Obese Olwyn

Obese Olwyn (Or as Kirin calls her Fat Guts, and I call her Fat Guts Carol Brady) 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 guy he tastes of chocolate, his blushes taste of raspberry. His desire smells like musk heated over a rose scented candle.

Edna Smith smells of custard, her failing brain cells feel like tapioca between my fingertips. She clutches her string of pearls, which flake like white chocolate 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? I guess. 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.

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.

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

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.

How he got my name, I am not sure. Why he didn’t contact IT, I will never know. But, I decided to be helpful, how hard can it all be.

Big mistake.

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 choose 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 ought to be angsty. If the news services told them that they had nothing to worry about, that terrorism would probably never affect 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 boy’s 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.

The Council on Foreign Relations is a prominent, non-partisan U.S. foreign policy think tank and membership organization. In February 2015, during an internal Liberal Party leadership challenge, CFR senior fellow Joshua Kurlantzick published a blog post on the council's website titled "Tony Abbott Has To Go". The piece opened with the question, “Is Australian Prime Minister Tony Abbott the most incompetent leader of any industrialized democracy?” and criticized his policy coherence, communication skills, and public relations 

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 interpretation 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 ago, 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.

Monday On MY Own - So Everyone Has Too Me To Expect

I headed to work when Sam did, getting to work just after 8am. I put 8am on my time sheet, fuck it I thought.

My first day on my own, with Kirin, of course, to pull it all together on my own. Yay. Good luck me. Shouldn’t be a problem, of course.

It is gradually getting hotter every day this week, culminating in 36 degrees on Wednesday.

We worked steadily all day the two of us. No more breaking into girly chatter intermittently. Thank the universe for that.

Do I like working with Kirin? Yeah, sure, why not. She’s okay. But remember, she doggedly sticks to the role I am doing, Financial Accountant, being a one person role, despite the last two people in the role not coping. Kylie, before Kerin, she said she was over worked and stressed out by the time her time came to an end. Kerin said she got so stressed she contemplated walking out into the traffic rather than returning to the office, which was the moment she resigned. And both of them have said that Kerin never helps, that she spends her days on her phone, seemingly doing her own work.

I’m only on a short contract, so what do I care.

I finished at 6pm. It is an easy walk home.

We walked Buddy to the supermarket.

We ate sausages and mashed potato and peas. I poured way too much milk into the potatoes to mash them and then just stared at the milky soup in disbelief at what I’d done. Oops. Sam rushed over and poured the whole lot into the sieve thingy and then dumped them back into the saucepan looking at me like I was useless when he’d finished. 

“I would have done that if you’d given me time,” I said.

He looked at me like he was doubtful.

I watched Car SOS late, the one where they do up the Mk1 Zephyr Zodiac, which was two toned grey and blue. 

I love that model Ford, it takes me back to the black one that (brother) Will was given when he was 18 years old. He pussied out with it, not long after he got it, and I was only 14 years old and I couldn’t claim it.

Sunday

I woke up at 7.30am, after another failing at uni dream. [it is my only repetitive dream] What is that all about? No, really? In those first moments of consciousness, I have to mentally check what my student status is? You know, for real.

It was one of those hotter-on-the-inside-then-the-outside kind of days. Almost Muggy, overcast, warm but with cool air cutting through. The relief after two consecutively hot days.

I let Buddy in, but continually checked him not to go upstairs. In the end, it was as if he said, “fuck you” and he went back to his kennel. [Oh, I should have just let him go upstairs, why am I Captain Meanpants?]

Sam wasn’t up much later, maybe an hour.

We played around with the indoor plants, finally taking the poor tortured pelargonium back outside for a well earn rest, post traumatic sunshine. It never really coped inside. My quest for a flowering plant in my atrium.

Then of course it was time for chores, after that, after 9.30am. Sam exhaled loudly a few times when I was still at my computer and not behind the vacuum, as he had instructed.

Of course, Sunday morning is vacuuming day, specifically for me, it is downstairs vacuuming to be done. I was halfway through the lounge room when Sam came down from upstairs. He suggested that I should have cleaned up the coffee table first. His face was priceless when I turned to him and replied,

“Sorry mate, I only do floors,” in my best bogun tones.

Jill text at 10.50am saying she was nearly at Ikea and she was thinking about dropping in. I said that would be lovely, bring pastries.

We waited and waited and waited.

I text her at midday and asked her where she was. She replied that she was still at Ikea and that she’d be about an hour.

We walked down to Victoria Street and ate yum cha.

We did grocery shopping.

We walked home.

Jill arrived not long after with Princess cakes and a blueberry flan.

She told us the story of Graham – some builder guy Jill has become entangled – and his estrangement from his wife. The first night that he stayed he text her and asked her if she was going to warm him up in his cold bedroom. She immediately wondered if he needed a blanket. We laughed. The second night the flirting continued. She fooled around with him of his third night. She said it stopped short of going the whole way. [good for Jill, she hardly gets any, not since that guy, Steve, broke her heart all those years ago.]

We took Buddy for a long walk.

We went to the supermarket.

We ate noodles for dinner.

We watched the siege in Martin Place on 60 Minutes. Sam sat watching it slathering his legs in Tiger Balm, until the room stank of the stuff until I asked him what the hell hurt to warrant that amount of that stinky fucken cream.

We watched The Hangover 2 until Sam couldn’t stay up any longer and we went to bed before midnight.

I have to go into my job tomorrow, which won’t be any fun without Kerin there. Just Kirin. Oh well, what can you do?

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 Words

We went to bed last night with our balcony doors open, the fan on, covered just in a sheet. It was hot. 

I woke up to Sam and Buddy in the bed. Bud appeared in the middle of the night. I staggered into the bathroom and had a piss at 5am. When I came back to bed, I reached across the bed to get the doona as it was cool by then. Sam reminded me Buddy was there when I proceeded to pull the doona over him. Oops.

I dreamt that I was made manager of the Maribynong Drive In. Or was it the Moonee Ponds Drive In. Whichever.

I did that once, when I first left uni, I bet you didn’t expect me to say that. It was when I suddenly realised I didn’t want to be a pen pusher in an office for the rest of my life, just at the moment I got qualified to be a pen pusher in an office, so I tried other things. Being a Drive In manger was one of those things. I reckon it was my most fun job.

We got up earlyish. We did screens as we drank coffee.

We walked into the city and ate Thai food at the Paramount Food Court. 

The city was very quiet, I’m not really sure why, but it was.

We took the broken hard drive back to JB HiFi. The very grumpy shop assistant we saw seemed to begrudgingly replace it. He said, “We are replacing this today in good faith… blah, blah, blah.” Something about really needing to diagnostic tests over it, but in the absence of these, he’d replace it in good faith.

We went to the Asian grocer afterwards, where Sam told me he broke it by trying to upgrade its software which it can’t do and he tried to force it and it never worked again after that.

I started to explain to Sam what “in good faith” meant, but we both laughed before I got done.

It was a warm day again, but the sun didn’t shine and there was a bit of a breeze.

We walked home.

We shut the 35 degree world out. We listened to music until 5pm, they we watched the teev.

David called at 4.30pm to say that he’d only just woken up and that he was valiumed off his head, as David likes to wak up.

Anthony called to say that he was furious with me for responding to his “it is all over now, back on the cigarettes” with sensible advice. “Your name was black, let me tell you!”

We both laughed.

We ate noodles for dinner

We went to bed after midnight, Sam, Buddy and I.

My Day In Pictures

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.

Friday Night Drinks

The last day for Kerin, she told me again that she was going to miss me.

So, it is just me from Monday. Yay. The new girl doesn’t start until 01st March.

We had Friday night drinks as a farewell for Kerin.

It was really hot today when I left work with Kerin and Kirin as we headed to the Fitzroy Beer Garden for Kerin’s farewell. 

It was busy, packed with people. I had a couple of beers and then I had to leave to head to Prahran for dinner by train.

We had dinner with David and Tom V. at a Chapel Street Laksa Bar.

Tom V has bought himself a black V8 GM ute. He freely admits he spent the $50K primarily with picking up guys in mind. Raised eyebrows. Still, it was pretty stylish, and very shiny and new.

“If it gets me a hot guy, I’ll consider it 50K well spent.”

We went to see Bad Adam/Pony in Ackland Street St Kilda. We got/fluked a park right out the front. Poor Paul had to drive around and around and around.

We ate frozen yogurt sitting outside cnr of Ackland and Carlisle Streets. The air was thick and heavy.

Bad Adam was filled with every daddy cliché you have ever heard. He had audio telling some of the story none of which I could understand, which didn’t help.

Bad Pony was more entertaining. Bad Pony was sexy dressed mostly in his undies. He did much more interesting things like donned drag, danced in tiny little shorts and stood as sexy as you like in a towel in front of us. My favourite line was, sex is like gum, the longer you chew it the less tasty it becomes. The only down side to him was he had a section where he sang and unfortunately for everyone involved he is tone deaf.

David drove us home. Fitzroy Street was bumper to bumper, so we cut through the back streets of St Kilda and down Canterbury Road and up City Road and along Swan Street and along Punt Road. 

We listened to Maxwell, Embrya, on the way home. It was a hot and steamy night, the Yarra glistened in the sparkling night.

David was heading to Club 80 after he dropped us off. 

It's all over , no harm was done , no shouting , screaming or uncontrollable anger . I am rather pleased with my quit effort this time but tonight I decided that my next effort will be in the cooler months . If I cannot retreat to my cool comfortable bed for a couple of hours and do my breathing excercises im just kidding myself . So I am smoking again , had one in the Coles carpark and nearly fell over . It was good to feel energetic and calm and healthy but it all went south today . Feeling fine , just a bit smelly . No drinking I'm saving myself for Sebastian’s  35th . A(nthony)

Just because you had one, it doesn’t mean you can’t stop again tomorrow.

When you stop smoking, you have to remember that you can have a cigarette any time you like. It is not that you are not allowed to have one, it is just that you aren’t having one.

Stop again tomorrow. Stop again the day after. It doesn’t matter if you have a cigarette, as long as you stop again. Just keep stopping. 

I found that I had to quit many times to quit.

Christian