The Colourful Hive

The Hive shopping whatsit (mall, centre, place) has been transformed with the fresh fruit and veg market that has opened recently. Where it was just a lost, dark corner down the back, awkwardly sitting in front of Chemist Warehouse and next to Aldi, (Is it just me, or do other people feel that shopping in Aldi is like visiting on Mars?) it now vibrates with people and colour and movement… and that all important air con. I know, I know, we’re not usually such pussies, but it was hot today. 

"Oh baby, I'm sweating."

"I'm dying, how much further is it?"

We had to go to the butcher and the other Asian grocer, but we soon scurried back to the cool of The Hive. "Phew!"

I bought apples for 90c a kilo, I bought granny smith and pink lady to stew for my morning muesli. That's very nana, now isn't it? Who else stews apples?

Sam tried on his usual con regarding the distribution of the bags to carry on the walk home. Claims of unfairness, and “I’m dying back here!”

He tries out all the carry bags and quite unashamedly gives me the heavy bags to carry home... if I let him. The trouble starts when I push back and refuse to play the "harmonising" of the bag weight. Then Sam's whining about the bag situation doesn’t stop for the whole walk home.

Today, I out smarted him "ha ha" and swapped heavy items for light ones, as he would do to me if I allowed him too, when he wasn't looking. He soon caught on and he kept up the complaining all the way from Victoria Street to home.

I stewed the apples. I made doubledecker two colour jelly with lychees, earlier this morning. I just needed vanilla ice cream now and I have the perfect English pudding.

It was hot, the sun blazed, the heat beat down. Spring is change, one week hot, one week cold. I like it, I like the change. Actually, I don't much like the heat and find the cool that follows such a relief.

No Queues in Fitzroy to Vote.

(okay, this was added retrospectively, but who cares)

We decided not to go early to vote, last year when we did that it seemed like all of Fitzroy thought they'd go early too.

We ate lunch sitting out in the sun on the footpath in Smith Street. It was a sunny day, the sky was blue, the breeze blew. A good day to change government. I ate Nasi Lemak. Sam ate that Asian version of gnocchi, I have no idea what it is called.

No queues in Fitzroy to vote, just a handful of people, we had to wait a few minutes. I had to go to the local table, Sam had to go to the aliens voting in an electorate that isn’t their own table, as we usually do, so we always vote alone. We even got hedgehog on the way out. 

Fat?

No.

Money for charity sweetie, money for charity.

No sausage sizzle, I was disappointed. Not that I wanted one, of course, we'd just eaten lunch, but it is always nice to smell the sausages sizzling in the breeze. 

There is something forever connected with elections and sausage sizzles. Perhaps, it is metaphoric, Who comes before us daring to say they know how to run the country, risking having their sausage cooked on the metre of public opinion. You know, something like that.

TwinSet Tina

Sam makes coffee every morning, he is coffee monitor. Sam puts my lunchbox together. He wraps it in a plastic bag and puts it in my bag every morning.

Sam wore red to work today as it was Fijitsu Day.

Kirin was in a foul mood today. Not that I really noticed, only really through Kerin telling me that she was. Kirin and I joke a few times. Kerin complained about being behind constantly.

Kirin had meetings all day.

There was, of course, the continuing drama of Twinset Tina’s emails. Again, she was on the blower all day telling people that she’d had a catastrophe with her emails. Again, she was trying to retrieve work, or get out of work, I was never too sure. She is a techno idiot. She described things in amateur language, that of a techno illiterate. So, it was full of a lot of thingamabobs and whatsits.

Twinset Tina’s very mumsy. I looked her up in the data base, she is 60. She wears twinsets and pearls and has her hair shaped into an immaculate blonde bob. She wears chiffons and flowing dresses. She is squat and dumpy. 

At one point she got very excite and exclaimed. “You should see what a mess it’s in.”

The person on the other end of the phone said something funny, probably one of her old 1960s university crony friends, who understands as much as she does about the whole knew technology thang.

She laughed out loud and exclaimed, “You’d never guess what is in my box.”

I turned to Kirin and said, “Oh I don’t know, A sprig of lavender and a lace hanky.”

Kirin laughed.

Twinset Tina went on, practically doing the linguistic version of the split beaver in her continuing, washed up ex-university employee, narrative of her virus attacked email problems.

“You should see my box,” she girlishly exclaimed, dumb girl still talking, like some old clueless aunt.

“I can’t touch that,” I said to Kirin, both of us realising at the same time that I said, I can’t touch Twinset Tina’s box. We had to look away from each other, so we both didn’t spontaneously fall about laughing.

Twinset Tina works with Kevin Maxwell, the kind of sweet, and mumsy policy writers. They both write endless submissions, or at least I think that is what they do. Neither of them has the slightest idea how to use a computer. They are always advising each other how to fix each other’s computer problems. Computers remain a mystery to both of them. They are old school, they are a bit like the Endora and Maurice of the finance world, except without the flourish, of course. They sit opposite the COO Jon Austin, who seems to be everybody’s mate, and the rather aggressive inhouse lawyer, Stella Chalmers, who seems to be forever fending the two old gasbags off. I often Hear Stella’s voice rise as she insists that either Twinset Tina, or Kevin goes back to their desks so she can work. Stella has a tendency to just drone on and on and on in the back ground. Twinset Tina’s phone calls do the same thing, she can just blabber on and on, as she turns to the wall and speaks complicity, which for some reason seems to send her slither like lilt along the wall to me, rather than out into the open plan room. She always sounds like she is trying to con somebody somewhere out of something. I don’t know why, perhaps it is all in my head.

Guido was coming between 4pm & 4.30pm, he was out on the road. 

“If I get there earlier than you, I’ll leave something in your letterbox.”

‘Two’, I replied. LouLou always wants me to get her some to take home.

I walked to the ATM with Kerin who was catching the tram to Hoddle Street to her father’s business to catch a lift home with her father. She claims to be needing to lose 10 kilos before her May wedding to Tommy. She told me Tommy is all muscle, 120 kilos of muscle, 6 foot 3. So, she is swimming at the top of the gene pool when choosing a mate. Tommy sounds sweet too, he cooks and is always thinking of her during the day, often calling her about something.

You know, I now wanna meet Tommy.

I got home at 4.38pm. No “little something” in the letterbox, as yet.

Guido arrived at 5.30pm, the same time as Sam. The bulldog alarm went off, Buddy dashed in from outside heading straight to the front door, as his Vulcan doggie hearing hears the front gate clack. I look up expecting to see Sam and Guido went “Ta da!” in front of me. Sam came in behind him.

I showed Guido the picture of Stella. 

“Why spend so much money,” said Guido. “There are plenty of dogs that nee good homes, get a rescue dog.”

It was a sunny afternoon, the light from which seemed to stretch late into the evening.

Anthony called. He invited himself over on Sunday, when he heard I had just got a new delivery from Guido.

Sam talked nonstop about Stella, the bulldog puppy.

We ate stir-fried veggies for dinner. 

I fell asleep on the couch. I saw Sam monitoring me, trying to catch me with my eyes closed, as he loves to do. It kept me on my toes, but it was almost impossible. We were watching the Living Room when I gained my three strikes and I was out. 

I woke up sometime later, and the TV was off. 

I wrote a piece of my journal that had been going around in my head, the sprig of lavender and the lace hanky, then I went to bed.

The new kids across the road were having a party. How many new kids have I seen have a party on that balcony over the road? The two terrace house next to each other have been, what appear to be, student houses. They are always loud and throwing parties at the beginning, but that pretty quickly stops.

Sam put on piano music at 11.11pm and we both fell asleep in the normal few minutes. 

A Little Work, A Big Dinner

I am sitting on my balcony at 8.09am writing this having a cigarette. Sam has left and I am about to leave. Just thought I’d mention that it is a sunny day with a cloudy sky.

Gotta luv walking out the door at 8.20am. Get to work 8.35am. Sit out the front and have a last smoke, as the world passes by. Watch the world pass by, office chicks, guys in suits, delivery guys in shorts. 

It was an easy day. The computers worked almost immediately. You have got to love that. James came over this morning and fixed them for us. He has a handsome face and an interesting smile. He’s like an Asian version of Nicholas, my old house mate. Somehow his facial expressions are the same.

I did figures for most of the day, getting stuff finished that, dare I say, Kirin never manged to get done. 

It wasn’t until 4pm that the computers went off air again, as Guru Greta, the consultant from my accounting firm, tried to fix the new GL options codes, which she had renewed but hadn’t got them the same in all databases. (roll of the eyes)

Sam sent me photos of the bulldog puppy he had found on the TradingPost online, to buy. She is a girl and she is in Sale. She is brindle with a white chest and white flash over her face. She is beautiful.

I had to dash at 4.30pm, as it turned out I left 5 minutes early due to the computers not working. 

“Just go,” said Kirin. 

I had to get changed, feed Buddy, smoke a joint, or two, and head into the city to meet Sam for our seafood buffet dinner, at the Sheraton at the top of Little Collins Street. You know, date night. I smoked two joints, the second one in the front garden as I watered the plants, before wobbling off up Gertrude Street to the city. Moon walking, I call it. 

I met Sam at Big W, on the corner of Swanston and Bourke. Sad that that is our landmark. Meet you top of the Empire State Building, meet you in Piccadilly Circus, meet you The Place de la Concorde, meet you The Rijksmuseum, meet you Cathedral of Santa Maria del Fiore, meet you at The Spanish Steps, meet you Hoàn Kiếm Lake, no, none of that. Meet you outside Big W. 

Sam wanted to know if I had decided on Stella, if we were going to Sale on the weekend to get her.

The buffet wasn’t much as it turned out, nothing seemed very fresh, or very tasty. The Sheraton is new and small, nothing like the once glamorous Sheraton on Southbank. The food was old and small and nothing like the lavish sea food banquets I’d eaten before.

It was still light as we crossed Spring Street and headed up MacArthur Street home.

We were in bed early. I can’t stop thinking about Stella too. But it wouldn’t be like having another Buddy, calm, fits right in, is so easy to look after, he is a dream. Stella is a 15 week old puppy, she will spin, piss, twirl, chew and destroy for twelve months, at least. When I think about having two bulldogs, I think about having two Buddys, but it wouldn’t be like that. 

I have trouble getting past Stella’s cuteness, her little squishy nose.

I turn to Sam in bed and say, “I think when it is just Buddy there are three of us. I think if we got another bulldog it could become two bulldogs and their carers. I think we should stick to one bulldog.”

Joint Number One On The Hit List

It was a standard issue morning, start to the day. I sneaked a smoke, Sam chastised me. Buddy came in, he headed straight up to our bed to sleep. I showered first, Sam second. Sam arrived back downstairs with Buddy following. Sam fed Buddy. Sam left at 8am. I finished doing the dishes and left at 8.20am. I walked to Victoria Parade, had a smoke on the stoop, watched the guys walk past, and headed up to the sixth floor at 8.30am. 

Kirin was in, of course. I look for her top knot, bun, on the top of her head, silhouetted against the windows at the far end of the floor. 

I wrote my journal when I first got to my desk, when my computer wasn’t working. They are never working lately when I get in. 

IT was on to it today, though, and I was up and going pretty soon afterwards. How can a company operate this way. Shrug.

Then my computer soldiered on, when all the other computers went down, once again. It was because I stayed logged on, so mine kept working, none of us knew exactly why, but I thank the universe it did. I wasn’t logging off anything for anyone. I so didn’t want to sit there all afternoon doing nothing.

Twinset Tina was away today. Do you think she has gone out on stress leave having to deal with Kirin. You know, being public enemy number one on Kirin’s hit list, among so many public enemy number ones on Kirin’s hit list? Essentially, for having the audacity of questioning Kirin doing her job? (I have never known someone to have such an extensive hate list, as Kirin) Nah, Twinset Tina is a tough old broad, despite her Laura Ashley demeanour. Maybe, the multitude of pins in Kirin’s voodoo doll of her have started taking a toll? 

I headed home at 4.30pm. I was home at 4.34pm. I have to keep repeating this to remind myself why I am working in the company. I can’t tell you how much of a change working for this finance company is to working for well organised, well appointed, wealthy legal firms. Chalk & cheese. Night & day. 

We ate spicy fried rice for dinner.

We watched the final of Big Brother. Cutie pants Ryan won. I’d volunteer to wash out his lingerie. 

I So Wanted To Push Her

The first side of Victoria Parade was clear, so I zipped across. With its white concrete surface, I always feel as though I am tippy-toeing across a Pavlova case whenever I cross it. 

I tip-toed across the tram tracks, the gravel between the lines is lethal. The other side, the inbound lane, was full of cars. I walked along the inside row of parked cars, waiting for the traffic to break. 

A woman opened the door to her silver Ford Falcon right into my path. She then did that bend at the knees manoeuvre into the driver’s seat of the car, which only managed to turn her into a great big arse right in my way, and not much else. 

I could see the black tights struggling with the backs of her thighs. I so wanted to push her face first into her car, but I settled for a clear of the throat and a side step around her, as she did tiny little staccato steps towards the steering wheel as if she’d never seen the inside of a car before in her life. 

People shit me, I thought.

Monday Morning And No Computers Again

It was a strange morning, humid and overcast, warm and still, as though it was waiting for something to happen, as though the day was poised, ready.

I don’t know if it was before my shower, or after, but soon big rain drops, seemingly, as big as my fist started to fall, the kind that did that splash, kerthunk, on the ground. I stood under the macadamia Tree, shaded by the gum tree, and watched the water fall from the sky.

We were both a little late getting going, Monday morning and all, so Sam was soon in the study on the leather couch putting on his shoes. He put his sunglasses away in their in their soft bag, inside his hard glasses case. He put his headphones around his neck and headed to the door.

The boot of the gay neighbour’s Audi was up, about which Sam commented by mouthing the words “the queens” and pointing. Then he slipped his headphones over his ears and was smiling and waving and blowing kisses to me as his head disappeared behind around the corner of the street.

I took a shit before my shower, I had to take another, not long after coming back inside. I was cleaning the messy kitchen and was putting peaches on my muesli ready to it after it had soaked in its milk for long enough. It is the last thing I want to do once I am ready and in “leave the house” mode. Clean the kitchen while I eat my muesli, then out the nice and fresh.

The next time I looked at the time, it was 8.22am. I still had to clean my teeth. I didn’t dare look at the time when I finally picked up my bag and left the house.

It looked like it was going to rain, again, but it wasn’t raining. I only have a 5 minute walk, but they’d been big drops and I’d get wet if it did rain. I could so easily stand for 5 minutes until it rained again, only to shake my head and curse. It was overcast and the wind blew cold. Our gay neighbour's car was still there still with its boot open. Should I close it for them, I wondered? I rather opted for that tried and true mantra, mind ya business, and kept walking.

I adjusted the broken upright in the gate, so I could click the latch closed. I hoofed it down my street. A fast walk, rather than a run. A few rain drops hit me, but only a few. I took my bag from over my shoulder and put it in the same hand with which I was holding my lunch bag, where it was more stable at higher speeds. The street was grey and empty.

Victoria Parade was clear, so I zipped across. With its white concrete surface, I always feel as though I am tippy-toeing across a Pavlova case whenever I cross it. I tip-toed across the tram tracks, the large piece of gravel can be lethal if you are not careful. It is no fun to twist your ankle between the fist tracks and to be in pain to step across the second set of tracks. The other side, the inbound lane, was full of cars. I walked along the inside row of parked cars, waiting for the traffic to break. 

The traffic broke, so I headed across to the south side foot path, daring the only car on the road, an oncoming bus, to run me down. You know, when you judge there to be enough room to cross and you walk, but you always have to have that sneaky second glance just to check on the calculations. I guess it is a good test for IQ.

The rain was starting to fall, I just made it and I didn’t have time for a last smoke. A glance at my watch confirmed it. 8.30am. Into the building and press 6 in the lift.

Monday morning and the computers weren’t working. Kirin was cross. She gets to work just after 7am so it is a long morning of doing nothing for her. Kerin headed off to the files to tackle the pile of filing that there was. She was pretty much not seen again.

My computer had the dreaded “box of death” the Dos instruction box wanting to know if I wanted to override the remembered connections to the drive that held all the stuff I was working on. The last time I over ride that I seemed to have a week of pain connecting to my computer. I wanted IT guys to look at it.

As I stuck my head above the parapet wall, I could see that some people seemed to be into their computers. 

“Are you in?” asked Kirin.

I told her I had the “box of death”.

“I got that earlier, I hit enter,” she said. “Have you tried hitting enter?”

I hit enter. My computer loaded immediately.

“See.”

I click on my drives. “I’ve still got no M drive.”

“Shit.”

Kirin rang IT. It was no good, we couldn’t get in.

So, there was nothing to do, but get a pen and paper and write my morning journal.

Then there was a Twinset Tina hovering nearby. Kirin looked up with big eyes, doing a head tilt which translates as, Can I help you.

“Can I speak to you,” said Twinset Tina.

“Yes,” replied Kirin. I’m pretty sure Kirin thinks she is expert at customer relations. She is not. Not that we really have customer relations, we’re really a non contact department. 

Twinset Tina asked Kirin for her email address, as she wanted to escalate a superannuation complaint. 

Kirin gave her the email address with all the grace of a woman under fire. 

The email soon came, Twinset Tina had inflated a $179 superannuation payment to a $1600 amount, simply because it sounded better. And because she doesn’t understand the superannuation she is complaining about.

Kirin groaned the groan of someone under pressure. “I’m going to a presentation,” said Kirin. “I’ll be twenty minutes.” 

What presentation she was going to, I had no idea.

All I could think was, Teflon Kirin could well get away with it again, as Ann didn’t seem to have any idea about what she was complaining. 

The IT department doesn’t seem to answer calls before 9.15am, never around until 9.30am, so there was a little while to wait before they spun into action.

Cutie pants Ian wandered down and had a chat for a while lamenting the end of the great weekend weather and our inability to log on and get to work, all in the same laconic observation. He’s a contractor too. I don’t know why contractors feel particularly responsible when there are network problems.

The senior Accounting expert/analyst from my accounting firm, Guru Greta, came out for the day. I’m pretty sure Kirin called her due to the mounting pressure she felt she was under with Twinset Tina making complaints. Bleached hair, white jacket, diving cleavage, fake tan. I’d last met her at a conference with Beck earlier in the year. She misunderstood who Beck Brown was when I told her about meeting her earlier in the year, telling Kirin, Beck worked for some sort of gambling company. 

“I work with her all the time,” announced Greta. 

Contractors are always trying to sell on reputation. I didn’t care that much to correct her. People shit me, I thought. I’ve always thought Guru Great was full of it. (She never remembers me)

At one point, when Guru Greta had gone out to put money in her metre and Kerin was filing, Kirin told me there was a job going and that I should apply for it, but it was part time, and with odd days. Wed, Thu, Fri the first week and Mon Tues the next week. I would have said yes, if I could work another job as well. Easy. But not with those days.

We continued to have computer problems all day.

Guru Greta said that Twinset Tina didn’t believe that Kirin had paid the superannuation. (of course, Kirin hadn’t paid the Co superannuation, Twinset Tina was correct) Kirin and Guru Greta shared children stories while we waited. They, of course, headed outside for a smoke.

I twiddled my thumbs.

I headed outside for a smoke. When I came back Kirin said that I might as well go home.

I came home at 2.30pm. You know how much I hate that.

We walked to Woolies, despite the inclement outlook. One of our gay neighbours was out at his car. He didn’t say hello, so I didn’t either. Gay guys don’t always do the secret handshake and embrace each other with the gay code, you know.

Buddy walked enthusiastically to Johnston Street, white Sam was doing the shopoing.

We ate stir-fry veggies.

We stayed up until midnight watching Big Brother.

Barberini faun, I think everybody should have one

This is What I Imagined

Do you think Tony Abbott masturbates?

I thought about it in the shower this morning. I reckon Tony would be a quick downward pull under the running shower kind of guy. Quick. Efficient.

That's what I imagined, as the shower water ran down over me this morning. You know, when the warm water first hits the top of your head and you let go of your thoughts (dreams, hopes) and they swirl around in your skull all soft and squishy. I'd been thinking something about federal politics as I headed to the bathroom. Hot water massaging the top of my skull... Abbott, one term loser, destroying Australia, 50's neanderthal, try-hard in lycra, when will he stop doing those speed shots, I wonder if he masturbates. Can you see the train of thought?

I think I washed all over with soap again after that. Sam gets right down and washes his toes with soap individually. I don't do that. Does that make me unclean? I did this morning. Shiver all over. Abbott masturbating. Did I get a mental picture? Shiver all over again.

Do you think Margie would catch him? Do you think they'd even share a bathroom?

Putin vs Abbott? Top? Bottom? Putin is your great mountain man, Abbott is your great triathlete, or so both men would have you believe. Once the image of them meeting up at the G20 both in blue suits, awkwardly next to each other, morphs into them kissing and pulling the blue suits off each other, I turn off the water and got out of the shower. 

Putin is on his stomach on the pillow top mattress, his trousers and jocks around his ankles Tony is on top of him... well? Did you think I'd be, um, er, rooting for the enemy?

Saturday. I Smoked A Little Pot

I woke at 4.30am for a piss. Sam woke up too. We were like the walking dead stepping around each other in the dark, stop, reverse, proceed. It was as though we were on Dalek wheels, except in silence. We both drank water. It has been humid these last couple of days and the bedroom was hot. When I got back into bed, I couldn’t sleep, I tossed and turned. I lay there with the doona over me, I lay there uncovered. It didn’t seem to make any difference to how warm I was feeling if I had the doona on, or not. 

I got up at 4.45am.

Buddy didn’t seem to stir when I opened the back door and called into the door of his house. I returned to the coffee table leaving the back door open and he soon came padding into the room. 

At 4.55am, “Where is he?” Buddy was at our bedroom door, cowering as he thought I’d come up stairs to retrieve him. (am I really that big and scary?) He scampered into the bedroom, after I opened the bedroom door, and jumped up onto to the bed. I think I heard him sneeze 5 times before I closed the door and walked away.

Sam was up not long after 5am. Buddy came trotting down from upstairs behind him. It is a new command he seems to understand, he understands when Sam says it. Buddy goes to sleep between us on the lounge room floor.

I rolled a few joints and felt “done.” It is debilitating pot, makes me sleepy. I got the big pillow and lay down on the floor in front of the fireplace. Buddy curled next to me, more curling on the edges of the woollen blanket than me.

I work at 8.30am, with Buddy perched on my hip with his two fat front paws, all 22 kilos of him, gazing down at me. Sam had been playing his Nintendo but he’d clearly gone back to bed.

He was back downstairs by 9am.

We fired up the Peugeot and headed off to Box Hill Central for Congee. It was a hot day. I’d worn the wrong clothes, I so wished I’d worn shorts and Crocs than jeans and runners.

We found a 3 hour car park for $1, in the old industrial feeling catacombs of car parks underneath the shopping centre. Then we rushed to the congee hall, the morning was getting late.

As we walked across the mall and into the main Box Hill Central building, I reminded Sam that this had been where, as kids, we drove up the mall, that was still a street then, and gave in our saucepans at the Chinese take away, on take away nights, at the Chinese restaurant that was just where the front door is now. I remember the building well, the old red brick train station and surrounding shops. It was a brick red streetscape that once stood here, now completely obliterated. Imagine the Melbourne we would have had, had we preserved what once stood in this street and we repurposed that into the major shopping centre that now stood in front of me?

Rather than this aging badly debutante of a building, looking every bit of its years now. 

The congee was good. They came with a tarot cake and plate of noodles. The congee hall has always been in a state of renovation and while, admittedly, we hadn’t been for congee for a long time, the hall was completely renovated and colourful and busy for the first time that I’d ever seen, it seemed so vibrant.

We went to Harris Scarfs and bought a wrought iron baking dish, a hand held mixer, and two memory contour pillows. 

We bought groceries, before we left, of course.

Then we went to Bunnings in Middleborough Road. We bought screws and hooks for the rose at the side of the house. We bought succulents to fill the plant gaps in the atrium. We bought potting mix to repot the succulents into bigger pots so they looked like more like substantial plants than tube stock.  

We drove up Middleborough Road, all the way to Burwood. It seemed like a different world. It was an area of Melbourne that I was unfamiliar with, I felt like we were driving into a new world. 

We came home down Canterbury Road. Through Box Hill. It all looked so different, to when I was a kid…. 

…have I told you that story? My mother’s mother bought my parents a block of land as a wedding present. My father and his brother were to build a house on it, and to use it as a collateral for a better house when the house was built. Well, my grandmother, always the property wheeler and dealer decided, when the house was nearly complete, that the house was taking too long to finish, and she sold the nearly finished house out from under my parents, essentially, leaving them destitute. They had spent all their money on building the house. It got messy. It went to court. Ultimately, mum & dad lost because the land was still in my grandmother’s name. Consequently, they never spoke again. When it all looked bleak, my gorgeous great aunt, the sister of my grandfather, who had always had ill feelings toward my grandmother, stepped in and bought my parents the house in Box Hill, for which they paid her back. But I digress… 

…And then one corner, or, at least one corner of a corner, the houses looked uniquely familiar and we were driving up Station Street Box Hill South. It was the same, but different, to when we lived there, it all looked so leafy and green. The streets looked green and healthy, much more plump and green than I remember them being as a kid, when I rode my bike all over with my sister and my friends. Funny the things you remember. 

We zipped past all the stupid weekend drivers who were just drifting along, who all lemmingly got in the middle lane leaving the left lane clear. It was easy passing them all, up the left lane, like taking candy from a baby.

We came home and changed immediately.

We smoked pot and drank tea and ate toast and vegemite. 

David called, I didn’t answer, I was far too chilled by then for him.

I repotted the succulents. I put the washing on. We listened to Duffy. Our French doors out to the garden were open letting the glorious day in.

I rolled another joint. Sam told me off.

We drank more tea.

We ate noodles for dinner.

The pot was strong, the joints were plentiful and I ended up maggotted. We ended up on a couch each. We watched our library of recordings. I started to fall asleep during Chatty Man. Sam began watching me like a hawk. The moment my eyes were shut for more than five seconds, the day was declared to be at an end. The teli made a kerthunk noise. 

“Off to bed!” 

“Er what? No, I wasn’t asleep.”

“Yes, you were.”

It was 10pm.

Casual Friday

The boys at work, you can't help but imagine on casual clothes Friday, how will they look. They look so different, not so buttoned up. Some of them look quite different. Of course, casual clothes Friday only applies to the guys, girls have casual clothes Friday ever day. Girls at this work wear thongs to work. What would happen if a man wore thongs? (As petty as that, actually, sounds)

Chris Carter had on those jeans that made him look like a thoroughbred horse. Slender, but muscular. Pert, sexy. Even Kirin has commented on it, something about following him down the street and not being able to concentrate.

Alex Clover's bum in jeans looks a little chunky, he needs the thinner and tighter cotton of his work pants to capture all of his magnificent contours.

Chris sure is cute. The boy would have a great cock, I am sure, as everything else about him is perfect.

Alex is sexy.

The cute Asian guy told me in the kitchen that his name was Peter. I didn't ask, but I'm glad he did. I think I am quite circumspect at work, continually being the new boy and all. He just told me, then he held out his hand. I never know how tight you have to grip to confirm that you are a guy, so I am sure my handshakes always come off as odd, always testing the water, actually feeling their skin against mine. I guess that is the gay bit.

Dave Super Model

Sam was straight up with his laptop open looking for his Woolies and Big W vouchers.

Then he was asking me in 30 words or less, why would I like to film with some new camera we could win, in 30 words or less.

Riding around Holland on bikes from one patisserie to another. The cobblestone streets, the brick facades, local faces laughing, chocolate on our fingers, crumbs on our clothes. Windmills. Dykes. Green. Colour. Beautiful. (32)

I got out of bed at 7.19am.

I so hate the drenched in sweat thing when I get to work, even after such a short walk to work. I’m already feeling sweaty before I leave work, in the small of my back my shirt is beginning to stick to me. Ugh!

It is hot outside or, at least, it will be today. Thirty four degrees is the expected top. It is blowy and blustery outside.

I met Jackson Wag coming down the street as I left my house. He was in good spirits. We chatted about pot. He is as big a head as me and ‘heads’ like to chat all things Mary Jane. We chatted about the recent development proposal in the area.

Jackson Wag said I should go to the top of the Daniel Mannix Building at the Catholic University to look at the view and the spectacular deck.

It was a hot, blustery morning.

Dave came over and chatted to Twinset Tina – funny, old Twinset Tina, the grey-haired, auntie education specialist – about her computer. Cute Dave, the one that looks a little like my old buddy Alexander Jones, with his strawberry blonde hair and closely cropped strawberry blonde beard. Dave with the arse like a ripe peach, over which his business pants are pulled tightly. Such a hot arse. That boy is sitting on a gold mine, as my old mate Esther would have once said. I day dreamed about photographing him with his business black pants pulled down around the backs of his thighs, with his maroon business shirt tail hanging down over his bubble butt. Then with his business shirt pulled up showing how spectacularly his arse fills out his jocks. Then with his jocks around the backs of his knees, the red hair up his arse crack visible.

I couldn’t help myself and with Kirin and Kerin behind me, I took photos of cute Dave. Thankfully, I remembered to check if my phone was on silent, unlike the last time I tried to sneakily take photos of a cute work colleague, kachoo, kachoo! Oops. I’ll get caught one day, but until then… Ha ha. In my secret attempts to take the photos, my phone slipped out of my hand and went clunk on the desk, causing Kirin to ask what the noise was.

“Oh, I just dropped my phone.”

“Oh,” she said.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t do it again,” said Kirin. “It made me jump.”

“Sorry,” I said again. Chill out sister, I thought. But Kirin is not really the ‘chill out’ type. No, she is not. I kind of wondered if she was joking, initially, but I got the big eyes and, let’s face it, Kirin is not really the joking kind either.

We headed out on a combined dog walk, supermarket shop, pretty much as soon as I got home, which is our usual post work routine.

Buddy and I dropped Sam off at the supermarket and we kept walking for some exercise.

It was humid and wet and sticky. After Buddy took his second crap, he decided that he’d had enough walking, with Johnston Street in sight, and all, our furthest destination. I was too hot and too tired and too uncomfortable with the weather for any bulldog nonsense, so I gave in and we walked back to the supermarket to meet Sam.

We saw a Saint Bernard on our walk back. One of our lovely distant neighbours, or, more to the point, one of my dog walking neighbours. 

It was raining when we left for the supermarket. Sam bought an umbrella which I derided him for, until the rain got noticeably heavier at which point I told him I, actually, did want the umbrella. He graciously moved it over my head too, despite my previous behaviour, that is because he is nicer than me. 

We ate Thai noodles and sausage for dinner.

I stayed up and watched Big Brother, but now my favourites have all been evicted and with the two newbie intruders, Lina and Penny still in the house, I find I am losing interest.

Just A Wednesday

Sam was kind of out of routine this morning and he headed up to the shower before he ate his breakfast. I don’t know if this was deliberate, but I suspect it was. So, before I had finished my sneaky cigarette, out the back on the wicker chairs on the back veranda he was standing in the kitchen glaring out through the back windows at me.

Stupid me, I should have stopped today, to make the procurement of my BFF [with the boyfriend] easier in future. Oh well, I’m bad.

It was a lovely day.

I sat on my seat outside the building and had another cigarette and cooled down in the fresh morning air, before I went upstairs. Lovely. I watched the usual passing trade, the usual fat chicks, the hot tradies having morning smoko, the business suits, the guys and girls going to the chemist for their various creams. The hot barista from the café downstairs. Have I ever mentioned him. He is the reason I go for a coffee mid morning, just to gaze at him. Chuckle. Of course, I’d still go to get a coffee mid morning even if he wasn’t there, you understand, he’s just an added bonus. Being a barista is a sexy job, don’t you think.

It was leisurely day today. I finished off a lot of work I had been working on. I just got onto it, nobody asked what I was doing. It amazes me, really. 

Ticking off the list of figures that has to be done, which, after all, is why I am here. 

Kirin seemed to be distracted all day, doing whatever it is Kirin does. 

The sky was blue, the wind blew.

Sam asked if I had done the “scrape” when I was heading outside for a cigarette, when I got home. “Have you scraped out the bowl, or mulli?”

Well, I thought. That’s a first. He even smiled naughtily. You see, what a lovely guy he is, my boyfriend. 

It was still sunny late in the day.

We ate fried rice for dinner.

You See That This Is A Two Man Job

I sneaked a cigarette outside, while Sam was in the shower, after I was dressed. I ate muesli and the rest of my coffee, thinking that would be enough to mask it. 

Sam came downstairs. He got his bag and his ear phones and I kissed him good bye at the front door. (rookie mistake, but what else could I do?) Then he was slapping me and asking, “Did you smoke!”

I should have brushed my teeth.

I was ready to go at 8.04am, so I did. I walked straight down my street and crossed Victoria Parade.

It was a gorgeous day. We were much more relaxed today. Kerin and I got everything finished. The day whizzed through. [2014] Kerin said to me that it was great having me there as we got all our work done.

“You see that this is a two man job, can’t you?” whispered Kerin.

“Well, yeah, I guess, there is enough work to keep us both busy,” I said.

“Why can’t Kirin see that?”

“I don’t know,” I said.

“She has made my life a misery insisting one person can handle the workload.”

“She seems to be convinced about it.”

“But, she is wrong,” said Kerin. “You can see that, can’t you?”

“Well, yeah, I guess.”

“She has destroyed my time here, by being so stubborn about it.”

“I felt sorry for her.

“I’m glad you are here,” she said. [12/09/2026]

 

I walked out into a sublime afternoon, sunny and warm, with a slight breeze. I was home by 4.35pm, you have to love it.

I spoke to David, on his daily call, we laughed.

We threw the back doors open and felt the honey smooth air of the day.

We drank tea, with shortbread biscuits, and smoked pot.

 

We ate stir fried veggies for dinner.

We watched Big Brother.

One Term Tony

The climate change argument is absolute crap, however the politics are tough for us because 80 per cent of people believe climate change is a real and present danger - Tony Abbott

Now the world is telling Tony Abbott that he has done the wrong thing on climate change. China and America and now Germany. I believe that is three of the biggest economies in the world.

I only mention it on the off chance that someone amongst you may be influenced not to vote for the Liberal party in the next election. Federal, state if you like. Come on, Tony Abbott deserves to be a one term prime minister. Surely, just in principle, everybody should be against our prime minister looking us in the eye and lying, 

"There will be no cuts to health, no cuts to education, no change to pensions  no cuts to ABC or SBS."

Surely everybody wants to know that the person for who they are voting is telling truth about?

There should be an integrity commission after every election, looking into the conduct of politicians.

Sad old Vladimir

Oh that sad criminal, megalomaniac, narcissist who now runs poor old backward Russia, Vladimir Putin, has his ships arrive at all the conferences he attends. He sent them to the APEC conference in Singapore, he sent them to San Francisco to accompany a visit there. 

It is his compensation for the small penis Putin clearly has. What a sad sad little man, who will be forever remembered for sending Russia back to the 80's, corrupting the Russian political system in the process to stay in power.

How small must Vlad's penis really be? I'd say a button, for him to have to have war ships follow him around the world. What a big dope, so unsuitable for running an ageing super power.

The press is loving it, attempting to connect it to the shirt fronting episode, to sell newspapers, or whatever it is news agencies sell now a days. The Australian public is loving it, because most of them are bored, or stupid, or both and need drama in their lives. The big old boggy man Russia! Sure they are idiots, they are all idiots. Little boys playing tough guys.

It is supposed to make him look in control, apparently, but in these days of carbon footprints it just makes him look like a man of the past from a backward country.


Does it make Vladimir Putin look tough, or does it make him look like a GI Joe doll, all smooth down there?

What A Twat

Throw your hands up onto your head and open your eyes widely and sit back in your seat and just wonder if you just heard what you think you just heard? In this day and age, seriously. What? 

With what few brain cells are you cooking up these ideas, mate?

Six Foot, Eyes of Blue

It was a nice morning, sunny and fine, walking to work this morning. My front door faces east, so I am kissed by the morning every time I leave for work.

Two chicks in short black skirts were walking in front of me up Gertrude Street. Coming the other way towards us was a very handsome council worker, close shave, brown hair, blue eyes, six foot, overalls, with a leaf blower in his hand. His mate was driving the little car-thing picking up the leaves he was blowing onto the road. The trimmed-bearded handsome guy noticed the girls checking him out, as he blushed and smiled and did that awkward straight boy thing of looking kind of coy and turned-on all at the same time, as he gazed after the girls, smiling.

The girls sashayed away. Heads forward. High heals clacking on the bitumen footpath. Ponytails swinging in the breeze.

He blew the leaves after that enthusiastically, adjusting his crotch.

Cute boy with machinery in hand blows hard all over footpath. I wouldn’t have been surprised to see drips on his shoes.


His mate in the small orange car – which I have such a desire to drive one day, the car, not the mate – looked like a giant squashed into a small box. His cheeks were pushed up against both side windows. His knees were around his ears. His hands were between his legs, pulling the lever. The circular brooms whirred on the front of the truck, swirling in opposite directions, brushing, sweeping all the debris, that Six-foot-and-eyes-of-blue had blown at him, into the catcher at the front.

It was a lovely morning, warm like honey and blue like hi-def newness. The girls walked away, ahead of me. The council boys flirted, behind me. I crossed the road and headed to my office. The sun sparkled, morning sun, I love it, it is so full of promise, so full of possibility, so full of hope. So full of handsome men and pretty girls. Anything is possible when the morning sun shines.

I'm sure the birds sang.