple of baby rangas, I said. I got chastised as Tim thought the mother would have been able to hear me.

To continue with the dog theme for the day, there was a Shar Pei in front of us, walking up the jetty with his two female owners. I was just about to say to Nicholas that you don’t see a Shar Pei very often when it leans forward and vomited everywhere. There was white frothy foam all over its mouth. I said to the owners, who were grabbing tissues from the baby bag, maybe he’s sea sick. They laughed.

We ate chocolate mousse cake, in the barn-like cafe, that was the size of someone’s head. We needed four spoons to get through it.

We came home and Nicholas suggested we go get pot. I agreed. Seriously, I thought he was kidding – Nicholas had quite for most of this year. The next thing he is on the phone organising it. But we needed something to smoke it out of, so we went to Nicholas’ mums for her spare bong – Nicholas had ditched his. His mum was smoking a bong when we got there. She packed me a pipe, while Nicholas was upstairs.

I ate dinner at Tim and Nicholas’. And my eyes half-closed in that familiar feeling and the couch became more comfortable than normal, the 3 bongs were hitting.

Shane called to ask if I was coming home to cook desert and while I pretended to be stone cold sober, I couldn't quite pull it off. He picked it straight off, actually.

Anyway, I decided not so long after that I should head home and make an appearance and quite possibly whip up that chocolate cake and surprise everyone.

My phone had been in my jacket and I hadn’t heard it ring. So, I wasn’t answering it, naturally. I didn’t check it until I’d got home, when I casually pulled it from my jacket pocket as I headed into the house. Sam had called 4 times and sent 3 messages... something about telling him I was okay. But, I hadn’t organised to see him, I hadn’t not turned up when I should have. I was a bit surprised, actually. So, I tried to make light of it and responded with the fact I’d been smoking pot and I was considering making a chocolate cake for our normal Sunday night dinner. Sam responded with he was dumping me. Oh yes, quite cross

I went to answer his text, but stopped and decided to think about it. What was the correct response? What would I say to him? I guessed, if that’s how I made him feel, maybe he was right, maybe I should be dumped.

I came home to the tail end of Sebastian’s dinner.

Mark L and I went and got more pot and the Kenwood from the M. Street kitchen to make the chocolate cake. I was very stoned by this stage and couldn’t help playing with the moles on Mark L’s back as he was bent over head first in the cupboard having trouble locating all the bits. Every time I tweeked them he'd bang his head on the cupboard, making cross comments about me stopping it. It was funny. Oh, I was just stupid really, I don’t know why... because they were there and I was feeling silly. I soon pushed him out of the way when he was being a "boy" about the utensil cupboard and found the missing bits which he couldn't.

I was thinking about Sam and his message the whole time.

Suffice to say we smoked the rest of the pot and the chocolate cake didn't get made.

Coward

I suspect I might be a coward.

Do we all think that when we feel our fear? Oh yes, I feel cowardly, so I must be a coward?

Is that a standard response? Is it an excuse, or an explanation? I'm a coward so I don't have to look inside at myself. I am a coward and I accept this? Or os it an excuse for bad behaviour? I am a coward so I don't have to question my actions? It is an excuse for not doing any work on myself? I'm this way and that is that?

I'm a coward.

What you are saying is that you are lazy. You are so lazy that you won't even lift a finger to stop people calling you bad names.

It's Nothing You Haven’t Seen Before

I watched Avatar with Shane last night, only on dvd, admittedly. Hmm? Yeah. James Cameron mixed Bambi with the Empire Strikes Back. What was the big deal? It was nothing we’d not seen before. Tell people something is new and they are sucked in oh so easily. There has even been a movie with set in trees just like that, what was that called?

Jill was right when she said, It's nothing you haven’t seen before. I expected her to enthuse, being the si-fi buff, but she didn't. It kind of put me off seeing it until now.

I’m Sorry To Disturb You On Your Days Off, He Says

Sam wakes me sometime after 8am and says I have to get up. His face gazing down at me is a nice way to wake up. 

I’m sorry to disturb you on your day off, he says. Then he laughs... so I don’t believe him. 

It crosses my mind to comment on the sweet smelling stuff he has on, but I think better of it. I like boys to smell natural, I have to say. 

Note to self, work on Sam’s after shave habit.

He misses his train; it crosses the crossing, just up the road, as we step out onto the street. It’s 8.30. 

I say good bye.

He looks at me with wide eyes.

I can drive you, I offer almost as a defence mechanism.

Sydney Road is a remarkably easy drive. I wonder if it is because of school holidays. I drive him to my turn off on Royal Parade – Cemetery Road West – and he catches a tram to work.

I'm thinking breakfast.

I head to the supermarket to buy milk, on Tim’s recommendation. I don’t know how, but Jackson and I get to talking about the price of milk at Coles, last Sunday over lunch. 

Funny the things you talk about when you aren’t stoned off ya bonce.

You can get 3 litres of no-name brand milk for $3 something, said Jackson. 

I pay $5 at the milk bar for 2 litres of Rev. I never think about such things. I guess that is what they count on.

Jackson’s right, 3 litres for $3.50. I’m surprised. I remind myself that the supermarket and the milk bar are not that much different in distance, from my front door, certainly no difference especially if you consider the large price difference. And now that they have those self service checkouts, the supermarket seems much more appealing that it did once when the thought about standing in the queues drove me to the milk bar. I tell myself not to be so slack.

I’m home by 9am with milk and a newspaper and a blueberry bagel, which turns out not to be so good.

I Didn’t See Her, He Said

Sam and I walk to work together, from my place.

On the corner of Bourke and Exhibition, there was a woman, clearly drunk, obviously homeless, dirty and unkempt, hanging from a pole outside Elephant & Wheelbarrow. I looked at her closely, as we walked passed. She probably wasn’t that old, maybe forty, probably not even. Her gaze was blank and staring off into nowhere. She was quite good looking, or at least, she would have been if not for the grime and the degradation and it struck me, how does that happen? A life of abuse, from family and/or addictions? A life of hardship? A few bad choices? How? 

A flash of her pretty face, together and loved, flashed in my mind, as I looked away. I could see her in another role, competent and succeeding in life, just momentarily. I could see her living another life...

I looked back, she hung from the pole. She didn’t look at me, or see me looking. What will happen to her, I thought? We all walked passed her, seemingly, not caring. Me too. 

I felt sad for her... but, that is not enough.

Sam asked what I was looking at.

That woman.

What woman?

Back there, holding on to the pole, homeless.

He shrugged. I didn’t see her, he said.

That’s kind of the problem, I said.

Booking Tickets Late

I go on line to book the tickets to the Gold Coast for Tim’s birthday, late. I'm just off to bed, I'm shutting down my computer, I look at the wall paper I created, BOOK YOUR TICKETS TO QUEENSLAND!

I hate booking tickets on line, I don’t know why... flying by the seat of my pants, ha, ha, not really knowing what I am doing, a-ha, I guess, is the reason.

The first thing I do is tip my glass of water into my keyboard. Doh! Water goes every where. This is not starting out well. I think about giving up once I have the water mopped off my desk finally, but I don't. You can do this, YOU CAN DO THIS NOW!

I get the tickets booked by midnight.

So, no more of Tim and Nicholas asking, Have you booked those tickets. And me squirming with my admission that I still haven't. Them looking at each other as though they are convinced I don't want to go.

Last Sunday they both asked me. Then, when I said I hadn't, they both handed me copies of their itineraries, both saying that it might help.

Okay, okay, I thought.

So, Gold Coast here we come!

Would you believe me if I told you I'd never been to the Gold Coast before?

What?

Sam keeps commenting on my writer's mind and his computer mind. He says my fictional brain screws with the meaning of things far too much for his analytical brain. 

We have to continually be careful not to miss each other's meaning. Actually, that translates as I can screw with his thought processes so that he misses my meaning.

He's gorgeous though. He just gives me that look, that half smile, those eyes and I say, "What?" Mock-grimace, hands in the air. And then his face breaks into a full smile and he shakes his head.

"I can re-phrase?" I offer.

"No. You don't need to. You are funny."

“One day you’ll learn that life isn’t all iphones and ipads, you know.”

“And one day you’ll learn that it is.”

Then we both laugh.

It's funny the things people think about you, hey? I mean, I work with figures all day, so, I mean, how esoteric can I really be? Huh? I mean to say?

I mean, one of the most "Ah!" moments of my life came only a few years ago when I met a new guy. I was talking about how I like to write, but when he found out what I did for a living he declared, laughing, I might add shrilly, You're not a writer, you are an accountant. Ah! Suffice to say, he didn't make it passed the second date.

I didn't like to be rude and say to Sam, No buddy, it's your computer nerd brain that you are highlighting here, not my avantgarde way of expressing myself. Maybe, I should start using parchment and blood ink, delivering messages by pigeon, rather than texting? Or maybe, I should talk in Elizabethan English?

He'd wrap those perfect legs of his around you...

I Shook My Head

Shane complained that David had eaten all of his Nutella. David complained that he was being unfairly accused. But, David has an incredible appetite and was always to blame for food when it went missing. He's a pig, there, I've said it. He can eat his own body weight without breaking a sweat. Not to mention the nights he got on the Stillnox and raided the fridge in a coma. We used to call it his Heath Ledger mix. What was it he used to take, Trammil, Mobic, Stillnox and Valium.

Oh yes, a very Zen Yogi... nothing but the "moves" (should that read positions?) and the "good word", you know how it is.

The truth of the matter is that it was me who ate the Nuttella. You know, a late night snack on toast, a boy gets hungry. I never meant to hide it, I didn't need to. I was going to own up, but when it turned out that David got the blame, well, what the hell. I've made sure that I haven't eaten any of it since David moved out.

Shane said to me today, "See..." holding up the half empty Nutella bottle... "Nothing gone since David left, I knew he was lying."

I smiled. "You know what he's like."

"The fact that he could look me right in the eye and tell lies like that."

I shook my head. "Some people."

Pinch Punch First of the Month!

Marvellous Melbourne

I love Melbourne, I guess because it is my home town. It is a shame that property developers have been allowed to destroy it. It's a shame that property developers are continuing to destroy it. I can't imagine what tourists would come here to see.

I love that it is multicultural.

I love it being a tram city.

I love its eclectic lane ways, it's avant-garde pretensions. I've really been loving the food lane way next to the GPO. Sam and I have been heading their for Japanese at lunch time. The overhead heaters are toasty.

I love that the people unabashedly wear black to make it a very black city. It's so noticeable in the winter with everyone in their black woollen coats.

Pity, I'm finding city living less and less appealing. Maybe I might just surprise every one and go and live... oh, I don't know... somewhere else.

Oh, maybe I just like to fucken whinge. I'm not sure which, any more. It's no longer the meek who shall inherit the earth, it is the whiners.