Obese Olwyn

Obese Olwyn suddenly shrieked today in the office, "Basement closed for urgent maintenance! OMG!" 

I jumped. We all jumped. Everybody looked around.

I wondered if she was talking about herself? I mean, looking at her, it is not hard to believe. Most days she seems to wear a black bedspread fashioned into a pantsuit/skirt dress/poncho/kimono/circus tent. That is the best way, only way, I can describe her fashion sense.

Then she rushed out of the office. Which is unusual, as the fat girls don't usually shriek and rush out of the office until much later in the year.

My mind boggled. Did the building shake? Did it? Or was that just me, my inner brain adding the sensor-round for the visual I was getting. You know, kind of a reverse motion sickness.

She came back some time later with a huge slab of chocolate cake, which she devoured like a fucking champion. It clearly wasn't her first day at the cake trolley. I walked over surreptitiously to be sure she was munching down a slab of chocolate cake that was big enough to feed a 10 year old's birthday party, when she looked up and I shivered in shock thinking she must have fallen after she rushed out of the building and knocked out several of her teeth, but it was only chocolate cake plastered across her pearly whites.

I wondered if she was stress eating, you know, with the immanent collapse of “her basement,” parenthesis in the air. Looking at her, I was surprised it had stood up this long.

It has been my experience that all Olwyns are fat? It is a fat name.

It turned out The Basement was a cafe and that she was less focused on her pelvic floor than she was on her favourite food. Like we were all shocked. Nobody saw that coming. [big eyes]

They scream "big bones" or "dodgy thyroid" the big girls do, but generally that is not, actually, the problem. Generally, it has a lot less to do with genes and a lot more to do with slabs of chocolate cake, as was proved today, no matter what they say.

I am still laughing at her reaction, shrieking and running out of the office with her purse in her doughy hand. I think everybody jumped.

It was mind boggling, as Sam loves to say. It is his favourite expression. 

If you could harness the power of something coming between a fat girl and her chocolate cake, all the world's energy problems would be solved, I am sure.

Word Doodle

I wrote this as I waited for all of my end of month reports to calculate, print, download, save to a drive. It is basically a word doodle, what I do instead of picking up a pen and drawing lines and squares on a piece of paper, mindlessly.


An Iced Vovo is a fairy princess' panty pad. The fairy prince dusts off his marzipan jacket with icing sugar hands, before he salutes and smiles. White teeth squeak under candy lips.

My infected sores ooze marshmallow. I pick at the Florentine scabs with candy cane fingers. Cherries stick under my nails.

Malcolm fell down and spaghetti sauce leaked from his knees where he landed. Squish, squish. Spot the honey dog licks his filo pasty skin.

The crybabies eyes spurt lemonade, until they get so upset they vomit lime green jelly with caramel buttons. There is always caramel buttons.

When I lick the black boy he tastes of chocolate, his blushes taste of raspberry.

Edna Smith smells of custard, her failing brain cells feel like tapioca between my fingertips. She clutches her string of pearls which flake like chalk.

We all live happily together in Rainbow Town, where the sky is blue velvet and the grass green jellies, where box cars drive on liquorice roads and gingerbread trams run on gossamer tracks. The evening sky is a thousand year egg dome, the stars, cat's eyes, blinking in the night.

Do You Think My Phone is Gay?

I was in the lift with my cute work colleague, the one with the hot arse, who is also a lovely guy too, that is the main thing, isn't it? Of course. I was fiddling about with my phone, hooking up my head phones and selecting music for the walk home when I accidentally took this photo. Thank the universe my phone was on mute. Not bad, huh? I hadn't looked at him from that angle before. Oh, who am I kidding, of course I have.

Sam's Groovy Back

Sam had a cupping last Friday. Now his back looks like a 1960s geometrical curtain. He has big, red circles down his back on either side of his spine.

I walked into town after work and had a haircut, while Sam was having his back therapy, with the shit hairdresser who messed up my hair last time. Sam told me to go with the salon owner, who always dresses like a hooker, and not an expensive one. The owner wasn't there when I walked in and, I think, I got the Scandinavian backpacker. I wasn't sure if she could speak English, fluent English, at the beginning, during, or even after the haircut, but she did a good job. Of course, she knew a few key hair phrases, but beyond that I wasn't really sure. She was cute and blond and she had on a tiny, short blue dress, which I am sure all the straight boys wanted to... well, we all know what straight boys want to do to pretty young girls.

Afterwards, I bought shoes. A massage session lasts longer than a cheap haircut and I was finished first, so I had time to fill. I tried to buy a pair of blue work pants, but they didn't have them in my size. They had them in every size but mine and I tried on bigger and smaller and tried to make them fit, but I couldn't. Disappointed, my eyes strayed towards the shoes and before I knew what I was doing I was sitting in the shoe department with boxes of shoes surrounding me.

Then we ate Indian in Melbourne Central at the two restaurants that look alike and certainly look as thought they are owned by the same owners. However that isn't true. One was very popular and one wasn't. The popular restaurant staff spent most of their time explaining to the customers of the popular restaurant why they couldn't sit on the empty tables of the unpopular restaurant even though there seemed to be no discernible difference between the tables. It was like ground hog day meets Bollywood, well, more mall than music, less colour, more beige.

I was exhausted just watching it. I nearly told a couple, "Nah, they are the poor cousins tables," as the wandered up, looked confused, looked around and proceeded to take a seat, before the popular wait staff sprang into action. Several times. It just seemed polite.

Of course, it was the perfect metaphor for what ails the world today. If only we could share, help each other out, give each other a hand, the world would be a happier place.

Plants Are Real Like Dirt And Water And Wind And Bees

It was hot today, bloody hot. The sun beat down, the sky was blue. The garden looked tired. Since I have this new found ownership - is that the right word? - stewardship over the garden, which means I water it now a days, I notice what is going on with it, take more interest, give it more than an occasional glance. I watered it in the morning and I watered it in the evening. 

It was hot
The garden sighed, in thank you. 

I don't know why I haven't enjoyed watering the garden before? It is kind of therapeutic, relaxing. Is cathartic the right expression? No, but the power feels the same. I guess, if I found enlightenment amongst the petals, it would be. You know, you kind of do. It is meditative. People have always said that, and you know it is true. Who'd have thought it. People don't always lie? Amazing. Plants are the truth.

There is an enchanted world under every leaf, if you look closer enough, as the water drips.

I wanted to soak the soil on the hot day and then walk barefoot in it, squelching it between my toes, like mud cakes when I was young.

But, you know, just holding the hose and watching the water fall from the end of it, vaguing out, mouth open, staring into space, is the joy.

watching it sprinkle
watching it fall
feeling the spray
getting the wind blowing it back
the crystals falling
the ground absorbing
everything washed new

The Exhibition Buildings

This was possibly my favourite installation. It was cool we did it at the end, on our way home. It perked us up and made us say, "Wow," out loud. 

I didn't post the picture of the Exhibition Buildings burning, but that was amazing too.

There is Always a Pretty One

Yeah, um, I had my camera ready, he was smiling and posing, what can I say? What is a boy (with a camera) to do? 

Cute smile. And a nice arse, if the truth be told.

The State Library

This was great. Does that look like cane furniture? Or is it just me?

The State Library

Apparently, we should have gone inside, as there was a fabulous light show inside. But, there was a queue and I have a natural aversion to queues.

I love the small installations too... or more

I loved all the small installations hidden up laneways that you had to hunt out. They were great. Like the white owl flying, or the series of small pictures in a row on a laneway wall. Or this one which changed and evolved in front of your eyes.

I didn't know Donald Duck was in town?

Who else thinks Macy Gray sounds like Donald Duck when she sings?

But, back to the point, this installation was sweet.

We could lay down in a laneway and look at the lights above us, which was nice considering we walked for 5 hours. I didn't want to give my cushion and sheep skin up once it was over, let me tell you

St Paul's

The place never looked so good. But, it smell exactly the same, kind of damp stone work and ageing delusion.

Flinder's Street

I love these buildings in Flinders Street, they are gorgeous facades.

Gold Merry Go Round

This was at National Gallery of Victoria. Sam and I got lost in there for some time, looking at the beautiful things. But we could see most of that any weekend, it was the light show that we should have been looking at.

I loved the Dave Shrigley exhibit

This creepy little guy was making art as everybody watched.

The mote @ NGV

These guys danced to music hovering above the water and were fascinating to watch.

We wanted to see a giant octopus slither out ripping the roof off Hamer Hall, but alas, it didn't.

Bourke Street Mall

We waited and waited but none of these bitches were giving up their couches. Of course they did, but we didn't wait long enough. The couches felt spongy and soft.

The Lovely Yarra

Bring on dusk and let the light show begin. The lovely Yarra now built up on each bank.

People people every where

This was near the begining and the crowds got thicker and thicker all night. There was a moment of gridlock on Princess Bridge. It was quite crowded for most of the night, but not impossibly so. Everybody seemed happy and enjoying themselves.

The Crowds Gather

The people came to see and to be entertained. There was a sea of people flowing through the CBD.

Fat Man with an iPhone

Self portrait by proxy - what technology is doing for us all

I've been going for a walk every afternoon after work for an hour. I'm getting into the rhythm of it again, it has been about 3 weeks now. It's good, I'm pleased with myself. 

I'm home at 4.35, living close to work is the only way. If I had to spend 2 hours in peak hour traffic each way every day, I might just act out too. Then it is a cup of tea and two pieces of vegemite toast. Then the head phones are on and off I go. 5 to 6, it is my walking hour.

The Rolling Stones have been getting me walking. My favourite album, Black & Blue. My favourite albums, Beggars Banquet to Tattoo You, thirteen years of The Stones to get me walking.

It was hot yesterday afternoon, I may have got a little sun burnt. I wore a singlet, it is good to walk in, as I feel cooled by the air. I haven't been out in the sun much this summer, however. I guess that's not very sun smart.

Sam doesn't want to walk with me. He walks to work, he says he does enough walking. I'm cool with that though. Besides, he'd want to talk and exercising is serious business. No talking aloud. 

I've only just started listening to music. I used to be all zen about it,  (if that is even the expression) clear my mind, enjoy the solitude, listen to myself breath, feel the quiet space in my head. But, my right shin used to hurt, everyone nodded and sagely said, "Shin Splints." The music is a distraction, it seems if I don't think about my leg, it doesn't hurt. I've slowed my walking down just a bit in time with the music, and my shin doesn't hurt at all.

An hour's walk every day, that is the goal. Weekends off. Although, Sam and I tend to walk to Victoria Street, or Carlton, or the city, on the weekends so I don't really have those days off at all.

This is a Morris Isis. The only thing scary about it would be having to come to a sudden stop, heading down a steep hill.

It is rather odd to name a terror group after a 1950's English sedan, (and an early 1930's English sedan, the first Isis) the type that your granny drove to church on Sundays, I am sure there is an irony there.

Of course, this car went on to become the Hindustan Ambassador, the car used as the Indian taxi of choice since the 1950's. I guess the India traffic is enough to put the fear of god, er, Vishnu (I really should remember this) into anyone, though.

Oh Mat, Mat, Mat

I should check my birth contract, I’m sure it says that I can have annoying people killed. This guy has been emailing me all day about, what is essentially, resetting his password on one of the applications we use. (After I have said abracadabra in the back end, put in your user name, leave the password field blank and hit enter. It will prompt you to chose a new password. How hard can it fucken be?) Five emails later, with me sending him more and more instructions, I called him to walk him through it. But, of course, he wanted to do it on his phone and he couldn’t do it while we were talking, so I gave him simple instructions, being very careful not to make my gritted teeth (fangs dripping blood, Mat’s blood) obvious. 

As I was shutting down my computer this afternoon, I got yet another email.

“Sorry, but it is now telling me my account is suspended,”

You know, we'd already been through this, we were starting to go on to a loop. I shot him back another email, “Give it another go, Mat.” Then I hit the shut down button on my computer and I left for the day.

In my fantasies, I have a team of five (I don’t know why) dressed in black, looking out from behind aviator sunglasses, all six foot, who act like The Borg. They would be dispatched to Mat’s office and they would gun him down.

Job done!

Too much? What with all the news coverage of the big, bad, er... Morris... ah... Isis? People are a bit angsty, because the news services have told them they aught to be angsty. If the news services told them that they had nothing to worry about, that terrorism would probably never effect their lives directly, I'm sure the world would be a much better place. You know, play the truth and not the headline. But I digress.

Okay, the family friendly version would be, "Would you like a hot chocolate with that?" (Chocolate, cafe, too soon?) Ha ha, only joking.

No, no, hang on, the guns stay in their holsters, under their jackets, on my boys hips, tucked into the back of their undies.

Be-gloved hands, all ten. (think Pippin) Mat would be surrounded, "Okay sweet heart, are you Mat?" The gloves would be removed.

"How stupid are you?"

Slap, slap. (Across the face)

"How can you get it wrong that many times?"

Slap, slap."

"Which part did you not understand?"

Slap, slap.

"You are officially an idiot."

Slap, slap.

"Do not call again."

Slap, slap."

They would turn and leave.

There would be the sound of feet walking away in unison.

The Crying Room

The toilet seat wasn't put down,

someone called you names.

Something was said that you didn't like,

you were offended by that, boo hoo.

A harsh tone was used, oh no,

and you couldn't cope, that’s how you go.

Off you rushed to the 'crying room,'

threatening not to return until you were done.

Sunday Mum Day

I sitting back at 8am, drinking coffee, thinking about the day to come. The rain, yesterday, has washed the world clean and new and a fresh breeze blows in through the open back doors. Buddy lays against my right leg. I quite like not sleeping in now a days, it is nice to get up early and see the day.

I was off to visit mum at 10.30am with my sister. Our visits have become fewer and fewer. My mum lives away somewhere else, in a twilight world, if you like, if I am allowed to use that tired old cliche. I wouldn't say it is a drag going to see her, as my sister and I go together and we chat to each other.

Mum reacted positively to us being there, she had a rare moment of engagement. She leant forward and motioned for me to come closer and she kissed me hello. The nurse was watching, she said it was beautiful. Mum paid some attention, but then she faded away into isolation. Roz and I talked away, as mum gazed off into the distance. She seems happy in herself, in an odd, detached sort of way. She seems calm, relaxed. I guess that is the one thing about her dementia, nothing seems to bother her.

Roz and I sit by mum's chair and we catch up on everything we are doing and once we run out of things to say to each other, if you like, we leave. I was home by midday. That's how it goes, mum gets an hour. My sister and I, of course, chat away in the car going there and in the car heading home again. Mum doesn't really say anything. She tries to, but it was her vocabulary that disappeared first, so what she says now is kind of like a grunt, or a moan, with no distinguishable words.

It's a modern world, I guess? Is that progress stretching all the way to the sky? Or is that the destruction of a once grand old city, now reduced to a hotch potch of planning disasters? I don't know? Actually, I do know, it is reduced to a lot of planning disasters and regrets.

There is good design and bad design. I just know that good design never involves a scorched earth policy, good design never obliterates existed originally. Good design evolves the buildings of a city gently and makes the best design even better.

This guy was handsome, but you will have to take my word for it, as I cut his head off for the sake of anonymity. Or was it because I fucked up the shot? I like taking photos of people in the mornings, but sometimes my nerve isn't always up to pointing a camera directly at someone and taking the shot, so I kind of try to take it surreptitiously and this is usually the result. 

But, I kind of, like it none the less. It's kind of modern, arty, some how he ended up looking kind of stretched, where in reality he was a strapping blond. Why else do you thing I photographed him? Actually, that's not true, interesting is always preferable to pretty. He looks like an over grown school boy, complete with shorts and bag.

Since Good Government Started

So after good government started this week,

it comes out that Abbott lied to the South Australian MP about the building of submarines

Abbott effectively equated the unemployment rate to the holocaust, what number gaffe is that?

Abbott responded to Australia being shamed by the Human Rights Commission for its treatment of children in detention by asking for a thank for Scott Morrison for a job well done. That one is baffling.

Abbott was named the worlds worst Western Leader by the Council on Foreign Relations conservative think tank in America.

He refused to ditch the witch Credlin. That's what the Liberal backbenchers think about her, I have no opinion about her at all, except to say she has shocking posture and she walks a bit like a bloke.

Then Abbott dumped Liberal stalwart Phillip Ruddock, apparently  as revenge for his seemingly less than 100% support over the failed leadership spill

So... Ladies and gentlemen....(very soon)... I'd like to introduce you to the Prime Minister of Australia, Malcolm Turnbull

PS
The treatment for stroke world wide will change due to an Australian break through, so here's to you Abbott and your short sighted medial research cuts.

PPS
They will change leaders because Abbott's intrepretation of new government is to go harder on blaming Labor for the mess they are in. Continuing to blame somebody else. Julie Bishop said so on The Project a day, or so a go, I think it was possibly last Wednesday, after "the good" government starts today proclamation. Therefore, Abbott, must, think there is nothing wrong with his government so far. Conclusion, they will change leader.

The Polls Are Down, Crank Up The Terrorist Activity

I am amazed that every time Mr Rabbott has trouble with his leadership, or is down in the polls, we have a terrorist attempt, usually foiled by the AFP using the very terrorist laws that 1/2 A Term Tony bought in. What was it this time, some threat to police, a beheading, of course, only just stopped in the nick of time using Terrorist Tony's anti terror laws. 

Because it was stopped just in time, we will never, really, know what might have happened... or might never have happened. It really is the perfect political vehicle.

(No doubt, the head of the AFP will be made a Sir for his good work. Watch this space... er, that space. The space where that part of Tony Abbott's brain that controls empathy should be. That space)


Call my cynical, if you like.

I Have To Admit, I Do Like This As A Simple Life Motto

Walking walking walking

It was a lovely afternoon in Fitzroy for a walk after work. I played the Rolling Stones in my head phones. I went from Live in 1970, Get Your Ya-Ya's Out, on my last walk, to Live in 2013, Live in Hyde Park, today, not bad for a band, hey? Not many bands can claim live recordings 43 years apart and still be rocking, what's more.

There was a (20 something year old) boy on a bike at the lights who had on a pair of white shorts who had the most perfect arse as the muscles in each butt cheek pushed down on each pedal as he cycled away when the lights turned green, but I was too slow with my camera, I was too lost in my music. But I did get this shot of the lovely building, ha ha.

The sun was hot. I walked in a singlet and my skin zinged by the time I got home. The sky was blue. A slight breeze blew. I'm sure I got a healthy glow.

Who Needs Siri? Really, I Ask You?

I have never used Siri on my iPhone, my current iPhone  or my previous iPhone.  I've just never needed her, or wanted her. I have to say that I think she is pretty pointless. She's just a toy, isn't she? Correct me if I am wrong?

I have used her once on two iPhones. I changed her voice to a him but that seemed more odd, so I changed it back. We didn't have much to say to each other, not really. Hello, how are you. I asked her what she was wearing? I asked her what she looked like? Just stupid things really. It is just a novelty and it didn't last that long.

I don't even like talking to my friends on the phone that much, why would I want to talk to a computer generated dope?

Does anybody really use Siri as the life changing assistant she was touted to be? I dunno. I reckon it is just a marketing gimmick.

What do you think she looks like? There is that episode of The Big Bang Theory where Raj meets her and she is a glamazon. But, I reckon, she looks more like the Supernanny, on the "husky" side in tight fitting suits with a big arse.

Flowering Street Trees

These flowering trees are just gorgeous

Here is a Little Grammar 101

Here is a little grammar 101, and a pet hate of mine. I kind of find it wrong that if enough people misuse the language that misuse, that mistake, so often becomes an alteration, an amendment to the language and becomes the new grammar.

But, that is the evolution of language.

I have been watching I'm a Celebrity Get Me Out Of Here on which, unfortunately, we weren't seeing underwear model, Tyson, reach for the stars, (if he's an underwear model, let's see him in his underwear, {big eyes, hands in the air} otherwise it is an opportunity missed,  but I digress) we were seeing former, current, I don't know which, Miss World, Laura, reach for the stars and she is absolutely useless. She, apparently, doesn't want to get her finger nails dirty, and she has a phobia about fish. (Who has a phobia about fish?) What did her agent tell her, that it was a six weeks at Club Med South Africa, I ask you? They have to do repellent challenges to win stars and however many stars they win equates to how many meals they get. Laura was failing at the task and was being told the amount of stars she had won thus far.

BA PA! (you know the quiz show noise if you get a question wrong)

It is never "amount of stars," people, it is always "number of stars." I don't know why people always get this wrong, but we are certainly now in danger of it being accepted as correct because there are too many dimwits who are getting it wrong.

Now people it is easy, listen closely. If you can count whatever it is you are talking about, for example, colostomy bags, sebaceous cysts, or paedophiles, it is always number. If you can’t count it, urine, puss, or trauma, it is amount.

So Julia Morris and Chris Brown, (I just don't see whatever it is they see in him) it was the number of stars that useless Laura won, not the amount of stars. It is very simple. As I have said so many times, why are so many people so stupid?

Here is a tip. If you are a little weak stomached, prone to a little easy nausea, never YouTube sebaceous cysts. Don’t be tempted, I have done the research, it is not pretty.

The number of sebaceous cysts emitting an indefinable amount of puss.

I'd avoid maggots too. People being eaten by maggots is a world of fucking pain for the viewer.

There were a huge number of maggots eating a huge amount of human brain matter. The number of squeals coming from my mouth were nothing compared to the amount of vomit spewing from my mouth.

My day in pictures

Noodles for dinner

I love these RX8s, with their weird little doors. There aren't so many four seater sports cars. I've been seeing them every where lately, you know when that happens. A friend buys a particular kind of car and then suddenly they are every where. I wonder if there is a RX8 in my future? I can't see it, but perhaps?

Shopping for veggies, what lovely greens, fresh colours, enticing

Carnivore soup for lunch - liver, kidney, blood pudding, yum, yum.

I loved the fat chicks in this shot, they really enjoyed their lunch time

One of these would be nice, a white M1, manual gear box, sunroof and white seems to be my preferred colour in cars.

Lovely church, Albert Street. Is it St Peter's? I think it is St Peters. Maybe it is St Peters. I don't care, I like the architecture, but the message, not so much. Still, churches are quiet, sublime capsules in this big, crazy world. Must be attractive for the weak and the lame.

The Barcelona Terrace, Fitzroy. We should all have bought one of these a few years ago. I'm not sure why they are still in an unrenovated state, as they are grand terrace houses, but a couple of them have been sold lately and I think two are now being renovated.

I wish I was a P Plate driver once again. A green P plate, doesn't that mean the driver has been driving for less than twelve months?

You don't see many of these old timers around now a days. A Cedric Wagon, one of the original Nissans. It just needs a wash and a polish.

The Sound of Knives Being Sharpened Has Never Sounded So Satisfying

Julia Gillard has been diagnosed with what is referred to as "Joker Syndrome" where the patient's mouth involuntarily curls into the smile of The Joker. She has been taken into ICU for observation. The condition is rarely fatal, in fact, from all accounts the patient often feels an over whelming sense of self satisfaction.

Julia Bishop has so convincingly donned the "assassins smile" when she has made a bigger show than is really necessary of denying she is plotting against 1/2 A Term Tony (oh that makes me smile) that she even accidentally mentioned the term "convenient asbestos death" when what she meant to say was that she wasn't plotting to kill the bastard... metaphorically, of course. 

Malcolm Turnbull was caught in Mr Rabbott's office at midnight with a tape measure, an interior designer and a Matisse and he still denied the next day that he was planning a coup.

Tony Abbott jumped this morning when even his shadow pulled a knife on him.

Of course, I am hoping that the Liberal party "really is that stupid" and that the nervous back benchers who are staring unemployment in the face somehow manage to reelect pathological liar Neanderthal Tony as their leader, because total humiliation would be so much more satisfying in eighteen months, than the, possibly successful, hatchet job/patch up job now.

And just to highlight that Abbott has learned nothing about lying to the Australian people, let us state this once again, here is a little Westminster system 101. As Tony Abbott knows only too well, the Australia people elect the party they want to run the country, but the party elects the leader they want to run the party. The Australian people did not elect him to be Prime Minister, no matter what Dopey Tony might claim. How many of you had Tony Abbott written on your ballot paper when you went to vote?

It Was The Most Beautiful Day

It was the most perfect afternoon in Melbourne today. Just glorious.  To get out into it, that is what was needed, although I was rather more inspire by my having-quit-smoking-yet-again inflating weight that the beauty of nature, but still it certainly was enticing. I went walking with The Rolling Stones playing in my head phones. iPhones are wonderful things, I can take my whole music collection walking with me, even if my black case thingy stopped me from using my really good head phones, for some reason the jack kept popping out and the head phones kept going dead. I had to rummage around in a draw to find my superseded models. And then halfway around my circuit I wondered why I'd bought new headphones at all. Oh those marketing types have a lot to answer for...

I stopped walking because I kept developing a pain in my right shin, which would ache so severely I'd be almost crippled in agony by the time I'd got home. I tried to push through it, "Don't be such a fucking pussy," I could hear ever personal trainer, sporty type, in the world saying to me telepathically. I know that is true, but I just couldn't seem to push through it, the pain just got worse. But lately, I have been walking Buddy and I realised that I didn't get a pain walking him, him stopping at every lamp post withstanding. So, I have decided to start walking again, taking it down a notch in its intensity and adding music for something to distract me from thinking about my leg.

So today was the first day and a lovelier one I could not have picked.

Jumping Jack Flash got me walking up Gertrude Street. I love that intro, that riff is unmistakable. If ever you want to get moving... (I often say that Freddie Mercury was the greatest rock and roll singer this world has ever seen, but really the greatest rock and roll singer this world has ever seen is still alive and he is still rocking baby) The sun and the blue sky and the people, the colour and the movement and the perfect day, it felt like the opening to a movie playing out in my ears and in front of my eyes. Or, maybe, it was a music video? It was hard not to dance at the lights.

I was the observer, all I could really feel was my feet touching the ground, as the containment of the 360 degrees of sound kept me removed and safely in my own world. I was looking in from outside, walking through. Walking into the bright sun, heading west, it was like walking into a new story. This is where we begin. A brave new world.

Really? What Were You Thinking Queensland?

Really Queensland. Pauline Hanson? How can you possibly vote for an inarticulate, racist idiot like that?

What is the fascination with the dumb redhead?

Oh Tony, You Are Such a Knob

I'm assuming that Tony Abbott’s colleagues were looking for some sort of inspiration from their leader today to inspire them to back him. I wonder what they are thinking now?

Mr Rabbott just repeated everything he's been saying for the past year and a half, amazingly, there really was nothing new, except that he is dumping his stupid paid parental leave scheme. So the new thing was something he wasn't going to do. It is very pleasing as it means he wont be here for the next year and a half, but it is confusing too. Is he really that limited? Really? And if that is the case, how did Australia elect a half wit as prime minister?

Hey One Term Tony here is a tip for free, blaming the Labor Party for the mess you are in isn't working for you buddy. Just an observation.

He again lied about the level of debt, he again claimed that Labor misled them about the level of debt. Really? Of course that seems likely? You know governments produce documentation on the debt they have. You know governments produce forward estimates about what debt is going to be. The Labor party has produced documentation to prove The Liberal Party wrong again and again and again.

He claimed that his government had created hundreds of thousands of jobs. When it was pointed out to him that the unemployed rate had risen by 70,000, he completely ignored it.

He didn’t mention Medicare’s future or higher education reforms or Indigenous recognition. He ignored domestic violence. he didn't mention his unfair treatment of those people on the dole, or aged pensioners.

It was all the same old tired stuff he has been saying for the last few years, which kind of proved that he still just doesn't get it.

And my favourite bit, where Rabbott poured metho into the wounds of everybody who wants to dump him, he said,

“I hope that in 2015 we will see a much more honest national conversation.”

At which point Australia should start to bang their collective heads against the nearest wall,

"Yes Tony, from you, from you, from you, from you..."

Coldest finish to any January  ever, on record, for years, whichever, I like it. I'd prefer this to 40 degrees any day. Sure, it would be different if I was down Torquay way. Wye River, absolutely bring on the heat. But, I am not. I'm heading to the office and this weather is much nicer to walk in that the awful, humid heat. I think it is lovely.

I loved this shopping, yesterday. I loved the green and the shapes.

Tony, Tony, Tony, Not Smiling Now, I Bet.

Translation of Tony Abbott’s, “I have listened and learnt from what the people have said.”

Tony on his knees in front of his party room, hands in the air.

“Guys, guys, I will do anything you want. Anything? Please, please don’t take my prime minstership away from me. I like being the captain and getting to sit in the big chair in the green house. Please, please don’t take that away from me. Please? Please? Please?" Clasped hands, like an alter boy kneeling before a seminarian. "I'll do whatever you want. Whatever? Anything! Exterminate the dole bludgers? Make Gina a Dame? SUCK RUPERT'S COCK? What do you want?” I see tears at this point, like a journalist in the middle east begging for his life, but maybe that just amuses me.

I see Bronwyn Bishop in a g-string and pasties, machete in one hand about to swing it down, furiously fingering herself with the other hand, as she, deludedly, sees the possibility of the glorious realisation of her own prime mister ambitions. Nitrous back pack strapped on over her shoulders, as she gasps into the mouth piece. Her beehive quivering in anticipation...

Oh, did I say that out loud? Sorry.

So to the people of Queensland - and the people of Victoria - who delivered a result that no one expected, well done. You have stood up to stop the corporatisation of the country. You have told those who think that wealth and power gives them the right to dictate to us, to put profit over people with no thought to the consequences of their greed. You have sent a message to those people who think wealth some how puts them above the democratic process and entitles them to just govern for the rich.

So bring on the NSW election to stop Mike Baird from destroying our farmland and giving away our public land to developers.

I look forward to, what can only be, Tony Abbott's grovelling address to the National Press Gallery on Monday.