Music To End The Year

On the recording (what do you call them now a days?) of Lady GaGa and Tony Bennett, Cheek to Cheek, GaGa sounds a lot like Judy Garland. On the Cheek to Cheek TV special she sounds kind of like Liza Minnelli.

And throughout the TV special, she seemed to be channelling Cher, with a nod to a couple of Patti Labelle hair pieces.

(10 minutes later) I may never have written a gayer paragraph.

6am this Morning

The Golden Flame Tree, bathed in warm light

I Thought There Was One Man With a Gun?

I thought it was just one nut with a gun, (with a long history of violence and mental illness) what was with the "Die Hard" response from the police? That fire storm of bullets for just one guy with a gun? Really? It is one of the problems with having “Law & Order” Governments, you get “Law & Order” happy police.

I think the most shocking thing – okay, perhaps not the most shocking – was that everybody accepted the amazing reaction from the “Law & Order Ecstatic” policemen, without question.

And I guess that is because our government keeps telling us that we had a politically motivated act of terrorism... without any proof. They continually tell us what a grim threat we now live under. We have been conditioned to be so fearful of terrorism that we no longer even question what happened. We don’t question the laws this government is bringing in.

My favourite Geranium

My favourite geranium. It was growing in the front yard when I bought the house. The old girl who lived here previously had, reputedly, lived in the house for 55 years. It didn't look as though she'd done anything in the front yard for 50, so I'm guessing it's old. They used to be in everyone's garden. I'm now growing it in pots, as you do, with geraniums. I've got windowsills, I decided. I might try and grow one inside under the glass roof, (I have a glass roofed atrium that joins the front of the house to the back, it is full of plants, it is like the lungs of the house) not that that turned out well for the lemon scented pelargonium, it didn't like it at all. It was on top of a dresser, though, and too close to the ceiling. I'll grow the geranium on the floor.

My First Gardenia

I'm planting only white flowers in the back yard. It doesn't have to be strictly white, whatever is there can stay there, but all plants from now will be white. (unless I see something else that I like, of course) 
I am plating just pink flowers in the front yard, it was already predominantly pink anyway.

We ate a Japanese banquet for dinner last night in Chapel Street with Jill. It was a gorgeous evening, we caught the tram, because we live in the inner suburbs and that's what you do to save the planet, and because I'd been smoking pot all day. Jill, the bitch, wouldn't drive us home, even after I suggested it. We cursed her all the way home, when our connecting tram didn't arrive and we had to walk all the way home from Church Street... in jest... it was a nice night for a walk. It's not like I am over exercised. Since she inherited her father's millions, she hasn't got anything to do tomorrow, or the day after, for that matter. She never has to work again, so what gives? I was a bit taken aback when she said no, it is not like her. Well, she can be a bit of a princess, she was raised that way. All of her friends tend to keep her grounded. She has just spent the last six months on her own, maybe it has been a little long. Oh, I don't know, who really cares, life's too short. We have known each other for 30 years - time flies. I hit that grease patch at 25 and I have been skidding through time ever since - so, we'll see, I might mention it.

Cool motorbike parked in the street, very sleek, very shiny. I can't make out the brand, not that I am an expert, but I do know something about them. Virago. Soft tail. I didn't recognise the name, Huys... something, I think it is Chinese.

It is a Sunny Morning, I Am Up Early

It is a sunny morning, up early. It is cool, but it just feels like it is going to be hot.

I water the garden, front and back. It is lovely out in the fresh morning breeze. I vacuumed immediately afterwards, just to get it over and done with. I watered all the indoor plants, all before 8am.

I drink my yakult and take my fish oil and lysine tablets and laugh to myself, what is it all for? I want to be there at the end. I am going to be there at the end, I’m not going to miss out on anything. Me and Sam and every body else. Everyone I know. (I was never prepared for friends dying young, that was never in my scheme of things)

It makes me wonder what it is all for? I look at my mother in the nursing home all wizened up and staring blankly, knowing she’d hate that. We cleaned out her house in a weekend. Two days, maybe a couple more the next weekend, but essentially her life was obliterated in a matter of days. Gone. House rented out. All she has left is what she has with her in a six by three room, with sensible furniture. Everything, this university educated, world travelled, much loved woman ever had. Gone in days, dispersed across our homes, eBay and various rubbish tips in between. That’s all you get at the end, a six by three room and your meals on time. A catheter and the muscles gone at the rear.

So, what do I want to be there for at the end? Mushy food and somebody who is paid to toilet you whenever it is needed. Prop you up. Wrap a blanket around you when it is cold.

But, I do know, I don’t want to miss anything in between. Funny, aren't we, never want to miss a thing. Inquisitive?... 

Shake of the head. Gaze out the back windows to my beautiful garden, which I have created. I learnt how to water it, that's all, so simple, now it is lush and green. My new gardenia flowered for the very first time. Everybody said they were hard to grow, but I do have green thumbs.

Some Parent's Really Are Weird

Parent's outraged because Kitty Flanagan said that Santa doesn't exist on The Project. Parent's demand an apology. Really? Some parents clearly need a dose of reality. The world doesn't, actually, revolve around your kids, guys, no matter how much you may think it does.

People are just too weird for me to work out sometimes.

Maybe, it is the stupid people who, actually, think Santa is real.

Interesting fact, Santa, or Saint Nick, was traditionally green and white until Coca Cola change him to coca cola colours.

Sam wagged from his company Xmas party being held at Etihad Stadium. It was some fight to the death scenario, the company hasn't done well and it became gladiatorial with the execs hunting the employees down with spears, or, at least, I think that's why he said he didn't want to go, so he had the afternoon off. Instead, he sent me photos of Buddy being uncooperative during his Xmas dress rehearsal. He doesn't look as though he likes it to me. Last year, he wore his head piece with no objections. Maybe this year, the head piece is heavier? Maybe it is the bells? (snigger) Maybe he is just older and more settled and no longer up for our nonsense.

And the rain came down. I quite like the rain. I like the difference in the weather, the cold and the heat. But to all you climate deniers, I do not like this new humidity that Melbourne now suffers from. Let it be cool when I am walking to work and let it be hot on the weekends and when I have an expanse of water in front of me.

The Jacarandas in full bloom, so pretty, such a gorgeous carpet of mauve. I think the council should plant more Jacarandas around Parliamentary Reserve making it Melbourne's Jacaranda Corner. Wouldn't that be lovely? Two weeks of mauve madness, if anything concerning Jackarandas can be considered madness. It is a bright flash of colour and then it is gone. It burns brightly and then falls to the ground.

Does Julie Bishop Have a Banana? She Certainly Walks Like She Does

"Julie Bishop went bananas at Tony Abbot", said Rove.

"I heard Joe Hockey went off his tits," said Kitty Flannigan.

"Does Joe Hockey have tits?" asked Rove. (Fat, angry men usually have tits, I reckon)

"I don’t know," said Kitty. "Does Julie Bishop have a banana?" (She certainly walks like she does, I say)

The Beginning of Summer

Do we need any further proof of climate change than the general fear that we now feel as summer arrives. It's an attitude, once there was hope, suntans and a beach romance, and now there is fear. The spectre of bushfire and the country burning is making us fearful every year. It never used to be like that. I remember when summer was just a thing of joy, fresh air and long afternoons on the beach as the sun seeped away for yet another day. Golden skin, blue skies, free as a bird, flying high above. Winding roads, tingling skin, the evening breeze, sand.