Have I Introduced You to the Newest Member of the House?

This is Milo. Shhhh! A Russian Blue is not supposed to have any white fur on him

The Sun Shines In Through The Window, It Is A Lovely City (I Wonder Why I Wrote City?) Day.

We listened to Bowie as we sat at the coffee table, computers back to back, me working on my photos and Sam working on his freelance computer programming work, until Sam declared Bowie shit (he kept calling him Dylan, but with two musical legends it hardly seemed so wrong) and attempted to have it taken off. I resisted.

The sun shined in the window.

Buddy snored lying in the pool of sunshine falling just inside the window on the carpet.

Sam has the second screen attached to his lap-top, he is doing paid work, after all, as he reminded me when I asked if we had another "second" screen that I could use, misinterpreting what I had said as a request to use the second screen he is using. Ha, ha, ridiculous, as if - I'd think I could get away with that - I would ask such a thing. However, we have a number of screens stuffed away in cupboards that I wondered if I could use. He looked around his "second" screen and said that it would depend on how old they were and if they had capability to be used as second screens, then he returned to his programming. I sat there, behind the black screen blocking his face from my view and wondered if I should ask any more questions, like, "Well, how about checking for me." But, he didn't seem to have any intention of doing that, so I figured that was my answer without me even asking the question.

I was tempted to turn Suffragette City up, but that would be just to be annoying to get his attention.

My next assignment starts May 20th, so I decided that I should use the time constructively. I decided that I should get this collection of family photos finished once and for all and give them to my brother and sister so they wont think "Oh that's okay, Christian never finishes anything anyway," like they have historically, don't know why? But having rescanned all the old black and white photos after discovering my new scanner is way better than my old scanner and then consequently discovering that they all needed to be touched up and edited all over again, I remember why I got sick of the whole fucking process.

Sigh! I tell you what would make the whole process much easier? A second screen?

I hit play for Watch That Man.

Stupid Indonesia

Stupid Indonesia, they are no better than Isis, no better at all. We should all boycott Indonesia now, it is a ridiculous and barbaric country lead by an idiot, who killed Andrew Chan and Myuran Sukumaran to get a higher standing in the political polls of that country. We should boycott Indonesia to show weak political leaders that it is not okay to kill people for political gain.

I'm sorry to all the Indonesia people that would negatively effect, but maybe you guys should lobby for the death penalty to be abolished.

And it is not about "knowing the risks." It is about barbaric cruelty being committed on two men for no good reason, no good reason at all. It is about two men who had redeemed themselves, which can be the only, true, purpose of incarceration. It is about a corrupt system being used for political gain for a weak leader who is scared of his predecessor gaining power. It is about a crime that is not all that serious, let's face it, in the greater scheme of crimes. In Australia they would have been released from jail by now.

I’m not ashamed to say that I cried as I read the news reports of their execution, two good men killed for no good reason. What the world needs is more Andrew Chans and more Myuran Sukumarans not less. They were mentors and role models to the prison inmates, which makes this even more senseless. It is a shame that Joko Widodo was blind to that.

And just to make the whole thing even more tragic, you add the fact that the Australian Federal Police are, ultimately, responsible for the two Australian's deaths.

The Mangling of the English Language

I'm saddened by the down grading of the word "respect." Apparently, now a days, you must show people respect, you must show the appropriate amount of respect for a person and a situation.

Respect no longer has to be earned, apparently, it is assigned automatically to anybody and any situation. 

When I was a kid, I was taught that respect was always earned and that it was only those people who had done something commendable, or lived a life in such a way that was full of goodness, who would be entitled to respect.

Now, anyone and everyone is entitled to respect. It has become a generic term.

Then there is the word "appropriate." Sadly, the word appropriate now really means nothing at all. It has become a complete weasel word for the general public to use to express themselves about just about anything.

It really now means any behaviour that 'the person speaking' deems is not to their liking. It could really mean absolutely anything.

It is the fill in word for the uneducated, the stupid and the lazy. "I don't think that is appropriate." It is only a tiny step above, "I don't like it." (especially said with a Queensland accent)

And let's not even mention "awesome." It is suffice to say, that finding the shoes that match that hand bag perfectly, is not awesome.

Beyonce

I don't get the Beyonce thing. 

I've been culling my itunes, I've got too much music to fit onto my phone now, so I'm culling, as there is a lot I don't listen to. 

I just deleted all Beyonce's songs, she's not my favourite. I don't understand her appeal, she is the Madonna of the black chicks, both have got very far with very little talent, as far as I can see. 

All that shit R&B/hiphop mix that Beyonce does. Nyr! I kept my Kelly Rolland songs she's the talented one. Not that I had many of either, really.

Too negative? Well, I'm sorry. It just interests me? It is something I wonder about. I hear Beyonce sing on the TV, at the Superbowl  and I wait to be blown away by this superstar glamazon and it just never happens.

I lied, I kept Halo.

The Anzac Day Carnival

How long has Anzac Day been going this year? It seems like it has been going for a month already. The carnival of remembrance. They really have made it the number one event on everyone's calendar now a days, haven't they. It is the "must do" thing, now isn't it? Personally, I think it is people filling in their boring lives with big ticket events. You know, The Grand Final, Melbourne Cup, Anzac Day. Even better if you could lay claim to some long dead digger (who you never had a hope of knowing in person). 

When is it going to finish? (Oh please don't let us have a week of postmortems after the weekend)

But, I guess, with a war on just about everything these days, we are all being programmed to think it is really hip to glorify war. (I'm sure just to give politicians a bump in the polls) War is "in," it is the latest political tool, it is now how we all live our lives.

Am I "unAustralia" when I say, if you haven't already gathered, I don't care about Anzac Day? Really don't care!

And why do I care enough to write this? Well, first of all because it has been a barrage over the last few weeks. OMG, make it stop. If I cared little about Anzac Day before, I care less about it after being bombarded with it over the last few weeks.

And it is that mentality that "all Australians" think a certain way and if the people who don't feel that way never say anything that misconception will stand. 

Coming together to celebrate something that united a nation? Really? It destroyed a generation of men, it destroyed a generation of lives.

Walking Through the Carlton Gardens after Lunch with Sam and Buddy

Lovely autumn, yellow leaves scattered about, it was gorgeous, a picture of autumn set out all around me.

This was in the grounds of The Catholic University

I keep hearing that the Catholic University is lowering the educational standards, I guess it is true

Fail! That Doesn't Look Like a Shopping Centre.

We went to Caroline Springs because Sam wanted to buy a Windows based Nokia phone on sale from Office Works to play with (it is no surprise to me that he like Big Bang Theory) and this was the only shop in Melbourne that had the stock. 

We're both unemployed, so why not go on an adventure.

"Do you know where Caroline Springs is?" asked Sam.

"No, no idea," I replied.

When our GPS said, "You have reached your destination," this is what we were looking at.

Fail!

I thought we were heading to the Caroline Springs shopping centre, so you can understand my, well, um, amusement when we got to this point.

We turned around and headed back down the road to the sign that said, of all things, Caroline Springs. We went old school from there, using our eyes.

Actually, I did know Caroline Springs, I'd been there before, I realised once we were there. There is no shopping centre there, as such, but there is a business centre, which is where we found Office Works.

Then we went to Footscray for lunch. I like Footscray, it is kind of like what Fitzroy was like before the tourists and the Y Gens arrived... and the property developers and the rampant blocks of flats and the food snobs and the traffic. Not exactly, but it still has that bohemian feel to it, kind of. I like a bit of grunge, it makes me feel alive. Actually, to tell you the truth, it looked a little depressed today.

I finally tossed the clock from our kitchen mantle piece into the bin this morning, as I was sick of it being 10.25 constantly, despite me knowing that whatever we'd done to make it go had failed, I still thought, momentarily at times, the the time it was showing was correct. It is amazing, you realise, how many times you look at a clock once it isn't working. We bought an analogue clock this time, but it ticks, so it is going to have to be replaced. It didn't sound like it had a loud tick in the shop, but at home it sounds like a metronome. It's like living in Guantanamo Bay. Admittedly, I am a little sensitive to ticking clocks.

Lunch in Footscray

The C Word

I went to see my specialist today, today was the day.

I've had a mark on the side of my forehead for, I'm not really sure how long exactly, maybe six months, maybe twelve months, longer than six but I don't think longer than twelve. I'm not really sure now why, but I didn't really take too much notice of it. I kind of wondered what it was, but I couldn't really see it being on the side of my head. You know, I couldn't exactly inspect it like a hand or a leg. I kind of thought it was an in grown hair. I rubbed paw paw cream into it quite regularly, which seemed to make it better, reduced it for a while, but it didn't ever really clear it up.

It is strange to me now, why I didn't take too much notice of it. It is kind of small, like a scab the size of a match head.

A couple of times I've scratched it, or knocked it, and it has bled. Stupid thing.

The last time I scratched it was just a couple of weeks ago, in the last week of my last assignment. That was when I thought I should do something about it.

Last week, I went to the doctor to have it looked at. He looked at it and said, "Oh that looks like a small skin cancer, a SCC seems to be the medical shorthand. I have a good plastic surgeon I will send you to, now let me see what his details are."

Well, you know the only thing I heard, I stopped on that 6 letter word. I wasn't really sure what I should think, and for a split second I didn't really know what to think. Is this "that" moment, perhaps? However, I didn't get to think too much, as my doctor must have seen me faulted, as he touched me on the arm and said, 

"Oh, don't stress, it is nothing to worry about."

Today, I drove to Ivanhoe for my morning appointment. My specialist smokes, that was the first thing that surprised me, it was the first thing I smelt as he started his examination. He looked a little worn down with life, and not really a picture of health.

He sat back in his chair. "Yes, well, that does look like a small skin cancer," he said. "We'll have to cut it out."

"Okay," I said.

"I'll use a local anaesthetic, it will sting like hell, I'll cut it out, there will be two, or three, stitches, you'll have a centimetre long scar which will be quite red for about six months, after which it will settle down. We will send it to the Austin Hospital for it to be analysed. Any questions?"

Any questions?

I'd already googled it. It seemed what my GP said initially was correct, there was probably nothing to worry about. If left, it would slowly get bigger, but it has very little chance of spreading. Usually, they are simply cut out under local anaesthetic and that is the end of the problem.

Here's hoping, hey?

It gets cut out in a month.

I'm wondering if I should tell any one? I don't know, maybe I should get very dramatic and announce it. "Sweetie, I have some bad news to tell you..."

Ha ha, he, he. I've told a couple of people. I haven't really announced it to the world, no.

The Fashion Bus

What day is it?

I'm losing track of what day it is? It feels like a continual Saturday, every day. It kind of takes the wonder out of Saturday. What day is it? It feels like Saturday night. Nah, it doesn't take the wonder out of Saturdays, it spreads it around in a wonderful way. Ha ha, more for everyone when you don't have to work.

We're both still off work.

I sent Sam to Chadstone on his own today, as he had to meet with a client and he doesn't drive... and I didn't want to go to Chadstone. I was offered 2 hours of window shopping in exchange for a return trip to Chadstone... that was me driving and me wandering around aimlessly, kind of two propositions with no up side to the exchange. Called me Uber Christian. I turned it down. Am I bad?

Sam found the fashion bus to Chaddy, so why should I feel so mean? And it was free.

I stewed apples and pears and cleaned the kitchen - cleaning the kitchen is actually my job and if it needed to be done it indicates that I haven't been keeping up my end of the bargain, so it isn't actually a pat on the back.

I finally closed that spare credit card on which I have been getting the $100 annual fee reversed for the last few years. The big, bad bank said they couldn't reverse the fee again this year because I have had it reversed for the last few years, so I closed the credit card. Really, banks? I thought they worked for us.
It seemed to matter that the credit card was the only account I have with Westpac, so it seemed like the consensus was, let him go, we're not losing much with this one. I gleaned that from the Westpac Banking Professional's telephone conversation with Card services.

It was a lovely afternoon, so I walked into Fed Square and met Sam after his return from the south and we walked home together. That was me kind of squibbing it on the tough guy approach of "get ye to the client and don't expect me to drive you."

What can I say?

Make a Wish... And Blow

Hold it to your mouth, close your eyes (not sure why you have to close your eyes) make a wish, and blow

It Was a Lovely Afternoon in Mebourne Today

The green grass stretches across the earth like velevet carpet

Austin Tasman

Austin Tasman, a middle aged man originally from England with a bad heart and a tarnished reputation who likes to drive

Tony Abbott Talks Crap

Tony Abbott tweeted

On Hoddle Street watching the traffic inbound - the day after Vic Govt pays $640 million+ not to build a road. You can't make this stuff up.

Tony, lets stop lying to the people and lets start telling the truth. If you build more roads, you get more traffic. Building more roads only makes the traffic worse. Building the East West Link will, actually, make the traffic in Hoddle Street worse, not better. It is a point that Tony Abbott has trouble grasping, well, sharing.

The Vic Govt is building the new metro train tunnel, they are doing the right thing. If you want to alleviate the city's worsening traffic problem, do not build more roads. If you want to remedy the worsening traffic crisis in Melbourne you need to give them more and better alternatives to using their cars.

We went to Changing Gears at the Ian Potter Centre: NGV Australia. It was really cool.

Holden Efijy

Bolwell Nagari

Bolwell Nagari, early 70s Australian sports car

Purvis Eureka

I remember when you used to see these around on the roads, at a time it seemed like lots of people had them. Some guy with an electric blue one lived near my family when I was growing up.

Holden Hurricane

Prototype Australian car, never produced

Torana GTR-XS

Some say GMH's biggest mistake not making this car. You've got to admit it's gorgeous

Falcon GT 351 Hardtop

My ex-best friend from school, Raymond, had one of these, his was orange. We used to drive around The Boulevard at 100 mph in it and it used to scare the shit out of me.

Vallian R/T Charger

The handsome cook at my school camp used to drive one of these. I can't really remember now which I was more impressed with, his car, or the small blue running shorts he used to wear?

Monaro GTS

My dad's friend had one of these, but a four door, on holidays he used to strap us kids into it and drive into the town at speed in it, it was really thrilling.

Today we went to Temple

The battery in a 3 and 1/2 year old Mac Air suddenly failed last week. We took it in and said that we felt that it was reasonable that a battery on a Mac Air, a premium lap-top after all, would last longer than 3 and 1/2 years under consumer law, the Genius' disagreed. They felt that it could have been replaced under consumer law up until about 3 years of age.
I guess it is handy to note that when you are looking to buy a premium laptop from Apple that one can only assume from the information provided today that it is not reasonable to expect an Apple computer to last more than 3 years.
Or, have I got that wrong?

I love these colours, easily imagined as a ball gown, or, perhaps a hot air balloon

Discerning Job Requirement

I woke to rain, heavy rain falling down. It was nice, I love the rain. I text Mazz at work and said to her, "You see, even the gods are crying at me leaving."

Mazz didn't want me to leave, she said she'd miss me and didn't know how she'd cope without me.

"Bahahahahaha. And me too."

I didn't want to leave either, but that was the role I was employed to do, fill in until Mazz was hired and then train her before I left. I didn't want to leave because the office was, literally, at the end of my street. People asked me how long it took me to get to work, it is an obsession with employees now a days, as so many of them seem to live at the end of one of the many freeways that infest our cities with traffic.

"Five minutes."
"Ha ha ha ha, no really?"
"No, really, five minutes, I only live across the road."
"OMG!" was so often the answer. "It takes me an hour and half on a good day," was so often the answer.

I can't imagine what that would be like, an hour travelling to work on a good day. My number 01 job requirement is being able to walk to the office. Permanent job, of course, I can't be quite so specific with assignment work.

The sun is out now, the day smells fresh, I'm going to take Buddy for a walk. And then maybe rest. Of course, Sam is right onto the chores, chores, chores  quite different to my usual between assignment time when he is at work. I might have to put some Phenergan in his tea.

It was our first day home together today, Sam and I. Sam got retrenched just before Easter, I'm not sure that I have mentioned that already and my latest assignment finished yesterday. So today we are both officially unemployed. Well, I guess, technically, with a stretch of the definition, I am still employed, so today we are both officially without work.

So, we took Buddy for a walk and I photographed this gorgeous pink geranium, they were like pink velvet in the sun, you know, as you do. Look at that colour, it is dazzling.

Sad But True

The Earth provides for everyones needs, but not everyone's greeds.

 - Mahatma Ghandi

There is enough food on the planet to feed all of the world's population. What does that say about me and you? It says a lot, and none of it is very nice, I don't reckon.

I give money the the Smith Family to make myself feel better, to ease my guilt, what do you do? I have for a while and which reminds me that I should send them some more money. 

I used to bang on about the poor, many years ago, saying we should all do more when a friend of mine asked me the question for the very first time, "So Christian what do you, actually, do to help the poor, you know, other than running off at the mouth?"

"Um, er, ah...?"

I've given money to the Smith Family ever since.

Just saying... putting it out there, in your minds. It is easy to do, no really, it is easy.

My Cute Cat

I'm sitting here with Milo purring in my lap. He is such a purry cuddly kitten, quite the charmer. Eight months old now, so nearly not a kitten. He's getting bigger, but he still has his kitteny face. He is so playful and active though, but maybe that is simply compared to Missy, who was 20 years old, after all.  

He is trying to chew the buttons off my business shirt. What a little scamp.

He's a biter and a licker. I tap his nose whenever he bites and he looks incredulous, as cats always do when you do such things.

Oh, hang on, he just discovered my muesli on the coffee table. 

"No!" 

Incredulous look. Why are you telling me off! What gives? They never really understand why they aren't allowed to do just as they please.

Back in my lap he is like a vibrating hot water bottle. Cute, huh.

Hot Audi, cool colour

I love shopping in Victoria Street. Sam shops. I photograph

I went walking at dusk. It is a good time to go walking

I love that afternoon sun

Harder Exercise

I’ve been walking every night after work for an hour. I put my headphones on, I crank up the dance music and off I go. I thought I was doing well, but apparently, the latest thinking is that just walking is not enough and that we must do more strenuous exercise than just walking. 

I used to run, way back when, when I called myself a runner, when I felt like a lithe gazelle and I loved it. But, it has been a while, as I no longer thought that the high impact was any good for me. It was so different today when I gave it a shot, like it was something that I used to do, that was how I felt, like I was once a champion, but no longer. I felt like an elephant lumbering into action.

I ran after a jogger who ran passed me, that was when I got the idea. I read about it yesterday in The Age, then today when the guy in the blue tracksuit pants ran past me, I seriously thought I'd just do it. I ran through the park. Then I walked. I ran up Johnston Street for a few blocks. Then I walked. My knee didn't seize up. My leg didn't fall off. And it felt good.

Maybe I'll run some more.

Is it Cold, or is it Me?

I wore a jacket today to work for the first time this year, my black wool and cashmere. It was thrust back into the world after its summers sojourn in the back of my wardrobe.

I put the central heating on for the first time last night and this morning. Oh, those bare legs in the mornings in what turns into a tiled cell in the cold.

We put our winter doona on the bed last night for the first time in 2015.

It is early this year, the cool, I reckon about a month early, more than a month. I don't think it is until late May that it usually starts to get cold.

Summer switched off, a week a go. Click, just like that. Over. Done. Gone. I know I prefer the cool weather over the very hot, I'd prefer the chill to the sweat, but isn't there something in between? Some honey warm days in the mid 20s eventually melting into winter.

When I go for my hours walk after work the streets even seem less busy, like everyone has gone home an hour earlier with the cold and the dark and the end day light savings, like I am the only one who hasn't reset the hour.

Click, click sound the heals of my shoes on the footpath as I walk to work. The chill of winter gets behind me and pushes me along, as I seek out the morning sun, which is so opposite to the summer days where I constantly find the shade in which to walk, in which to slowly wander along. There is no click click of my heals in the summer months.

Everything changes as the months change.

I saw my neighbour, Jackson Wag, as I headed up our street. He was coming back from getting his morning paper. He told me that I looked smooth.

Export the Racisits

I saw an interview with one of the organisers of the Rise Up Australia/Reclaim Australia (or as I like to call them, Ignorant Christian Boguns Strike Back) rallies, I think it was the one in Melbourne, say that he was a patriot and not a racist, but (and this is an important but), if what he did was considered racism then he was happy to be called a racist. 

So, now they are not even hiding the fact that they are racists.

The rest of us should have had a vote, and I am sure the rest would agree with me when I say, we could have an exchange program, we could put one Rise Up Australia?Reclaim Australia racist... er... supporter on a boat and send them towards the equator for every refugee we accept into the country, that way we'd, more than likely, get a new hard working Aussie and we'd get rid of one moronic racist.

Rise Up Australia

Am I missing something here? The Rise Up Australia people (or as I like to call them, Ignorant Christian Boguns Strike Back) held rallies around the country yesterday, saying they oppose sharia law, halal tax and Islamisation (whatever that means?).

In which part of Australia is sharia law being proposed? Not one place in Australia.

I'm sure there has always been Halal certified food. Do these people think it is new, or something?

What is exactly does Islamisation mean? How does one recognise it? Does that relate to muslims still only making up 2.5% of the population?

Is that what these scared, mean people are trying to reclaim, effectively 2.5% of society. They are holding rallies around the country because of 2.5% of society. Conclusion, they are making a mountain out of nothing for their own benefit.

I reckon that if the Rise Up Australia/Reclaim Australia people don't like the most successful multicultural society in the world, namely Australia, why don't they leave and find another country to live in that is more to their liking. You know, love it or leave it (with the Southern Cross tattood across your poonani)

Judging by all reports just lately, why don't they give Russia a try. I'm thinking the current ideology might be more to their liking.

I suspect "these people" are the types who have enough intelligence to switch a computer on, but not enough inteligence to interpret what they read there.

Actually, I'm cheating, I read their Facebook page. There were a number who claimed Pauline Hanson was their hero, but continually misspelt her name.

Is it racism? I am not really sure what they are scared of? Is it selfishness? You know, not wanting to share? Is it those people who haven't really made the most of their lives who want to deny anyone else making the most of their lives, because most refugees/immigrants are hard workers and will most likely make more of their lives than the Rise Up Australia devotees probably ever will?

Oh Dear Now the Darkness Begins

I was up at 8am, but of course it was really 7am, oh dear now the darkness begins.

Milo is energetic leaping all over the lounge room. He is instantly around my ankles as I shuffle into the kitchen and push the button on the coffee machine. He rubs against my legs, he purrs as he climbs into my lap, as I sit in front of my computer.

I let Buddy in. When I look for him not long after, with my freshly made coffee in my hand, he is no where to be seen. I call him twinkle toes, because despite being a noisy dog most of the time, when he wants to be he can be as silent as a mouse. When I check upstairs in the bedroom, always his intended destination first thing in the morning, he is quite settled on the bed next to Sam, stretched out. Buddy opens one eye, as if to say, I’m good here, oh so comfortable.

It is a lovely morning. The time has changed, I have an extra hour to enjoy.

I hear the cat door swing and I get up to see Milo walking up the walkway up the side of the house. Success, I think, we have been giving him cat door lessons for the last week, and he’d mastered the coming in, but we hadn’t seen him going out yet. That was the first time I’d seen him exit the house under his own reconnaissance. And it was only yesterday that we removed his kitty litter completely, so we were at home to see how he managed without it. Yay, I think.

I watch him walk around to the pond. I keep an eye on him as he brushes up against the rockery all feline, languid and slinky. I suspect he may be hunting the gold fish in the pond. I’ve seen him lurking. I’ve seen him strike the pose, assume the position of the hunter, but I haven’t seen him attempt to catch any fish, not yet.

I vaguely notice a bird land on the side fence, with a flap of its wings some where in my peripheral vision. Milo springs, he shoots across the back yard at speed invisible to the eye. One bound and he is on the raised garden, second bound he is up on the fence and by the time I reposition myself around the lounge room furniture, there seems to be a puff of feathers dispersing around Milo on top of the fence. He is looking over into the next yard with that cat-like hunter look on his face, balancing on four paws, standing on a centimetre square of fence top, perfectly. I feel a chill run up my spine.

I was happy for him to chase away the black birds and the Indian Mynas that seem to inhabit our garden, continuously scratching the mulch onto the paving. But that puff of grey feathers was most likely one of the pigeons that has been nesting in our back yard for years. No Milo, I think, it is the rats and the mice that I want you to hunt, it wasn’t the birds that I got you for. I shake my head. I shrug. Collateral damage, I think, and I wonder if that is bad? I’m sure the pigeon isn’t native though, but I have got used to it being around. I’m sure it doesn’t dig the garden either. Still, it does sit in the macadamia tree at night and shits all over the paving.

I feel a bit like I have introduced Abbott’s refugee policy to our quiet back yard oasis, a blanket policy of excluding displace people. I wonder if I should have called Milo Scott Robinson? I laugh to myself when I realise I got it wrong. I’m sure that isn’t a bad thing, who wants to commit him to memory? Milo Scott Morrison, lethal to all non indigenous travellers.

Milo comes in a short time later and lies in my lap and cleans himself purring, looking up at me all soft and warm as though butter would not melt in his mouth. Then a bit later I hear the cat door swing again and he heads back out into the yard.

I wonder if I should get him a bell. All that annoying tinkling to maybe save the life of one native bird, maybe, at some point and to spare the lives of many non-native birds and the plague of mice and rats we have to endure that are the real target. I still decide against the bell.

Sometime later, when I am looking out the window of the lounge room, I see a multitude of feathers strewn up the side of the house. I’m guessing that was once the pigeon. Euw!

Later in the day, we see the pigeon’s partner sitting along on the fence.

Oh Shit, Buddy, What to Do?

We walk to the supermarket to buy dinner. I'm am slow getting ready so Sam gathers all of the accoutrement together. Just after we leave, I realise I want to do tattsLotto and I hadn’t bought my wallet, so I tell Sam, and he tells me I am being wasteful, but I run back for my wallet anyway. I change out of my track pants and into my jeans, as I need pockets for my wallet and my glasses case. We head down to Smith Street first, then to Woollies. I keep walking with Buddy, after we drop Sam off at the supermarket, as is my usual way. We get to the first of the two double fronted houses where the Plain Tree leaves gather by the fences and Buddy takes an enormous shit. I reach for my pooh bags only to realise that Sam hadn’t given them to me before we parted at the supermarket door. “Oh shit!” I say, out loud. “Oh crap,” I say as I futilely pat down my pockets in some hope of finding the small plastic bags. I didn’t even bring my phone - considering I bought nothing at all to begin with having my wallet and glasses was pretty good going - so I couldn’t even call Sam to fetch him out of the shops.

What to do? There is nothing I can do, I walk off.

I feel bad. Buddy did a mountain of pooh and he hid it amongst the leaves quite neatly for nobody to see until... I continue on our walk.  Damn, I think, I can't be that person. I decide I can get the pooh bags from Sam when he comes out of the supermarket and I can walk back and clean it up. Yes, that is what I’ll do. Let's hope no poor sod stands in it in the mean time. I look back to the scene of the crime as if mentally returning to it, to see what looks like the owner of the house standing at the front gate, as if he knows what I have done. He seems to be looking in my direction. I am glad about my decision to return to clean it up.

Buddy and I walk to Johnston Street and then we walk back to the supermarket. I resist the urge to cross back over the street and physically return to the scene of the crime, I only want to return with the pooh bag in my hand, actions speak louder than words, after all.

I see the owners young daughter run down the street through the leaves out the front and into her house and in her front gate. I wince and the feeling of urgency wells up inside me.

Just as we are returning to the back door of Woollies, I see a random discarded plastic bag lying in the gutter, one of those new slightly green, smooth to the touch vegetable gum completely biodegradable veggie bags from the fruit and veg department and I pick it up and turn to go back down the street to pick up Buddy’s mess. At which point, of course, Buddy decides not to cooperate, in true bulldog fashion he says no! Why are you trying to turn me around? No! No! No! I’m not going back that way, and you can’t make me.

So close. My anxiety hits a new level. We were only about 100 metres from the scene of the crime. So I decided to drag Buddy back there, and he resists the whole way, as only bulldogs can. So, in the matter of 100 meters, or so, I could be accused of breaking local council dog bylaws and no doubt charged with dog cruelty. Yes, indeed, I am a responsible dog owner.

As I am back at the front gate of the house in question, I see Sam waving from the back door of Woollies. He seems to be pointing at somebody standing next to him. I call out, “Come here, you have the pooh bags.” As I call out to Sam, I can see through the front door of the house in question and I can see at the end of the hallway the owner is on the phone to somebody. I gesture to Sam to join me. “I need another pooh bag,” I say.

“It is good of you to come back,” says a voice. The owner is now at his door.

“Oh, I always pick it up, but, my partner had the pooh bags,” I grimace and shrug, “he took them with him to the supermarket by mistake.”

“My daughter wants a dog and it is heartening to be able to say to her that there are responsible dogs owners in the world.”

His daughter is standing next to me with the inquisitive expression of a seven year old. (I have no idea how old she was, I have no idea how to tell children’s ages) clearly waiting for me to say something. “Oh yes, you must pick it up, as people don’t like it when you don’t.” That is the best I can do, I think. Always a lesson for the children, not a world I inhabit generally, but, it was the truth. “Personally, I think is is biodegradable, but the law says you must pick it up, so pick it up you must.”

“Thank you,” says her father.

“Oh?” He was effectively thanking me for picking up my own shit. I thought that was kind of amusing. “Well, ordinarily I wouldn’t have left it in the first place, if I hadn’t accidentally left myself with no pooh bag with which to pick it up.”

Sam and I walk off. I hand over the reins to the bulldog, I was a little over him by that stage. Sigh of relief. It was my street and I walk Buddy in it nearly every day and I certainly didn't want to get a name for myself, which wasn't really justified. It is true, I do pick up his pooh, always, well, 99% of the time, and I reckon 99% is close enough to call it all the time.

Sam cooks salmon steaks for dinner, with a warm veggie salad. It is gorgeous.

Easter, a Chocolate Festival

I ate one easter egg, it was a bunny, but an easter egg none the less. That was it. The two chicks I work with left one from each of them on my computer yesterday morning when I got to work. It never occurred to me to buy them one. I said, "Thank you," quietly and stopped myself from making any excuses for not buying them one, I think it is better that way and besides, I don't really care. There is no use drawing attention to how sensible I am. :)

What has happened to easter eggs? I remember easter eggs as a kid were made of special, magical chocolate that made them so so different to all other chocolate you could buy at different times of the year. That chocolate made easter eggs special. We even called it Easter egg chocolate, when making comparisons to other chocolate. It was the benchmark to what all other chocolate was held.

I don't think my eater egg was made out of that magical special chocolate. I don't think it was made from high grade chocolate even. It feels as though easter chocolate has been quantified, costed and replaced with the cheapest unit price chocolate, like everything else in the capitalist bastardised world.

Or was that childhood imagination? Rose coloured glasses and all that. Did easter eggs ever taste special?

Nearly Chocolate Festival Time

It's 1am, I can't sleep. I fell asleep for half the night on the couch, before Sam kicked the chair and ordered me to bed. I tossed and turned when I got into bed.

One more day of work before the Easter break. My three week assignment, has turned into 7 months work. I finish after Anzac Day, the Monday after that. They finally got a new chick to fill the permanent position. She's a bit OCD, but nice. Whoever said those with OCD can't be nice? Not me. We'd most likely clash on the uptight/laid back dynamic, but probably not badly clash. we already joke about it. We laugh, we get on well. She says she is going to miss me. I'm wondering if that is just more of a comment on what she has in front of her, more so than anything I've been doing. She's very organised and has come from a very organised working environment, to our little corner of chaos. I guess I should have fixed things, I guess I should have reorganised stuff, but I was never going to get the permanent gig. She's going to have to learn to relax just a bit, or she won't like the job.

It's funny, she says I continually second guess myself, which is true, always double checking stuff, which is not bad in itself, just wasteful sometimes. That's what I can learn from this, trust myself, get some confidence back. 

In the last 12 months, I have taken on 2 short term contracts that have given me a years work. I guess that is good? I guess?

A day to go before the chocolate festival and time once again to bite the arse out of a chocolate bunny.

Come May 01st I am back to a regular company, I've worked for a lot, an old favourite, which is like an old glove, fitting like. 
Then, maybe, after that, back to the company I am working for now, there may be a merger, possibly, hopefully on the cards. Cross your fingers.

Anyway, I should try to get some sleep. Count sheep? Warm milk?

Queen of Hearts, did she steal some tarts?  Or, was she just a street kid with illusions of grandeur and a card trick, or two, to earn a few extra favours? Remember, if you are not wealthy, or at least leaning that way, current govt's aren't interested in you and you'd better have a couple of extra tricks in the bag to get through life.