Camp Over

We were smoking pot early, well me and Anthony. LouLou never has any if she has to drive. I was smoking pot heavily, if the truth be known. Anthony held out his hand every time, despite having to drive, despite having to go home to his ailing mother, despite the crazies. I never know if he is meant to be partaking, or not, but then I figure he is a big boy, he’s been through it all, he should know better than I.


We had two too few beds, four houseguests, two spare bedrooms. Still, who amongst you who can claim two spare rooms in the inner suburbs?

Having people to stay, is a little like going on camp… setting up camp… whatever… even at this age. Funny. There were people spread out all over the floor last night, not a sign of it any where this morning. All cleaned up. There were a number of motionless faces out the back on the wicker chairs, coffee in hand.

“Good morning.”

“Good morning.”

I got right into my face recognition software technology in iPhotos. I got all of the photos from yesterday done, and then some. I plugged a big hole in the ones that hadn’t been done. Nearly caught them all up.

People were quiet.


There was still the question of what time the lunch was, with Tim and Nicholas. I so wanted them to cancel too, but that wasn’t likely.

“When are you going to find out?” asked Sam.

“I’ll text now. Wouldn’t it be so good if they cancelled.”

Sam laughed.

“We can’t cancel…”

“No, we’ve cancelled already.”

Tim text back that they had forgotten and could we reschedule. Tim called after that to say he was so sorry.

“No problem, next week is just fine with me,”

“So sorry, we’ll go out for lunch next weekend.”

“Lovely.”

I hung up the phone. “Yeah, they cancelled.”

“Yeah, they cancelled.”



LouLou left for her mother’s place around midday. Suitably sober for the occasion. The bud I gave her safely tucked away in her bra, for later. I was going to give her what was left in the bag, but evil Christian appeared like a black mist and entered my body, as I carefully doled out what amounted to be less than half of what was left. Bad Christian. How those good intentions unravelled, and quickly.

I was thinking about Monday morning, having returned from the mechanic, sitting back in a, not quite, vacated house. What a nice time to be stoned.

We ate reheated pizza, Anthony, Sam and I. Shane went to an exhibition, or something equally fabulous. Just can't stop being fabulous.

So nothing left to do but smoke dope and play with my photos.

Anthony sat on the couch and stared straight ahead, mostly with a cigarette between his fingers. I always feel that it is such a relief for him just being away from the constant care of his ailing mother, that it is all he can do to just feel the quiet and the calm.


Sam and I went to Woolies to get ingredients for Tacos, yum...

I made muesli from the nut, sultana and chocolate and seeds mixes left over from yesterday. I rather fancied some deluxe muesli with chocolate pieces in it, for a change. Fat? Who said I was fat?

Anthony brewed coffee continuously. I don’t know what the coffee thing was all about, but he just made pot after pot. Returning to his seat to continued to stare ahead.

The afternoon was overcast and grey and coolly moody.

We watched Chris Stein’s Hanoi and Bangkok. The food looked amazing.

We ate tacos and watched Masterchef The Professionals, where they massacred a Sunday Roast.

The breeze began to get cool blowing in through the window. Buddy snuffled around on the floor for debris, the inevitable taco debris. He was fast, he got the idea quickly, he used his bulldozer instincts to clear us out of his way.


We watched Graham Norton. Denzel Washington, Nicholas Hoult and Bill Bailey. Nicholas Hoult is still as hot as ever. The dirty thoughts I have had about that boy over the years don’t bare being put into words, but he just smoulders.

Buddy took himself off to his bed outside, but then he barked a few times at 10.15 PM approx., so I bought him inside again. I can't have the crazy lady over the back making log entries, now can I?

Anthony left with a little number I rolled him for later, when he could sit on his back veranda and stare straight ahead.

Sam went to bed.

I watched a doco on Andy Warhol. The man who changed the world. An original, the likes of which we'll probably never be seen again. What an amazing time to have lived. We are ever destined to recycle many looks from the likes of him and his era, on ever expanding diminishing joy cycle.

I went to bed at 12.30am.