Going to see Darren Hayes

I was up at 10.30, mostly because my bladder was telling me so.

I came downstairs to a healthy Aby, now fully recovered from her codeine poisoning.

Aby’s friend LuLu arrived a short time later and they headed out into the day.

It is cold and wet, the skies are grey, the breeze has a bite to it. Sam and I needed umbrellas to head out to dinner this last evening. The hint of summer that we had has all disappeared and it is raining, you can see your breath puff out in front of you when you breath out.

I was happily pulled up at the coffee table with my laptop and my coffee, thick explorer socks, hoodie, track pants and thermal underwear, happy as a Christian can be... atheist boy named Christian, that is. The morning was drifting into lunch time, Missy was snuggled up next to me, purring as my hand gently stroked her back.

I might write a little for the day and then rest. It seemed like a good idea. Or maybe, if when I got to it, I decided that I wasn't sleepy, I might head out for a snack. Who cared? I could do anything, the day was mine.

Click, click sounded the front door. Scrape, scrape was the sound of the silver jiffies on the floorboards. Scratch, scratch was the sound of the fingernails on the wall at the lounge room door, as she came into sight.

Sharp breath in. "Oh, 'allo."

"Oh... hello Guadalupe."

I head straight outside and write on my lap-top on the back veranda, my coffee next to me. It wasn’t exactly warm and I wondered how crazy I looked, but at least I was out of her way cleaning. And it helps with my cleaner phobia, something about my back to her.

When I was sick of writing, I then continue with the cleaning of up the back, the upper layer, normally out of sight. I was determined to clean it all up, finish the job, clean it so I could see the bitumen covering the ground where the cars park, or at least, my car parks.

I scrape, I scratch, I sweep, I shovel, I clean the surface of all its dirt.

I pile up the side garden/compost heap with all the debris that was lying all of the surface of the drive and the car park.

I sweep and I sweep and I sweep some more so the surface is clean. It takes some time. I promise myself that I wont let this happen again. Deep down, I’m pretty convinced that it will.

I wonder if I could rent it out? Who has a spare car space in the inner suburbs which they don't use?

All the while I am enjoying my alone time.

It takes me the rest of the day, fuelled by many cups of tea, and I am fucked when I am finished, aching all over, thinking I’m not twenty any more.

Sam arrives after work.

Mark and Luke arrive later than they said they would, but they have brought the bed back for the front room, strapped to the roof of the Subaru. They are in the middle of their house packing, as they are leaving for NSW in three weeks, so they are busy cleaning up all the loose ends. They borrow the bed some months ago.

We are going to see Darren Hayes at the Forum.

We ate at Coconut Palms; Mark and Luke are too hungry to even talk. The both seem grumpy. We walked up Smith Street and caught a taxi in Victoria Parade. The taxi driver was a maniac, you know, your clichéd road terror taxi driver.

Brendan Maclean is the support act. He was a self indulgent tosser who seemed to be terribly enamoured with his own small talent.

Darren Hayes started right on time. He comes out under a ultra violet lit umbrella, which seems really dumb, and doesn’t bode well for the rest of the performance. We got a posy up near the front. The sound was shit. Mark and Luke didn’t seem to be having a very good time. Sam said he was excited. Then Luke disappeared. When I asked Mark where he was, he said Luke had gone home, as he wasn’t into it.

It was standing room only and I seemed to be getting a sore back from all the standing.

Mark disappeared and then reappeared saying the sound was better up the back… which it was. Then Mark went out for a cigarette. I said to Sam let’s go out and get some fresh air. Mark walked up to us on the footpath and said, “So, are you ready to go?”

“Oh?” That’s not really what I had in mind. I look at Sam, he nods. “Ok,” we said.

Mark said he was freezing as we walked home, lets catch a taxi, of course he didn’t have any money. The taxi drive was a really gorgeous, big strong, boysy Indian guy with a beautiful smile.

Some how we beat Luke home. He must have walked.

Luke said he saw Shane and David in a bar in Gertrude Street.

Mark and Luke left pretty soon after. They had a cup of tea, but they still didn’t seem all that happy.

Sam and I went to bed.

David came home with Shane and knocked on my bedroom door. We jokingly kept silent, thinking David would be more determined than he actually proved to be. He must have walked straight down the stairs and out the front door.

Sam and I were watching Graham Norton.

I text him a few times after that. He called me a witch and said he’d gone to Club 80.

“I’ve been away for four months you bitch.”