Now You Know Where Tony Abbott Got His Latest Political Strategy

...whether it is a democracy or a fascist dictatorship... voice or no voice... the people can always be brought to the bidding of the leaders. That is easy. All you have to do is tell them they are being attacked and denounce the pacifists for lack of patriotism and exposing the country to danger. It works the same way in any country.

Nazi, Hermann Göring

Sexy Wolves

Straight America hugs Gay America

Fat Frankie

The office loud-talker picked up his phone and yelled a cheery greeting at whoever was on the other end. 

Grrrrrr!

Fat Frankie sits in the next pod to Mazz and I. He is a loudmouth, his voice is as big as he is, especially when it comes to talking on his phone. He wears rings on both his little fingers and he loves the attention on him, as much as he clearly loves his food.

Fat Frankie isn't just a little chubby, he has a stomach that hangs over his belt like it is an entity all of its own.

I am the closest to him and he has no "low volume" on his voice, all of his conversations are loud, loud, loud, loud, but his phone conversations are the loudest.

He has the Batman theme music as his ring tone, which always makes me shudder when I hear it, as I know that my ears are about to be assaulted. He's probably spoiled the Batman theme music for me forever.

He's always eating fatty treats for breakfast, usually, there is a lot of ham and cheese and bread involved, of course, he is allowed to eat whatever he wants. He's always the one to go and get his colleges coffee, as he also smokes like a chimney, and he always comes back with a cake for himself, which, of course, he is perfectly entitled to do, it has nothing to do with me, but I have a bit of a cake weakness myself, so I always notice that one.

"I'll meet you out the front for a gasper," I often hear him bellow into his phone. He then waddles off down the office, the only thing I can compare him to is the south end of a north bound hippo. I kid you not, google a hippos' arse and Fat Frankie's rear end is exactly the same.

Thank the lordy do dah day for the fact that he smokes, it means he spends a lot more time down the coffee shop having meetings than he might otherwise if he didn't smoke.

I don't always notice him come back, the first inkling I have of his return is normally the Batman theme music sounding again.

I shudder.

"Maaaattttteeeeeee," Frankie crow calls. "Yeah, yeah, yeah." He laughs out loud, too loud for it to have any natural inflection. "I feel you maaaattttteeeeeee, I feel ya!"

I leant over to Mazz and said in her ear. "One day, I hope that fat fuck has a heart attack mid phone call and drops down dead on the floor. Splat!"

"Christian!" Mazz said. "You don't really mean that."

"Every word of it, if it means we get some peace and quiet."

"What would you do if that happened right now?"

"Clap," I said.

"Christian!" Mazz said reproachfully.

Fat Frankie finished his phone call, but it seemed like no time later that the Batman theme was sounding again.

Grrrrrr!

"Maaaattttt..." something caught in Frankie's. Cough, cough, cough! He was gacking on something, probably a croissant end that had caught in one of the folds of his neck. "Ma cough aa cough ate." He coughed some more.

Suddenly, he bore a striking resemblance to anger from Inside Out. His face had turned beetroot red, he looked as though he was struggling for breath. He punch his own chest with his balled fist.

“Maaaat just… cough cough cough cough, maaaat just… cough cough cough cough maaat just cough, just a sec.” cough cough cough.

Even in the throws of death he continued to be annoying.
I chuckled. "Apparently, there is some sort of god," I said.

Mazz tutt tutted behind.

"Can't come quick enough," I said. I didn't turn around. I could hear Mazz chuckling behind me.

If Frankie had gacked up a chicken leg, I’d not have been surprised. Oh hell, he could gacked up a whole fried chicken and I would not have blinked.


I care very much about the people that I love, but those who mean nothing to me, or those who annoy me, it is quite true that I don't care if they live or die. If Fat Frankie dropped dead in front of me it would be emotionally neutral to me, it is true. I don't suffer from the world psycho drama in which so many human beings feel they must participate now a days. I don't need to have an opinion on everything and I don't need to share in everyone's pain. Some pain can be the other guy's, nothing to do with me.

I leant over and whispered in Mazz's ear a little later. "There is a certain type of empathy that most people have, that I do not have, I know that, that is why I can say the things I do."

Mazz laughed. "And that's why I like you," she said.

"I'm not sure if that makes me, at least in part, a psychopath " I shrugged. "Nyre. I don't care."

Mazz laughed again.

"Maaaattttteeeeeee, sorry," laugh, laugh, laugh, “sorry,” laugh, laugh, laugh. "Oh Maaaattttteeeeeee!" Frankie had regained his composure. “Everything okay this end,” Frankie bellowed!

I half closed my eyes and grimaced.

Mazz laughed some more.

Tony Abbott is pathetic, how are Australian's falling for this idiot?

The only policy that is working for the Liberal party are the counter terrorism policies. It is the only thing Herr Abbott is getting any traction with. The counter terrorism laws are a re-election policy, don't be mistaken, so Abbott can't have anyone suggesting that his policies will contribute to terrorism. 

So this has absolutely nothing to do with the safety of Australian's, and has everything to do with Abbott keeping his job. Abbott cares little for Australia and Australians, he proves that again and again and again with his terrible policies, he cares a lot for his own political survival. 

Murdoch is only interested in it as a business deal, he wants to boost the income of his empire. Murdoch and Abbott are both outraged at even a hint at something which could reduce their income.

Good TV is supposed to challenge you and make you think, it is supposed to offer its viewers the largest range of opinions, isn't it? Aren't we supposed to discuss things openly. It is a sign of a healthy democracy that there is the widest range of opinions.

What Zaky Mallah said on Q&A was reasonable and quite true. If you ostracise young muslims you are only going to add to their radicalisation, not lessen it.

To exploit this and to represent it as something it isn't proves Tony Abbott is pathetic. He is willing to destroy people's lives, to render Australian's stateless in his bid to be reelected. That, in my book, is pathetic in the extreme.

And now Herr Abbott has given himself the power to block information/websites, an internet filter by stealth, if you like. How dangerous does that make him?

Why Would Anybody Vote For a Liar like Tony Abbott?

Seriously, Australia would vote for One Term Tony Abbott, when he is trying to cut their wages. That is one of his goals, to cut Australian wages for his buddies in the business world.

One Term Tony Abbott has decreased pensions. He has decreased dole payments, and no matter what you think about dole payments, giving people nothing to live on, no means of support, for months is immoral. The government has effectively killed off Australia's fair go, giving somebody a fair go no longer exists in this country, you either pay or you die now a days.

He has increased the cost of tertiary education, he has increased the cost of medical services, he has increased the cost of petrol, he has cut funding to the ABC and SBS. 

Remembering that he promised not to do these things when he was trying to get elected.

Of course, he wants to increase the cost of everything by increasing the GST.

What is the latest, means testing public education. So that previously free education will cost wealthy parents. Free education will cease to exist if Abbott got his way.

The One Term Tony Abbott government has tied Australia and every Australian to the losing industry of coal, while he has done everything in his power to denigrate and shut down the new expanding industries of renewable energy generation, proving yet again that he is yesterday's man.

Why any Australian would consider voting for the One Term Tony Abbott Liberal government next year just boggles my mind.

Remember, Fat Treasurer Joe Hockey admitted last year that there is no financial crisis in Australia, when he was in New Zealand talking up trade deals, effectively admitting that every thing he said and Abbott said before the 2013 election was a lie.

Why anybody would vote the One Term Tony Abbott government back in is beyond my comprehension.

How long are we going to put up with a dictator as a Prime Minister?

It is a step too far for Herr Abbott and his ruling dictatorship to try to silence Q&A with an outside review because they didn't like what was said on the program. A government that silences dissenting voices - even if that voice had once been charged with a crime - is a government that is now straying into very dangerous territory. 

When Abbott asks, "Whose side are you on," he is really saying, "How dare you not be on my side." That is arrogance in the extreme and a sign that the Abbott Government is now, pretty much, out of control, because this government is clearly trying to stifle free speech.

Speak The Truth

Noam Chomsky

One Term Tony Abbott is a Morally Bankrupt Politician

One Term Tony Abbott's terrorism security concerns are for the Australian fighters for ISIS. 
"These death cults are the biggest threat to Australian's way of life," says One Term Tony Abbott. "They are the biggest threat we face."
Really? Where is the evidence to back this up? 

There have been 113 Australian victims of terrorism worldwide since the 1978 Hilton Hotel bombing in Sydney. That's 113 victims in 37 years. The number of  deaths on Australian soil at the very most is 4, if you are alarmist and want to maximise the number,  which would count Sydney's Martin Place siege, which realistically was not a terrorist act, so that makes the number 3.

We're talking about between 3 and 113 people.

Does anyone other than Abbott think this is important? Would anybody be concerned by this if Abbott wasn't continually stirring the embers of fear? It is an irrational fear stirred up by an manipulative government who knows that fear and insecurity serve their political ambitions.

Why are we spending tens of millions on this? 

Domestic violence has killed 44 women this year in Australia, 80 last year, yet we are cutting the funding for this issue. 

Around 1000 people have been killed by shark attacks. 

There have been 8500 victims of car accidents in the last ten years, yet One Term Tony's (irrational) key infrastructure policy is to build more roads. 

There have been 66 deaths in custody of indigenous aboriginals in the last 10 years, but we are spending money, and police effort in closing their settlements and forcing them into cities where being in custody will be an increasing statistic. 

We are financially pursuing agendas which will inevitably result in more Australian deaths and yet the smallest threat in the country is receiving tens of millions in funding!

Lightning, has killed 10 Australians in the period 2003-12 which is more than all the Australians who have died on Australian soil by terrorism in the last 100 years! So why?

This is a policy developed by politicians who are morally bankrupt in appealing to the populations most base fears to retain power. It is governing by stupidity and yet the Australian public seem to be falling for it, I don't know why?

Why are we seriously worried about terrorism? What One Term Tony Abbott is really saying is the biggest threat to his political career is not getting involved in this issues.

Terrorism is not a threat to Australia, in fact, One Term Tony Abbott getting involved in this Middle East problem is a bigger threat to our way of life. 

On the bike track, zipping along with the wind against my face, feeling alive

The rain stopped and the sun came out, even if it stayed pretty cold for my entire bike ride. It was nice in the sun, but the sun only lasted while I was heading east and as my bike route bends around in a circular fashion, the sun wasn't shining on me for a lot of it.

Who Remembers Trams With No Doors?

Who remembers trams with no doors? It is hard to think now, in this over regulated country that we live in, that we were allowed to race along the road high up in a tram with nothing stopping us from falling out. Those OH&S guys would have a field day with that, justifying their jobs, essentially, justifying the work they do.

I was a kid, travelling home by tram with my school bag in one hand and my viola in the other, when I headed to the door of what was by then one of the last of the doorless trams, I tripped on something, maybe my own feet, and sailed out of the tram door, like superman, landing face down onto the road. I can still remember the "twang" sound my viola made. Fortunately for me, the tram had nearly stopped at my Burke Road tram stop. I was shocked, more than anything, completely taken by surprise, one minute I was stepping towards the door ready to get off the tram, the next minute I was "splat!" on the ground.

There were a number of people on the footpath, not to mention the driver of the tram and the other passengers. Nobody came to my aid, nobody asked if I was all right. I got up and headed up the hill to my house, more embarrassed than hurt. Of course, the minute I saw my mum I burst into tears.

I'm getting tears in my eyes just thinking about it. I think that is from remembering the love of my mother and how I miss that, even now, than any embarrassment I still feel.

I'm going to see my mum with my sister on Sunday. I'm not really sure why we go now? I guess it is for all those times she unquestionably took my hand and told me everything will be alright. I can still feel her hugging me and kissing me on the head, like she used to do.

That thought made the tears flow.

I've got a carrot cake in the oven, David is coming over to watch So You Think You Can Dance, with his new boyfriend Lachlan, who I am very undecided about. Still, David's track record being what it is, Lachlan shouldn't make the 6 month mark.

Those Saturday and Sunday afternoons from the age of ten to about the age of sixteen with my mum in the kitchen cooking taught me a thing, or two. Our large kitchen window faced north, so they were happy, sun filled days, me and mum. My mum's specialty was banana cake, which is David's favourite. He insists on banana cake every time, but sorry today it is carrot. Sam doesn't like the cream cheese icing, but I am doing that too.

I'm going for a bike ride as soon as the cake is cooked. The sun is shining, it is a lovely afternoon.

The cake is cooked and the sun has disappeared and the rain has fallen gently down. What to do?

Oh Y Gens, the world, actually, doesn't revolve around you.

Anthony suggested to me last week that the people who are whining the loudest about housing affordability were the usual entitled Y Geners, who weren't prepared to buy the houses they could afford, like the generations who came before them, no they wanted houses in Kew and Camberwell. 

I said to Anthony, "Oh, I'm sure that is not really the case."

Anthony, you were right, not that I ever doubt you, you understand, you are usually the wise one after all. 

The housing affordability crisis is something invented by the entitled, whining, make your fucken ears bleed Y Gens. They are bemoaning that they can't afford houses in Camberwell and Kew, as you said, oh the poor little possums. Read the article in the Age today, by Julie Szego. They want medium density housing to be built in Camberwell and Kew so they can afford to live there, my heart breaks. I always find it amusing that they cite the need to stop the urban sprawl, but they never want medium density housing to be build in Ringwood, now do they?

Apparently, we need to build one million houses in the confines of the current sprawl of old Melbourne Town.

Have you ever turned off the freeway at Elgar Road and driven down to Box Hill Central. That whole area could be bulldozed and medium density housing could be built there. There is no architectural heritage that needs to be preserved. There are swathes of suburbs across Melbourne that could have every house double on the blocks that now have only one house. But no, it's always Williamstown, Fitzroy or Prahran in which they want there soulless blocks flats to be built.

My first house had an outside toilet and bathroom, that was what I could afford. Some people have said to me, "But you were lucky enough for that house to be in North Fitzroy."

Lucky? No, that was researched and tracked down over 6 months of house hunting. I used to miss out on houses by only $1000 at auction, after auction, after auction. I just had to keep at it until I was successful, every Saturday, auction after auction. 

May I suggest that the current crop of house hunters put less effort into the yap about how unfair the world is, and a little more effort into finding somewhere to live.

A quick google search just now and I found at 250K unit in Croydon, a 350K unit in Box Hill and a 440K house in Nunawading and a 470K unit in Mitcham. That was after I spent 5 minutes looking.

I have just spent half an hour on the Internet looking at houses for sale. There are many, many houses all over Melbourne in the under 500K price range.

I, actually, love the research side of it. There is a 4 bedroom, 2 bathroom, house in Melton on a large block for 250K. A 450K house in Coburg North. 350K unit in Reservoir. 450K house and a 470K house in Reservoir.

If I was just starting out and had a small budget, I'd try Sunbury. I used to have a country property at Woodend and I used to shop in Sunbury from time to time. Sunbury has a direct train service and a nice shopping centre. I found a 3 bedroom home for 300K. And a 2nd 3 bedroom house for 300K that boasts alfresco dinning.

That is what I have found in a little over an hour, without trying very hard. Imagine what you could find if you were serious?

Why Would We Be Feeling Pessimistic?

I remember when you could knit and smoke on a plane, not that I ever knitted, not that I knew you could knit no longer, I just read it online. What is going to happen, death by knitting needle? Really? 

I can remember when you could, actually, pack tooth paste in your hand luggage, before it became a political tool for politicians to be reelected.

Now a days we are continually being minimised by political ideology, particularly when comes to conservative political ideology. Let's face it, we wouldn't be in the terrorist mess we are in now if successive conservative American governments hadn't attacked the middle east with big fucken guns. We are in the mess we are in now, essentially, because of conservative governments lies. Remember, Iraq had weapons of mass destruction, so the older Bush could justify invading. Then, the younger, idiot Bush killed 300 thousand Iraq's in retaliation of 2000 American deaths. 300 thousand Iraqis lost their lives because a handful of religious nut jobs had the audacity to attack America on home soil.

Now we are fighting "THE DEATH CULT" loudly and often Essentially, because Tony Abbott nearly lost his job.

It has just been revealed that Australian's feel less safe than they ever have? Really? Gosh, I am surprised.

Australians are feeling less safe than ever, are more pessimistic about the economy and are increasingly concerned about climate change according to a new poll.

Funny about that. That is what happens when you put ideologically unsound entitled knobs in charge. It is, essentially, because we now have a religious nut job running Australia.

After Abbott just scraped through the leadership challenge, threat, the first thing he did was ramp up the terrorism rhetoric as that was the only policy he had left that was working for him.

Hockey and Abbott trashed the economy with lies to get into power and now they can't undo the damage they did.

And with Abbott's bunch of climate deniers, his determination to destroy alternative power generation and his increasingly lame duck love of the coal industry Australian's have every reason to feel terrified about climate change.

There is some good news though, maybe Australian's aren't the racist dopes of which they seem to be giving a mighty fine impression with the annual Lowy Institute poll finding Australians rated the government's asylum seeker policies less than five out of ten, despite the coalition claiming credit for stopping the boats.

A relaxed Milo. Don't you love how cats always find comfort. Of course, Buddy isn't allowed on the couch, sometimes he just gazes up at Milo, on the couch, longingly.

Spending the Day Writing

I think I have poemitis. I just don't seem to be able to stop writing poems, not that I am resisting. I'm writing them every day, they just seem to be coming to me. It is kind of nice, I'm not complaining.

Sam is going for job interviews every day, and I am writing verse.

It's what I started out writing, poems, when I first started writing, as a teenager, at school. I guess lots of people do. I seem to have returned to it, I'm not really sure why. They are easy and precise and uncomplicated. Why now? I don't know? It must be a planetary thing. Ha ha.

I actively tried to stop writing poetry, as I didn't reckon you can make anything out of it. I wanted to write fiction, instead. Maybe they have backed up in me like... oh, I don't want to say shit, but it is the only thing that comes to mind. 

I'm putting them all on my poetry blog. I just have to make them good now, hey?

Buddy just climbed into my lap. I sit cross-legged on the floor at my low coffee table and write on my laptop. Buddy climbs into my lap and sits in my lap. It is hard to type with a 25 kilo bulldog resting his head on one of my arms. I can continue on now with him resting his head like that, I've got used to it.

Sam went for a job interviews today. He's got interviews all week.

I went for a walk for an hour. Head phones on. It was nice, kind of cool, an easy walk. My leg didn't hurt, 2 days bike riding, seems to have fix my shin splint from jogging in the rain last week. Yay!

I love that carpet of yellow falling from the trees

Going For A Ride

I went for a bike ride, after I had pissed around for most of the morning writing poems. I'm trying to do an hours exercise every day. It is not so much for health reasons, although it is for that too, I just want to look better, fitter, healthier, younger, but I guess it doesn't really matter what motivates you.

I headed off down [my] Street to Victoria Parade, but my arse was so sore from yesterdays bike ride, so much so that I came home again to put my bike away and to walk around the block.

I wondered how I used to do it, when I used to ride every day? This is a different bike, maybe the seat isn’t as good? I haven’t ridden for a while though and there is always some arse toughening to get used to.

But, my leg, my shin splints, has been hurting, is still hurting since I jogged a great distance in the rain last week. Of course, I refuse to believe I have them, of course, like a bloke, of course, but I can't, really, deny the pain. Dang! I didn’t want to walk for an hour with the impossible ache. As I headed back in the front door, I felt like I had wimped it. I’d too quickly packed it in? So, I rode a test circuit around the block just to test my arse out for a second time. It still hurt, ouch, ouch, ouch, so I headed back home again.

But, I still felt like I was being soft. I realised that my bum hurt on the way down [my] Street, but when I decided to return home I realised I didn’t remember it still hurting. So, I gritted my teeth and I headed back down [my] Street for a 3rd time, this time pretty determined to get on with it, and I did. I can piss around with the best of them, out-piss them all so easily, so easily.

I have to be so careful on Victoria Parade, as they have taken away the parked cars and where I used to rush across in front of the coming traffic to find sanctuary in between the parked cars, the parked cars are no longer there to act as a shield. “Ah, ah, oh, oh,” up onto the footpath. I could feel the rush of air from the car as it rushed by behind me. “Ah!” I headed off around the river for a ride for an hour. It was cold, not really any sunshine. I wore shorts, but also a t-shirt and hoodie. I always find it is my top half that I have to keep warm, the bottom half doesn’t matter so much.

The muscles in my legs burned on the up hills. I gasped for breath as I pushed down on the pedals to the top of each rise. The Fire Requiem played in my ears. I gasped out loud at all of my effort, with ear plug headphones in my ears, I couldn’t hear how loud I was being, and I didn’t care.

The pain in the arse diminished the further I went. I stopped and took photos of the yellow autumn leaves falling. There was a carpet of yellow leaves spread out across the path.

The track was not very busy and it didn’t rain. Two positives. Tra la la, that was me, undisturbed by the "weekend" people, you've gotta luv that.

I gasped for breath on the Kew Boulevard, up on the highest peak for some distance around. The city spread around in front of me. So many new blocks of flats, I shook my head still in disbelief that we are again building the ugly blocks of flats from the 60’s and 70’s.

I felt the cold air on, what was clearly, my red face. I, actually, love that feeling, sweaty skin and dry cool air. My breath puffed out in front of me. The greys and browns and greens were dark and menacing and blunt all around. I pushed my foot on my pedal and raced off down the hill. Woosh! Yippee! Waga waga waga! Woosh!

Irrelevant Christians

Christians are like ashtrays, they used to be required in every room, every building, every office, every decision making group, but now they are no longer needed. They have been made obsolete by time and the every growing sophistication of society. They are now just thrashing around in the sea of irrelevance before they drown and disappear completely, glug, glug, glug, relegated to the scrap heap of history with the likes of ashtrays, type writers and black smiths, 8 tracks and LPs, even CDs. I'm sure they'd be much happier if they just stopped resisting, you know, just go with the rip, swimming against it will only spell certain pain.

If they would only learn to accept their new position, with the kooky cults that the fringe people belong to, the old twinsets who are marching rapidly towards the grave, and the fanatics and the mentally questionable devout, they'd be much happier and much less trouble to all of us who choose to live in the 21st century.

The Portuguese had to accept it, the British had to accept it, I think the Spanish did too, as the American's will also have to one day, now the Christians have to accept that they are a minor influence in the world. Sit back, love thy god, neighbour, the poor, whoever, accept old Jesus into your life and be happy little Jesusmites. They say it is the secret to a happy life, so accept you believe in something less than thirty per cent of the world believes in and be smug in your superior choice, don't let the rest of us distract you.

Does religion offer any sort of vision for the future  Or does it just say no to everything? No to gay marriage, no to stem cell therapies, no to abortion, no to contraception, no to euthanasia. No, no, no, no, no, is what I am hearing.

I wish Christians all the best. I think is it fabulous that they have a faith that gives them so much joy, that gives them meaning in life. I just really wish they'd stop saying no to things that affect other people's lives.

I'm not really sure why they try to stop things that affect other people's lives. Why? I've never really know why? It must be because they want everyone to live the way they do? But why? Surely, god will take care of that at, what do they call it, judgement day, the pearly gates, the virgin distribution centre? Oh, that's the other lot. They want to affect the way other people live because they don't want anybody else to enjoy the things they can't? Would that be envy? And it seems to be the most likely answer to this perplexing question  Because they know the correct way to live? Would that be pride? Because they love their fellow man so much? Self righteousness? I've never really known the answer to this question?

We have American Christians going to Russia and being, at least partly, responsible for anti gay laws there that bring misery to Russian gays. We have them going to Uganda and being, at least partly, responsible for anti gay laws there that carry the death penalty. Thou shalt not kill, isn't that a big Christian rule? We have them going to Guatemala and being, at least partly, responsible for gay laws there. We have christian's affecting aid to developing countries trying to influence the allocation of aid away from countries which will allow contraception (okay, so that would be catholics, I'm guessing) and abortion, which in some cases that will lead to death. It makes no difference, their beliefs are being upheld.

It makes no sense. Surely being patted on the head by the old bearded guy and being allowed into to fluffy white cloud land, and being allocated your virgins, or your harp, or whatever nonsense it is that they believe, is enough. Surely?

English Terrace Houses

I Had A Dream

I got up at 2.30am with a blocked nose, which was stopping me from sleeping. I struggled with it for some time, sleep and the nose, but it was no good. I couldn't breath. I couldn't sleep. When I can't sleep, which is really rare for me, I find it hard to just lie in bed. If I am awake, I tend to get up. As I got up, Sam's voice came out of the dark. I thought I'd done a great job of not waking him as I got out of bed.

"What's wrong?"
"I can't breath."
"Have some herbal tea."
"Herbal tea?" I hate herbal tea. "What is that going to do?"
"Unblock your nose."
"Oh please? That muck."
"Dink the tea."

I drank herbal beef tea as instructed by Sam. It is not really beef tea, I just think it has that kind of taste about it.
The fire was still burning, I threw some wood on. Buddy came in briefly, but was restless and went back outside to his kennel. I sat with my back to the fire and intended to write something, but I simply wasted my life reading online news, the thing I claim not to do any more to my friends.

"Oh no, I stopped reading the news a long time ago," I say. 

That is not true, sadly, and I wonder why I continue with that particular myth. It is how I'd like it to be, not caring about what is going on in the world, it would be a much happier time, I reckon, if I did. Who thinks News is a drug? The morons in charge of the asylum at present are simply too depressing. Mr Rabbott and the fantastic 5 – Rabbott (the thug), Hockey (the fool), Morrison (the smiling assassin), Pyne (the yapping poodle), Brandis (the idiot) not to forget that simpering little bitch Hunt – who are simply governing for their own investment property interests, who are just too unbelievably awful to really be believed. And just when you thought the LNP had plumbed the depths of depravity as far as you think was possible, they add the worst one of the lot, that stunningly revolting creature Peter Dutton (the potato). Does any body else think The Curious Case of Benjamin Button when they look at Dutton?

I will hence forth refer to them as The Awfuls - grey-haired old men in ill fitting lycra suits who fly around the world bringing bullshit and misery to everyone with whom they come in contact. The Awfuls, no problem is too big, or too small, out of which we cannot lie our way. The Awfuls, give to the rich, take from the poor. The Awfuls, blindly going forth into the modern world, an understanding of which completely escapes every member. Climate Change deniers, science deniers, humanity deniers, self focused, loathsome.

I wanted to write, but I didn't. The morning seemed to speed up once I was sitting in the lounge room with the open fire warming my back. I seemed to be lying in bed for hours waiting for sleep to bypass my blocked nose in its coming, and it only seemed like a few minutes later, when I was awake and in the lounge room, when 2 hours had passed, just like that. 

Buddy grumbled at the back door. Grumbled isn't quite the right word. Bulldogs are noisy, you can pretty much always hear them, even if you can't see them, it is apart of their charm - not everyone agrees it is charm. Anyway, it is a breathing thing, you can hear the different tones of their snuffle. I could hear Buddy snuffling at the back door ready to come in. He lies next to me, actually, behind me, against my back and between me and the fire.

Milo got into my lap at 4.30 just as I was contemplating going back to bed, as is a cat's way.

I went back to bed with Buddy, my nose was still somewhat blocked up even after the herbal tea... and went straight to sleep. I dreamt that I was helping Roz (my sister) move to a very ornate area of terrace houses in Melbourne that I kept calling Canada. I drove there in a Subaru station wagon, (which is what Roz drives, but it was the old model, the one she used to own before the one she drives now) in the direction of Clifton Hill, from Fitzroy, with a Kelpie in the back and some neatly rolled joints in a Tupperware container, (actually, those disposable plastic containers you buy in the supermarket) sitting neatly on top of all of my sister's belonging piled up on the back seat.

The area where she was moving to was very clean and sparkling and neat. The roads were very wide more like open spaces which were undulating and hilly. The houses were very ornate, I think, I would call them Queen Ann Victorian. Roz had trouble finding her new house, and she kept wondering off to find it. I was pushed around in a wheel chair by a shirtless Adrian Greiner. Everybody, including old ladies, were flirting with me because I was a cripple, it seemed. They took no notice of Adrian.

The old ladies, of which there seemed to be a multitude, kept calling Roz’s new place the stables and they offered to show me where it was, as Roz dithered around some where out of sight.

“Oh yes, we have seen the empty stable and were wondering who was moving in,” said one old lady.

"Oh it will be lovely to have a man about the place," said another old lady, rubbing my face with her fingers, which were kind of dry like old brown paper.

"Oh no, it is my sister who's moving..."

"Do you play Bridge?" asked another.

"Pity," said the lady rubbing my face, as she rubbed my face again.

"Err, no," I said to the Bridge question.

"Pity," she said again.

I woke up again with a WTF thought at my dream. I had little mattress and not much doona. Of course, Buddy hogged a lot of the the bed, as bulldogs do. He was laying on his side up against Sam with his legs stretched out sideways taking up a quarter of the bed. I got up and pushed him, manhandled him, attempt to move the big lump across the bed, after which I was awake again. It was 8.30am.

My nose remained blocked and it proved difficult to breath. I still don’t really know why. Sam blamed my blocked nose on the Taiwanese fried chicken we ate in Little Bourke Street for lunch.

Famous Face

The Demise Of Mankind

If we discover the secret to immortality, ironically, it will probably hasten the demise of the human race.

Of course, man is now headed for extinction, he didn't heed the problem of climate change early enough. And that is such a shame, as the human being had such great potential

But, you know, it isn't really so surprising. Half the world is eating itself to death, while the other half starves. The half that is eating itself to death, throws a third of its fresh food into landfill because it doesn't look nice enough to eat, while the other half of the world doesn't have enough food on which to live. Really, we don't deserve to survive.

These guys are great and just a bit cute too

Dinner in a Train

We had dinner in the train restaurant in Easey Street Collingwood with Rachel and her kids, Oliver, Oreya and Anton. They are hardly kids now a days, anyway. They are all grown up and they are delightful, even if Jill often snarks, "Why does she always have to bring one of her children?" I don't know why Jill thinks such things, maybe she is just stuck in her thinking. (Of course, she is at home as I type presumably eating herself to death)

We walked down to the restaurant  it was cold. The train is really interesting it is on top of the building on the forth floor. Sam and I had burgers with the lot, with potato cakes and dim sims inside them, and lots of cheese. They were interesting and tasty, but I am not sure you would want to eat them every day. There were other burger options, which the others had. I'd like to go back during the day just to see the view, I'm sure it would be really cool.

We came home and built a fire and drank tea and ate the carrot cake I had made earlier today, Rachel, Oreya, Oliver, Sam and me. The cake turned out rather well, I was pleased. Milo cleared off, he's a scaredy cat when it comes to strangers. Buddy was out of control excited, as he can get when visitors arrive. We didn't really get that part of his training perfected, unfortunately. We talked about Oliver, the dog and Oliver, the boy, asked if that is who he is named after. Cute, huh? I had a dog named Oliver when Rachel was pregnant with Anton, so she couldn't name Anton Oliver. When Rachel was pregnant with Oliver, her son, Oliver my dog had died, so she called her second boy Oliver.

We stayed up until midnight, Sam and I.

Feeding The Dog, Action Shot

 

I liked this failed photo, as it looks like an abstract oil painting, Dog & Man

Bud was all colour and movement on the back veranda. I can just tell it is him by the patch of colour, his bulldog spot on his head.

Keen on his food, is our Bud, as you can tell by the quicker-than-the-eye run at his food bowl.

What To Do About Joe?

Joe Hockey tells first home buyers that they need to get a good job that pays well, apparently, that is the secret to buying your first home. The most amazing thing about this is that Joe didn’t even have a clue what he was saying as he said it. Clearly, he believed that was the answer, as he said it. Even hearing the words come out of his own mouth gave him no clue as to what he was saying. 

When I say something stupid, I'm usually aware of it before I have finished the sentence. I believe it is called being self aware, or is it just called intelligence? 

So, it Joe simply an idiot? It is really hard not to think so. Remember, poor people don't drive cars. He said that too without a wince or a whoops moment. Is he so hopelessly out of touch due to his 50 million dollar life style? This hopelessly out of touch man dictates the finances of the country, which determine how people live. He is setting the budget for people who he has absolutely no clue about and no clue as to how they live. 

He needs to be removed from his job and sent to the backbench where he can’t affect people’s lives. (Of course, he may already have achieved this with his latest gaffe)

Remember, this is the guy who receives, something like, a $300 a night living away from home allowance to live in his own house in Canberra. When questioned about it on Q&A his reply was, “I would have to pay somebody to stay some where in Canberra anyway.” So it would seem that the treasurer doesn’t understand the concept of a living away from home allowance either. Joe, a living away from home allowance is paid to an employee who is sent interstate for work who has to pay for accommodation in the place where they have been sent to. When I was sent to Sydney to work, I had to pay for a serviced apartment to live in in Sydney, in Kent Street as it turned out, for the duration of my work assignment. Joe, you stay in your own house, so you don’t have to pay any one for you accommodation, you Joe are pocketing the money yourself. You are not, actually, in a sense, staying away from home as it is you home in which you are staying.

Joe, in my opinion, you rip off the tax payer to the tune of thousands of dollars and yet you are punishing young Australians who want to claim the dole. What was it, 6 months (I know it has change to 1 month now, but that doesn't change the fact that you thought it was perfectly appropriate for it to be 6 months) without any payments, nothing to live on... while you claim an allowance to stay in your own house. 

I love these old Valiants, they are such cool cars
It's not the rarer R Series, but still cool

I really don't get people at all. I went for my morning walk this morning and I passed this girl, from the other direction, waiting at the lights. She stood at the green light, but with the red man, as I crossed. You can see how many cars were around, none, not one and yet she stood there through the green light with the red man, the red light and she didn't cross until the next green light with the green man. 

Why?

Are we all really that scared? Controlled by the govt spin? Lost our laid back Aussie spirit altogether? Have we become a bunch of sad twats who stand at the lights at the little red men? All of the above?

Not that it matters, she can stand there for as long as she likes, of course, and really it has nothing to do with me, but it just seems odd.

This is one hot 4WD, one of the coolest of all time, possibly my favourite. I guess when you own a 200K car that parking ticket on the window means very little.

Of course, nobody needs a 200K car, it is a ridiculous idea and really a sad indictment on all of us that such an expensive car even exists. The owner of this car could get themselves a 50K Toyota and give the remaining 150K to the poor.

If You Want To Know If Someone Is Born Gay, You Should Ask A Gay Person. Consulting A 2000 Year Old Religious Text Won't Give You The Answer

I was reading Jim Jeffries (a fantastic Aussie stand up comedian. If you don't know who he is, do yourself a favour) (If you are a beige buttoned up rat-faced receptionist, you may not like him, which is probably even a better reason why you should watch one of his shows) Facebook page and he congratulated Ireland for their successful referendum on same sex marriage. He made some comment about treating minorities well, or some such thing. True to clichéd right wing Christian bigotry, Ike, the missionary from Hawaii, objected to Jeffries calling gay people a minority like black people. Ike objected because he thought being gay was a choice, unlike black people who never had a choice in being black.

Ike, people like you baffle me, baffle me as to what you base your ideas on? I understand they are most likely based on what you would like them to be as told to you by the cavemen who wrote the bible. I'm guessing then that you believe the world is flat. No? Really? Why are you letting that one slip by you then?

I still find it weird, odd, strange, interesting that those people hamstrung with religious affliction feel the need to pipe up like demented parrots whenever gay people are congratulated, or have some positive outcomes in their lives. It's a choice! It's not natural!  It's blah, blah, blah, bigot, bigot, bigot! Yeah guys, we've heard all of your objects before and again, we don't care what you think. It is that simple. The problem is, of course, all of the other people you influence with your fabricated views.

What is that expression? You don't need to blow out some else's candle to make yours burn brighter. It is clear by their actions that religious people (some, the strident, fanatical ones) are insecure in their beliefs, otherwise why would they care what gay people think, or do.

I am gay. I was born gay. I remember being fascinated by men as young as, something like, 4 or 5. I was attracted to the men’s underwear adverts in my mothers Woman’s Weekly magazine, even if I didn’t really know why at that age. I remember in grade 4 how attracted I was to the grade 6 boy's bare legs in their school shorts at school assembly. I went to my father’s cricket matches on the weekend. I was allowed into the change rooms, when the women had to wait until the players were all showered and dressed. It was amazing. 

As I became more aware of the world as I grew older, I tried to not be attracted to men. I ached to be the same as my mates, at my all boys’ school. I ached to be “normal.” Please don’t let it be true! Please don’t let it be true! How I hoped it wasn’t true. How I hoped I was straight. If I just don’t think about it, it would go away. It was torment for many years. I had a girl friend in my late teens, that didn’t change anything. Quite the contrary to the notion that I chose to be gay, I, actually, for the longest time, actively chose to be straight, but it didn't work. 

Eventually, I left all of my school friends behind (unfairly, my family for a time too) and I found the gay community, it was only there that the “ache” stopped and I realised there were many guys like me and I finally felt normal. Gay. Happy. And eventually proud. 

Ike, your baffling belief is based on nothing, based on your fantasy of how the world is, or how you want the world to be. I could line up hundred’s of gay guys who could tell you a story something like the one I have just told you. However, I suspect I am wasting my words and my time, as I don’t believe you really want to know the truth. I suspect you are more than happy with your ignorance. 

What I would ask you in conclusion, when, exactly, did you choose to be straight?

It was a lovely day, to contemplate the afternoon.

Post Operative

I've been feeling cranky, I am not sure why. Grumpy, crappy, whatever you want to call it. I don't know if it is post operative? Ha ha. Post operative stress syndrome? Do you think? (I think I am grumpy, actually, because the country is being run by neanderthal liars and we are being mismanaged and taken so far backwards that this country may never, actually, recover, but I digress)

Ah, Saturday. I was up early. It was cold. I ate olive bread and coffee for breakfast  Apparently, we had to eat the bread, so I couldn't have muesli, so I was instructed, by he who must be obeyed. 

We went to have haircuts around lunch time. We walked into the city to the cheap hairdresser, $10 each.
Cute little Asian guy with big glasses and a tiny little arse. The first thing he did was push the clipper comb into my bandaged wound. The bandage was flesh coloured and he wasn't to know. I should have warned him, but I didn't think of it in time. Ouch! It hurt.

Afterwards, we went to Tina Chinese noodle house in Swanston Street and we ate lunch. The bowls of soup are large and hot and yum. They come out at 150 degrees, so the sign on the wall says. I wondered how long it would be before a customer wore one? Oh, that wont be pretty.

I rubbed my hand against my poor sore forehead and my healing wound oozed again. Oh, grrr! I just wanted to go home and tear the bandage off and paint it with Betadine. Will this thing ever heal, I thought to myself? How long do these things take?

We shopped in Uni Glo. We bought new hoodies and Sam bought a matching track suit and top to wear around the house. I made him buy two of different colours, so he could miss match the tops and bottoms, so it wouldn't look like a lounge suit. He danced around in the change room in the single colour suit, like he was some half whit on a dancer floor, revelling in his crazy pant suit self. He is so funny.

We got home in the late afternoon. I ripped off the bandage and it was all weepy again, kind of pussy in the middle. Sigh. I went to a plastic surgeon for this. It looks like a big hole in the side of my head. Damn!

Sanm painted it with Betadine. I'm supposed to massage in vitamin E cream, or sorbolene cream. I investigated paw paw cream as scar management on the internet.

I'll start the massage tomorrow. Er? Maybe, after it heals up a bit. I'm sure you aren't supposed to massage sorbolene cream into it until it is all smoothed over like a Barbie doll crotch. Maybe, I'll start the massage next week.

Tony Abbott is a reject, here is the proof

I know everyone has seen this, but I just couldn't help myself, sometimes poetry comes to you.

Gay Marriage and the Gay Agenda

Yes, Cory Bernardi, gay marriage is going to lead to the polygamists wanting their multiple partnerships legalised, closely followed by the people who want to marry their Chihuahuas. Gay marriage is just a stepping stone. It is clear that is what people around the world have been working towards. It is obvious that is why all of the world’s English speaking countries have passed their gay marriage laws. Cory, you are just too smart for all of the gay activists working tirelessly on this issue. Of course, that is a part of the Gay Agenda, Cory. Just go to the big gay website and search “agenda.”

What a Day

We both got up at 9.30, we both had to be somewhere by 11am. Sam said something about his interview at 11am, then he doubted himself wondering if it was at 10am. He checked and it was at 10am and suddenly he was running about getting ready and leaving.

All I did at 10.15 was pull on a pair of jeans, pick up my wallet and glasses and phone and head out to the car. I couldn’t wash my hair and I was a little nervous about the whole thing anyway. The time had come, time to get it sorted, to get is fixed up and over with. I was pleased and, of course, nervous all at the same time.

I started to back out, but the steering was almost too heavy to turn the steering wheel. I jumped out of the car and ran around checking the tyres, the left front one was flat.

“Damn!” I haven’t had a flat tyre for years and then I only think I have ever had one. Why today, I asked myself? “Bloody hell.

Okay, get it together, this tyre isn’t going to change itself.

I chocked the wheels, I got the jack and wheel brace from the back of the car, I undid the wheel nuts then I tried to get the spare wheel. It is under the back of the car. I could see it, but I just couldn’t work out how to undo the frame that was holding it in. No, I couldn’t work it out. I tried and tried, but it was no good. Time was ticking away and I was getting nowhere. Bugger it! I had to leave. Any other appointment and I may have been tempted to cancel, but not today.

I had to catch a taxi. I had no money in my wallet, I knew that. I had a few dollars but certainly not enough for a taxi. It was 10.40 by this stage. I ran to the NAB ATM in Smith Street, pound pound pound, went my feet on the footpath. I caught a taxi at 10.50. The taxi driver knew where to go, he didn’t need me to direct him.

I twitched in the back, I was nervous. He had the heater cranked. I sweated from the running and he had the child locks on the rear windows, so I couldn’t open mine. I hate being late for an appointment, unless of course if is just a friend’s for dinner, then I don’t really care.

I got to the doctor at 11.15. I apologised for being late and I stared to explain, but the receptionist held up her hands and said she never wore a watch. I guess it was that kind of place.

The waiting room was full of old people with bandages of varying sizes. The old man opposite me seemed to have a hole in his nose, which seemed to be black and red, it was packed with cotton wool with tape holding it in. Another man had a patch on his forehead, as big as his hand. Another man seemed to know a woman who arrived after me. They talked like old friends. Did they know each other from this waiting room, I wondered? She asked him how he was and he told her that one of his spots had come back as a melanoma. The doctor told him that it probably wouldn’t kill him, however. “I probably have a better chance of being killed by a Bell Street bus.” She was having her stitches out. I was staring at decrepitude, possibly my future, who knows these things. I got a shiver.

The nurse soon came and collected me. She asked me how I was. I said seriously, “Oh, I think it may be infected, it oozed blood and stuff yesterday.”

“Oh well, better out than in,” she replied bluntly.

Well, yes I thought to myself.

She ripped off the plaster. She cut out the stitches.

“Are you allergic to Bettadine,” she asked?

“I’m not allergic to anything,” I replied.

She painted some antiseptic on the wound.

The doctor came in. He said it looked good.

A basil cell carcinoma that's what my tests came back as. They got all of it, apparently, and it is all over. It isn’t the type to spread. It is most likely from sun damage sustained as a child on the beach. More than likely I will get another one.

I thanked the doctor. “Thank you for everything you have done,” I said. “I hope I never see you again.”

He laughed.

I turned toward the door. “I mean that in the nicest possible way,” I added. The lovely nurse laughed.


Time to go home. How to go? Surely, I don't need to catch a taxi? The nice medical receptionist had no idea about public transport. She offered to call me a taxi.

"No, that's okay. I quite like public transport," I said. "Even if I tend to drive every where." That isn't, actually, true and I wasn't sure why I said it, camaraderie, I suspect.

"There is a bus that goes to Northland," she offered.

"Okay, thanks," I said. I wasn't in a rush, I'd work it out.

I headed out the door. Should I walk back to Ivanhoe? Is there an Ivanhoe station? Oh, don't be ridiculous, I thought. I walked to the bus stop on Bell Street. I waited for the bus, at 11.40am. The 903, or the 513, the schedule said. I could catch the bus to Nicholson Street and catch the 96, I first wondered. I perused the map. Bell Street crosses Plenty Road and there is the 86 tram. Ah the 86 tram. Oh, that couldn't be easier. No matter where I go, the 86 tram will always take me home.

I thought, initially, that I wanted the 903, but then I saw that it went up Murray Road. Then I saw I wanted the 513, which went along Bell Street. Oh come on, come on. I had my phone in my hand and I wondered who I could text to complain about the lateness of the bus. Who could I text with? Then I caught myself and laughed. Put your phone away, you don't need to tell anybody anything. It was a sunny day, I put my phone away and enjoyed the sun on my face, the irony was not lost on me.

The 903 turned up. I stepped on the bus like a brainless commuter, I’m not, really, sure why? Just stupidity really. Is it a look at me moment? Is it a lack of faith in my own judgement? Is it boredom? I’m not really sure. I ask the driver if he went to Plenty Road?

"If you want to go via Northland," he said. He was handsome, which didn’t hurt, and he had a sibilance. He pronounced north as though it was spelt with an f, it was adorable.

"Do I need the 503?"

"The 513."

"Do you know how long that will be?"

He laughed, as though I was asking how long is a piece of string. He was adorable. I got off. The doors closed with a hiss.

The 513 came not long after. I didn’t really know where Plenty Road was, even if I had some idea. I asked the driver. “Not far,” he said. When Plenty Road was the next stop, half of the bus told me it was my stop. (Like a yellow ribbon and an Oak Tree) I bought a cappuccino muffin and walked down Plenty Road in the sun. There is something lovely about walking along in the morning sun. But, the tram soon came and I caught the 86 and I was home in no time.

I walked Buddy to the Exhibition Gardens to meet Sam, who'd had a job interview and had just finished lunch with Charlie.

I still had to get the tyre fixed, at the very least changed, when I got home. I had to work out how to get the tyre out of its cradle underneath the back of the car. Then change it. And then, presumably, get it repaired, before I got another flat tyre, which was unlikely as my last flat tyre was in the 1980s, but one doesn't want to tempt these things when one doesn't have a spare tyre. What do they call that, Murphy's Law?

I called Mario my mechanic to ask him how to release the spare. He walked me through it, but I misunderstood what he was saying. But I back tracked and worked it out on my own after we hung up the phone. I googled the jacking points of the car, just to be safe.

I got the tyre changed in no time, once I was able to extract the spare from the car. Sam helped.

I got up from the side of the car when I was finished and smashed my face into the car’s revision mirror, breaking the glasses I was wearing.

“Ah, fuck it!” I picked up the broken frames and broke them into further pieces in a rage. Sam gave me a “look.”

I needed to keep the momentum going, I needed to take this tyre to be repaired.

I headed to Brunswick. My car, of course, has difficult wheels that don’t have centre caps, and not all tyre repair shops are equipped to work on them, apparently, they need an adaptor for them.

As I approached Sydney Road, a woman in a white 4WD came up in the left hand lane, which runs out, she put her blinker on and expected to just move into my lane, when I was right next to her. She wasn’t in front of me, I wasn’t in front of her, I was right next to her and I wouldn’t let her in. She was none too happy. She was mouthing what I can only assume were obscenities at me, when I held my hands in the air as if to say, What are you doing? Then she was giving me the bird, when I laughed at her. A nice middle class woman, who didn’t like me laughing at her contorting her face and looking ridiculous. I wish I’d picked up my phone and started taking pictures of her. I didn’t give in. I was right next to her, she essentially wanted to occupy the space I was occupying. What do these people think? Her lane ran out and she had nowhere to go. She was still gesticulating as I accelerated in front of her.

The nice tyre man looked at my tyre. He told me the tyre was technically unroadworthy, and that I was, in all reality, wasting my money repairing it. I was surprised, my tyres weren’t that Old, I told him. I told him he fitted the tyres. He looked them up. They were fitted 4 years ago and I had done nearly 20,000 k’s almost exactly.

They were unroadworthy because they had worn unevenly, they had worn on the inside. My wheel balance clearly hadn’t been correct.

So, I needed new tyres. I could order the cheaper brand that would wear better, but they wouldn’t grip the road as well, or I could spend $50 more per tyre and they would grip the road better, but wouldn’t wear as well.

I ordered 2 new Michelin tyres, the more expensive tyre that grip the road better, for which I had to wait 2 hours to be fitted.

I had 2 hours to fill in. Two hours, sigh.

I found a coffee shop in Sydney Road and ordered a coffee and a pie. It was really busy, there were people coming in all the time. I got a seat in the window initially, but it was inline with the door, which didn’t close properly, and eventually the cold got too much even for me. So I moved to a table of four.

People were standing around waiting for take away the whole time.

I moved to a table and promptly broke my second pair of glasses for the day as I sat down and opened the newspaper with my 2nd coffee.

A cute cop came in in his full cop gear, round face, short hair, gun in his holster. He too waited for some take away coffees. When I looked up, he was facing me and I could see the clear outline of his cock in his blue police pants. When I looked up to his face he was looking directly at me. I wondered if I could get arrested for staring at a coppers willy? I wondered if there was any laws against it? Of course, I couldn’t help sneaking another look at him, again he seemed to see me when I did. I looked back at my newspaper and I didn’t look at him again. (I didn't want to get arrested)

Eventually, the call came, the car was ready at 4pm.

Apparently, my toe in, or my toe out, or some such thing were set wrong. The nice tyre guy gave me some instructions to give to Mario the mechanic to get something fixed with my steering rack so the nice tyre man can fix my wheel alignment properly.

I collected my car and drove home. The day was over. I puffed my pillow and lay back on the couch. What a day?

Euw! Damn it!

It is 2 weeks today when I go back to the surgeon to have my stitches removed. I was told to leave the sticky tape bandage on, not to remove it, only if it came off on it's own was I to replace it. I hadn't had to replace it and I am ready to go today to see the doctor. The bandage was looking the worse for wear, looking just a little bit dirtier every day, I tried not to cringe when I looked in the mirror in the mornings. I had wondered a couple of times if I had got the instructions right, but I was sure that I had. I was, however, looking forward to getting the bandage removed.

It had been an easy couple of days, all of the girls were excited to see me back at work, which is nice. I don't know if it is because I am gay and non threatening, they say it is because I am funny and irreverent and so often it has been said that I am breath of fresh air, whatever that means. I guess it is because I don't really take things too seriously. WTF, life is too short.

Yesterday, we had a morning tea for a new girl who started this week. We gathered around, we had a platter of cakes to eat. After we had all introduced ourselves to the new girl and given a brief run down of who we are, we were ready to hop into the cakes.

It was about then that one of the girls, one of my favourite girls, asked me what I had done to my head. I instinctively reached up and touched the bandage as I responded with an explanation. When I pulled my fingers away, they were wet. WTF?

I headed to the bathroom, my stomach was turning just a little. What the hell? I looked in the mirror, the bandage looked the same as it had this morning, kind of grubby and ready to be removed. I pushed at it, it felt a little squishy underneath, to tell you the truth. I pushed it again and a good amount of blood and fluid leaked out of the top of the bandage.

"Euw!"

I had a box of tissues, so I wiped away the excess goop. I didn't want to remove the old bandage, as I didn't have anything to replace it with. I didn't want to walk out into the office with the stitches exposed. I headed back to my desk and said to Kirin and Mazz that I was heading to the chemist.

"Oh, don't be ridiculous," said Mazz. "It is only tomorrow, you don't want to buy anything especially."

"Huh?" I was just a little distracted.

"There is a first aid kit here, use that." I love Mazz.

We found the first aid kit, it was well stocked. There were all sorts of bandages, we found Elastoplast and gauze and tape. Mazz cut the Elastoplast and I headed back to the bathroom with my medical requisites and a tube of sterile water to wash the stitches.

"Just lean over the sink and pour it," said Mazz. She gave me a physical demonstration.

I pulled the old bandage off carefully, the stitches came into view for the first time. I was surprised with how long the wound was, it seemed twice as long as I expected it to be. I noted the blood stained medical tape, which had deposits of puss, as though it had been covering a scabby sore. It was immediately obvious that the Elastoplast was no good or, at least, one piece of Elastoplast was not going to work, as it has 2 sides that don't stick down. I put a tissue over the wound and headed out to Mazz to get her to cut me another piece of Elastoplast so I could use both pieces crossed over so all sides were effectively sealed.

Of course, Mazz wanted to see the "business." She said it was bigger than she expected. Kirin wanted to see it too. She inhaled sharply and also said it was bigger than she expected it to be.

I criss crossed the Elastoplast across the stitches, but the combination of both pieces was huge on my forehead, it hung off like something oversized, and was completely unfit for the purpose. I tried the tape, which worked quite well, and I gave it a go for a while, even if it didn't, actually, stick as well as I would have liked. The wound also continued to weep, which made the tape wet as though it was being wet by a weeping wound, oddly enough. 

Another rummage through the first aid kit we found a self adhesive gauze bandage, which worked much better than the first 2 attempts. It is large and covers half of my forehead, like a racing day hat on ladies day, but it sealed on all sides and it was neat and easy to wear, even if one side was stuck to my hair.

What the hell, my appointment was less than a day away and it only had to last for 12 hours. I'm sure it will be alright, I have nothing to base this on, I guess the basis is hope. It all looked kind of wet and messy, but I feel absolutely fine, so I guess it is my intuition that is telling me it will be fine. 

All will be revealed today. I have to leave in about half an hour. Yay! It will be nice to get it over and done with.

I haven't posted a cuddly AFL photo this year. Go on, kiss him...

Back to Work

Ah yeah, back to work. (Damn you tattsLotto!) yesterday, the second week of what should have been my 5th week of work. Oh, it was hard to get up in the cold, the central heating just doesn't kick in quick enough and the fire from the night before is black coals in the hearth, like what fills Tony Abbott's chest cavity.

It was the first day of winter and wasn't it cold. I don't usually feel the cold, so for me to say it is cold, you know that it is. I kiss Sam and Buddy and Milo, who are all snuggled up in the bed together, goodbye.

My 6 to 8 week assignment shrank on my first day. Apparently, this time around Kirin has a budget, which she is not allowed to go over. Not a big budget either, so it looks like I am not going to get my full allocation of weeks. It looks like the messing around of the last month has not stopped yet. Grrr!

Sam and I should have gone on that European holiday, we were supposed to be away now. Brrrrrr! We could have been in Spain. Oh well, back to work. Sad Face.

It is David's birthday today, I commiserated with him for being old and told him he should prepare for death. He replied, "Thanks for that."


You’re vile and a year older. Commiserations, I said.

You’re Peutrid!!! replied David

Did I tell that you are old and hideous? I said.

Yes, several times, said David

And that Lachlan is already looking for somebody younger, I said.

I know... said David

Soon you'll be alone, I said.

You say the loveliest things !!! said David. Lachlan was wonderful who taught me my hideous putrid abysmal side ... I said, YOU.... My greatest teacher....

Wondering... rather than wonderful, David quickly added.

Freudian, I replied


Milo comes and sits in my lap. He's been outside, he is cold, but he soon warms up as he starts to purr. In moments, he is like a hot water bottle in my lap.

Too soon I have to go and have a shower and leave the morning behind.