The Trifecta of Devilry

What's a boy to do on his day off, when he spends the morning dealing with insurance companies and banks and Lawyers.

It is like the trifecta of devilry.

I'm still trying to get an insurance payment for my front fence that was wiped out by Granny Clampett in her Silver Shopping Machine. I thought all you had to do was provide two quotes and the problem was dealt with... but no. The insurance company wants more detailed quotes. What do I know, I'm not a tradie. I just called these guys up and got quotes, they are independent and all I want is my property put back in the same condition before Miss Mistook the Accelerator for the Brake turned up. 

She said she was just looking for a car park. 

Yeah, well, good for you, honey.

I was talking to the lawyer about the insurance company. I was trying to find out what I have to legally provide to the insurance company. Apparently, that is a little vague.

The banking was for me. You know, it is all so much easier with the internet. But it kept failing with every turn I mad, every document I filled in, with every application I made, and it was really annoying. It took three phone calls to the banking institution in question to sort it out, and then I really sorted it out on my own. 

There are no known problems with Safari, said, Brad, the boy on the other end of the phone, who I am sure thought I was an idiot. 

However, eventually, once I switched browsers all of the problems went away.

Yay!

Whose the idiot now Brad?

So, what do you do on a Friday arvo, after that, stew up all the apples that are left in the fruit bowl, of course, before "The Bossy One," read Sam, makes us go grocer shopping to buy fresh on the weekend.

My mum used to stew apples and into hers she used to put cut up pieces of lemon, which used to drive my dad apoplectic. I can still hear him, 

"Why do you have to put this shit lemon in the apple when you stew it?" 

Ah, it makes me chuckle. I'm not at all sure if that is an appropriate response. Shrug. I guess, it is just remembering the two of them.  Chuckle. It is of a time, and of a place that now doesn't exist. Should that make me laugh? My dad was a funny guy, my mum was funny too, so why not?

Lives begin and lives end, and time marches forward relentlessly, you can be assure of that.

I'm listening to America's Ventura Highway. I love that beginning riff, it is the most gorgeous thing.
Then I listened to Angie Stone.
Then I listened to Joe Cocker.

This is the strangest photo I have taken lately, a huge elephant foot imprint size of jam on the carpark asphalt,  

shrug, no idea, it was the weirdest thing. Well, I'm guessing the population of the planet not doing any thing to fix climate change is weirder. I suppose the wealthy nations trying to reject the 50 million displaced people is also weirder. Half the planet starving and half the planet eating itself to death is pretty odd. The increasing inequity in the world is... balancing hands in the air. 

But it did remind me of...

He jumped from forty thousand feet without a parachute

He jumped from forty thousand feet without a parachute

He jumped from forty thousand feet without a parachute

And he ain’t gonna jump no more.

Glory glory what a hell of a way to die

Suspended by your braces when you don’t know how to fly

Glory glory what a hell of a way to die

And he ain’t gonna jump no more.

He landed on the runway like a splat of raspberry jam

He landed on the runway like a splat of raspberry jam

He landed on the runway like a splat of raspberry jam

And he ain’t gonna jump no more.

What a gorgeous morning. The sunrise was beautiful.

I walked into town in a soft, honey sun.

I caught a bombardier at the stop before the free zone. (I don’t know why I keep telling you that, somehow it must expunge my guilt) A rat-faced slapper, with a coffee in her hand, moved at a glacial pace, in front of me, (you know that thrills me when they do that) to the only vacant seat, all the other seats were taken. So, I took up my position just inside the rear section, ready to grab any seat that became available. Just inside, the next available seat is yours. But, none of the bitches got off at Spring Street. None of the bitches got off at 101. One cute boy, from right down the back, got up at Swanston Street. So, I sat right down the back, looking at Collins Street disappearing behind us, next to a boy with fat legs encroaching onto my seat. So, I pushed my thigh up against his. I just kept pushing up against him until I had enough room.

I wrote a poem. Sitting there on the tram.

With my back to the rest of the tram, I was not taking any notice of what was going on, I was gazing at the romantic image of Collins Street disappearing away from me, capturing my view. Pretty soon it was my stop. As I headed to the doors, there was a fat man and a fat woman in my way. They managed to move a millimetre to the left and right, as people only seem to be able to manage now a days, so I had to squeeze through, against his stomach, and her left muffin-top, I felt like pasta pushing through a pasta machine roller made out of blubber. Oooooooo! I shivered all over.

Boys On The Tram

It was a cold morning, the first morning that I thought I could feel the first tentacles of winter wrapping around us, well, reaching out and touching us.

I left before Sam, he is in a don't-give-a-shit phase, so he is just wandering into work whenever. Oh, that means closer to 9am than 8am, let’s not think the worst. It is not like it is midday.

I walked to the stop before the free zone, when a Bombardier came down MacArthur Street, and I legged it to the stop to catch it. I knew I wouldn't make it, but I was being positive and I ran anyway. I’m sure there is a small part of me that thinks any exercise, no matter how small, is good. I got to the door as it closed, I could have slipped half of my body through I was that close, but I didn't, and of course, the doors closed and the tram left. So, I hot footed it off down MacArthur Street to the Spring Street stop, as the tram was practically empty and it would prove to be an easy ride into the city. I flew across the Spring Street intersection like a free spirited jay walker. Wind beneath my wings and all that. So, I caught the tram at the first stop inside the free zone, I was standing on the stop puffing before it even got there. I had my choice of a few seats.

A stocky wog boy came and leant against one of the many yellow posts in the tram just in front of me. It was very hard not to notice the big bulge in his trousers, as he had on those soft kind of clingy pants and they kind of grabbed him, so I noticed. He was staring at his phone anyway, smiling away at whoever, or whatever had his attention, so I was free to gaze at his prominent knob. Nice it was too. Then he went and sat on a seat somewhere behind me.

I was hot and sweaty from all that running, so I pulled my mis-delivered American postcard of Barack and Michelle from the back pocket of my satchel and fanned myself. Many years ago, it had been sent to 3 different numbers in my street, so I never sent it on, to who? Shrug. And how it got into the back pocket of my satchel, I do not know. But, I have discovered, on these more muggy than they ever used to be, global warming effected days, it comes in handy. I didn't care what I looked like, nobody gives a shit in the mornings, not really, and my small fan delivered just enough of a breeze to my neck to cool me down and to stop me feel like I was going to over-heat at any minute. Or something like that. It was cool, anything else I did care.


Then I noticed a 70's porn star in aviators and a leather bomber jacket staring at me. You know the type, who wears gold chains and has a hairy chest and wears bikini briefs with a big bush. I could almost read his thoughts,

"Look at that filthy faggot fanning himself, do you believe it."

His face was fixed in my direction, no expression, just a hint of a scowl. He looked like Burt Reynolds, or James Garner, or Lee Majors. His sunglasses obscured face which just stared blankly at me. Unrelenting, not even looking away self-consciously. Just fixed and staring.

Okay, I thought. You want to stare at me. I licked my lips, you know, kind of seductively. Slow. Sensuously. I let my eyes slide up and down his body.

He didn't move, not a wit. So, I looked him up and down again, leather jacket, Levis, Cuban heal boots, I kid you not. He was like some old Hollywood cliché. Still nothing. He was like one of those buskers in the mall who specialise in stillness. I looked away. I looked back. Still. Nothing. Just that fixed stare. I could have found it unnerving, but instead I took it as a challenge. I slid my eyes down his body again. He was completely frozen, he did not move a hair, not a millimetre, not even, seemingly, to breath. Except… for his hand in his jeans pocket, his fingers started moving, I gazed at his crotch, his fingers mover again, like a giant spider was moving in his pocket.

There you go, I thought.

I looked away, gazing out the window. I looked back, he was the perfect frozen moment, except for his ipsy wipsy fingers.

My stop came pretty soon after that. He moved to get off at my stop, as I stood to make my exit. He looked away as I looked at him. I slid my Barak and Michelle Obama postcard back into the back pocket of my satchel. I got off the tram and walked away without looking back. It is a powerful act, walking away without looking back.

Paid Parental Leave and Childcare System

Why don't those people who have children and who want paid parental leave and paid childcare pay extra tax to pay for it? A system like HECS for education could be set up for those people who have children, so they could pay extra tax over a period of time to pay for the costs of their own children. Why can't that be done?

Primarily, I was thinking about the problem of childcare, which seems to be a problem for which nobody has a solution. 60 minutes had a piece on it this week. People also seem to be concerned about parental leave and it not being enough for families to raise children. So, why don't we adopt a user pays system, like education and HECS, or even tolls on new road developments, families could have as much parental leave and child care as they choose, or want, and then with an increase in their tax, like HECs, they could pay for the amount used over a period of time until the debt had been paid off, just like HECS and then their tax could be lowered back to normal again.

Wouldn't that solve the current problems?

Looking out the window at work

A house in the suburbs

Terrorist Attacks

We continue to call these criminals terrorists and their acts terrorist attacks, because the general community with accept such labels, and not blame the politicians, rather they are more likely to praise the politician’s for trying to protect us, but really, aren’t these perpetrators the “them” fighting back against the “us” in the increasingly unjust and inequitable world our politics is creating.

It is our politics that is causing terrorism, not extremism. Extremism is the result, not the cause.

I Got To Feel His Arse, So It Wasn’t All Bad

Yesterday, morning my alarm went off at 6am. I didn't get to sleep until after midnight. I wondered if I was going to be tired today?

I woke up to rain. Wet and cold. It was grey outside, as I stood at my balcony doors and peered out, a door in each hand, open to the day.

The only question on my lips was, long-sleeved shirt, or short-sleeved shirt? How humid was it? I slid a bare arm out into the day, but I couldn't tell. I'd prefer to be cold than hot, but there were limits to how cold I wanted to feel.

I wore my blue and white striped long-sleeved shirt, the first long-sleeved shirt I have worn in weeks, the only long-sleeved shirt I have worn in weeks, and only the third long-sleeved shirt I have worn to work since I began in December.

Mikki Howard sang the songs of Billie Holiday, that was the music that got me off and walking, this morning in the rain.

The rain fell in a fine mist, it never let up. And by the time I got to Albert Street, I was sick of it sprinkling in my eyes and covering my shirt and making it damp. A B-Class was the first tram to appear around the corner, followed by another old B-Class. A chock a block full B-Class. Oh? Damn! Risking a fine and all, as we were three stops from the free zone. Still, less likely to get caught in a tram stuffed full of people than an empty one, it was just logical, I hoped.

I was going to sweat in that old tram being so full of people, I knew that. As we all know, I have a low threshold to heat and sweating. I needed to stand by the door, which I did, just inside the front door, so that way, at least I got the fresh air when the doors opened at each stop.

The fat Asian girl – am I allowed to say that? I’m allowed to think it, surely? Is that fat shaming by thought? You know, because I am writing my thoughts down? I don’t know. She was fat – with headphones stood next to me, with her Kindle and her kind face.

She gave me a look, when I waved her back into the tram first, after we'd both got out at the next stop to let other passengers off. I think we both had the same idea, fresh air by the door. She smiled as she turned and got back on. She didn't seem to mind.

A bit later, when a woman insisted on squeezing into the tram in the middle doors and they wouldn't close and the tram wouldn't go and we all got held up while we waited for her to sort her shit, I said, "Get off you idiot," accidently, out loud, by mistake, oops, the fat Asian girl smiled again. (Gotta be careful with headphones in)

I stood to the side and let people through, but I was staying by the door, the tram was a sauna. People are weird, they look at you as if you are the lowest of the low for not moving out of their way to give them room, to allow them in, even if they don’t really know where they are going. No, you just won't fit, the tram is full, I thought. Still they push in.

A beautiful girl, with long blond hair, got on with a coffee when she really wouldn't fit. But she was determined. She would have been the Home Coming Queen. She would have swallowed the Prom King’s cum in the carpark in the front seat of his Commodore at the year 12 formal, for sure. She’d have tried to hide the stains on her cashmere cardigan from her mother by having it dry-cleaned. The fat Asian girl and I looked at one another. After blondie had squeezed in, and the fat Asian girl had to give some room, Blondie gave a coy look around to see what the looks on our faces were. Were we scowling at her? She smiled sweetly at me, in the crush. She got her place in the tram, the beautiful girl always got her place.

And then another girl, with red hair and exposed cleavage, pushed her way in, like her tits into that bra that was two sizes too small, there really wasn’t any room. She would have fucked the lead singer and the drummer of the band high on E in share houses in Brunswick. She had to do a run up and down the stairs to allow the door to close and open again.

And then at the next stop, Nazeem Hussain got in, not that blondie, or Red, or I, for that matter, gave any room. The fat Asian girl had shuffled further inside by this stage, her battle for the door was lost. Well, he looked like Nazeem Hussain. He was as cute as Nazeem Hussain. Crisp white shirt, high collar, red patterned tie, tight fitting blue suit. He kind of clung to the wall like Spider Man, or a gecko, there was so little room for him.

Still I got to feel his arse, so it wasn’t all bad.

He could only balance on one foot, half up the front wall. And by this stage I was pushed right up against the front wall, my hands down by my sides holding the hand rail. I literally had a size nine and a half shoe length from the front wall in which to balance. If I’d lost my balance and fallen forward, I would have gone face first into Red’s tits, so I hung onto the hand rail at each side, level with my hips. Nazeem had to push in backwards to avoid the door as it closed, he and Red kind of shared the front step of that old tram. And whether he knew it, or not, his arse was exactly the same level as my right hand, which he pushed up against. I could feel the peachy curve of his cheeks, the tight woollen material following the contour of his curvy behind slide along my fingers. Nice and tight and firm it felt too. My fingers slid into his indentation, up his crack, if you like, like the fine curve of a porcelain bowl, quite easily. He was curvaceous and warm. He felt like he did squats, he was hard to the touch.

I did nothing, I swear. I didn't move a muscle, not a whit. Trams just get crowded in the mornings, and sometimes you can't help these things, I swear. Okay, I didn't move my hand, you may have me there, but where was I moving it to, I ask you? We were packed in like sardines. It is simply the cost of free travel in the CBD in the mornings. We were jam packed in, it was really hard to move, and sometimes you can get your arse felt up.

Dinner

Dinner, I had to get my own. Sam was working in Brisbane, I was on my own. I had Bud, so I was not really on my own. Milo too, of course. I didn't feel like cooking, the weather had been hot and then cold, I wanted something cold and easy. 

Sam was horrified when I showed him the picture.

"What is that pink stuff?"

"Salmon."

"From a can?"

"Yes."

"Is that the best you could do?" asked Sam. "Food from a can?"

"Yes," I said. "It is good for you."

"Well done," said Sam. "Bravo."

"It's healthy."

"Fresh food is healthy," said Sam.

I thought it was nice. Dolmades, antipasto, cous cous, corn, salmon. I had an avocado too. I threw it together without much thought, I didn't know what I was going to get when I went to Coles. liked it.

Personal Space

A woman got into the lift at the last minute, as the doors slid closed, and stood right in front of me, crowding me, invading my personal space without a care. I was, seemingly, so insignificant standing there, that she practically speared my feet with her stilettos as she inhabited the lift. I knew the type, lost in her schedule on her phone, I have worked in corporate long enough to recognise her.

It has been hot and muggy in Melbourne these last few days and she had on a strap dress, cream with a green floral pattern, with a large amount of her shoulder skin bare to the world. So, I imagined myself as a stranger, a deranged shadow in a deserted street, a threat lurking just out of sight. I breathed heavily out of my nose, and since she was standing so close to me, my exhaled breath couldn't help but flow out onto her bare skin.

First, she swatted whatever it was away with her hand, absentmindedly, like one might with a fly. I continued to breathed out onto her skin and she suddenly moved away from me, turning to look at me, as though something evil had touched her skin. I kept a straight face, staring straight ahead, but I could see she was unsettled, unnerved somewhat. Well, that will teach you to show no consideration for other people, I thought, may you take that from this, consideration, but I doubted it somehow. Too busy, I knew the story. Too important. She had moved away from me, however, so job done, I thought.

She was great. Her voice is fantastic. She chatted away, she was funny and entertaining

We went to see Adele last night, like half of Melbourne. We had good seats. We got there early, as advised. Not exactly sure why, as many people sitting near us got there after the start time. She started half an hour late. The seating was confusing, many people sat in the wrong seats. Many people sitting around us got up and moved after sitting by us for some time.

Shopping in Myer yesterday. I wanted to grab a microphone and break into a rendition of Robert Palmer's Addicted to Love with these guys.

Sam bought those new Apple wireless earbuds. $220. Sam was clearly keen for me to buy a pair too, as he just kept asking me and asking me and asking me. Ah! "No, for $220, I'm happy with my corded head phones." 

But he kept asking. Grrr!

"Are you sure you don't want them?"

"Quite sure."

"Are you really sure?"

"Really sure."

"Really?"

"Yes."

Buddy in the gorgeous sun in the park today. You can see he wasn't being entirely cooperative. Walking in the park. Lead off. So many owners walk their dogs off lead, and the dogs say hello to each other, sniff of the bum, and then off we go. No problem. No fuss. 

What is it that the conservatives say, "Smaller Government."

 

I'm guessing that doesn't apply to dogs in the park.

Bellybutton Fluff In Your Phone

I've got expensive headphones to wear on my walk to work, but I don't use them. Those big muff types are just too hot in the summer, and I end up with sweat rolling down each side of my face.

So, I use the standard fit into my ear earbud type headphones now.

I had an iPhone 6plus, but I hated it, it was just too big. I couldn't sit down, or bend down, or squat down without taking it out of my pocket, of making some kind of adjustment for it. So, I gave it to Sam's sister and she gave me back my iPhone 5 that I had given her when I got the 6plus.

So, my phone is now getting kind of old, older than I usually have. Stupid really, it works perfectly fine. Mad consumerism is killing the planet and although I speak against it, I am really just a part of it, clearly.

My earbud headphones have been cutting out, every time I sit down, stand up, scratch my arse, when I move around. It seemed to me that the jack into which the headphones plug was the problem. So, I was wondering if I had made the wrong decision swapping back to my old phone.

I persisted, but it continued and it was annoying.

Finally, I mentioned it to Sam. "My bloody phone, the music keeps cutting out."

He handed me a wooden tooth pick. "Here, slide that into the jack and see if there is any fluff in there."

It was like pulling tape worms out of your arse. I have never pulled tape worms out of my arse, but I could imaging what it would look like if I did. Long worms of dust came out of the jack. They just kept coming, far more than I could ever have imagined would be in there. Incredible really. Like my headphone jack was some kind of fluff Tardis.

Now my headphones work perfectly, they don't cut out at all.
And I don't need a new phone, and the planet can breath a sigh of relief. Who'd have thought.

Smith Street early this morning.

My first day off in 2 weeks, yes, only 2 weeks. I worked full time last week and it felt like I'd been working full time forever. Funny, hey?

Bill Leak

Bill Leak died

And, perhaps, unsurprisingly, those who he'd offended were not sorry.

And, perhaps, as unsurprisingly, the conservative commentators, with whom the offended did not agree, bristled at the offended not being sorry about Bill Leak dying.

But wasn't Bill Leak a champion of free speech?

I always presumed that meant free speech for everybody.

The Gardens

From Where Do You Think Kids Get Their Phobias and Bigotry

We took Buddy to The Fitzroy Gardens at 9.30am. People walk their dogs off lead in The Fitzroy Gardens all the time, that is just Fitzroy people for you, ignoring stupid rules. There is no reason why dogs can't be allowed to run free, when they are supervised by their owners.

So where do kids get their phobias? No idea?

It was interesting, as we came up the home straight, up the far side of the gardens on our way home, a woman came walking down the path with her fifteen year old son. When she saw Buddy, off his lead, she said, “Oh no.” Big eyes. Then she shielded her son from Buddy with her arms out stretched in a protective manor, walking sideways and then backwards as she was prepared to defend her son to the last.

Not more than 20 metres up that same path, there was a woman who was with her three year old son and six year old daughter. Mum was kneeing on the ground with her young son next to her, taking photos of her daughter sitting on an adjacent park bench. Buddy, of course, made a bee-line for them. When mum saw him, her face broke into a huge grin.

“He might slobber on you,” I said.

“That's okay,” said mum. And in no time Buddy was wrapped in mum’s, the six year old’s and the three year old’s embracing arms all at once, in a big three way hug. Buddy looked from one to the other smiling as he seems to do with his big wide mouth.

“He’ll take all of that,” I said.

“He’s beautiful,” said mum.

Soon enough, I called Buddy and we continued walking.

Love Actually

I walked down to Smith Street in the afternoon, the sun was shining, it was a lovely day. TattsLotto, sausages and potatoes, for mashed potato, of course, from Coles, for dinner, but just a sniff around cash Converters in between to look at the CDs (the no 1 second hand CD, in any second hand shop, is Dido’s No Angel, don’t know why, just thought you might like to know that) and to look for the missing episodes of Weeds, season four and season five.

I’ve been reading a lot about the sequel to Love Actually lately, and all this talk of the sequel put it in my head to watch it again. I thought I had a copy of the original, a Bali knock-off, to be sure, but when I went looking for it I couldn’t see it in my dvd collection. (It was probably David’s thinking about his dire movie tastes) Oh well.

When I was in Cash Converters there were quite a few copies of Love Actually on display, all $3. Then I saw a 3 movie dvd pack of Love Actually, Notting Hill and Bridget Jones Diary for $3. OMG, I thought, as I reached for it. It is true, I did say OMG, but quietly and under my breath, not out loud so anybody could hear. I’d part with my shekels for that, I thought. I’m a closet Hugh Grant fan, after all. The thinking poofs leading man.

So, we watched Love Actually late in the afternoon. I liked it all over again, you know, in that same way you eat a Big Mac, it’s easy, and it fills a spot.

Now, I’m listening to Dido’s No Angel, (thank you Apple Music) just to see what all the fuss is about, or not about, as the case may be.

Another dreamy sunrise

Selfish Bastards

We stopped in Northcote and ate Taiwanese. The restaurant was cool, quirky and stylish, just near Separation Street. A bit odd in its design, but oddity that worked. I ate soup, Sam at a chicken bento.

We went to Cash Converters over the road and I bought Tracy Chapman’s first album, self titled. The girl behind the counter said, "Good album," when she saw it. 
I went to the Reject shop looking for clip frames, which I did not find. I so want to resurrect some old antique pictures and I reckon clip frames will be just the thing to replace the broken frames, hang them on my study wall in a group, they'll look great, next to my duck, but I couldn't find them. Sad face.
Sam went to Aldi coming out with an armful of food saying, "I keep forgetting they don't provide bags."

We went to the pet shop and bought Buddy’s red meat and we used the free coupon from Hills to buy cat food. The cute son was in the shop, he said hello as he always does even if he didn’t serve us.

We drove home down St Georges Road, the traffic was better that way. But Melbourne drivers have become so selfish and self focussed. I stopped at Newry Street to let a woman turn right in front of us. It isn’t exactly 2 lanes there, although it kind of is, and I was on the right-hand side of the road and the traffic was banked up in front of us going no where, although there was a little space between us and the car in front. As I stopped to let her go around in front of us, the cars behind passed us on the left hand side and pulled in in front of us filling in the small amount of free space between us and the next car stopped in the line of traffic in front of us, blocking the path of the woman in the Audi TT who I had stopped for to let her around. I couldn’t believe it. I’d never really seen anything like it. I have never seen such disregard for other drivers on the road. I was gobsmacked.

Shrug.

Gay Marriage

Lisa Curry’s answer to Natalie Bassingthwaighte’s comment about Lisa immanently marrying her handsome boyfriend, was

“I have to get a dress, I have to set a date, I have to get a divorce.”

I don’t care what Lisa does that is her business, whatever makes her happy, her choices are up to her, this is not meant to be a comment on her... I personally think that it doesn't matter how many times a person gets married, as it is only the concern of that person and who ever it is they marry... but, for all those people who argue that it is an institution too sacred to change... clearly it is a sacred institution? 

Next! 

How can gay people getting married make it any less sacred than the straights are making it? I don't want to get married, I think it is an out dated institution, but thats just me. But, apparently, some of the gays do want to get married. And there is still no reason why they shouldn't get married. Gays getting married would do what to marriage? Seriously? Change the act.

That is, of course, change the act back. In 2004, when it was discovered that the Marriage Act didn't, actually, specify that marriage was between a man and a woman, the conservative government of the day changed the Marriage Act with in 24 hours of that realisation, let us not forget that. We should all remember this fact. There was no fuss, not much discussion and no hesitation when they did that, so there has already been a precedent set, if you like, in their ability to change the Marriage Act when they want to. That was when we had a christian Prime Minister who didn't want gay marriage and a progressive opposition who didn't think there were votes in not changing the act. This, of course, makes the current situation even more laughable.

There’s Nothing Quite Like The Old Tradies

I tell you what, there’s nothing quite like the old tradies. I have been dealing with a lot of them over the last week, or so. And honestly, they have all come when they said they would and they have all done what was required of them, so I am not complaining about anyone here.

Oh, there is one who clearly doesn’t want to do the brick laying job and he should just say so, but, you know, that’s fine too. I get it.

Today, the guy was coming to look at the broken gate, to tell me how much it would cost to fix it, you know, how we take the gate down and where it needs to be delivered to, and all that, or that is what I thought he was going to do.

He arrived on time. He had a quick look at the gate. Then he went to his ute parked out the front, I presumed to get a quote book, or some such thing. He came back and handed me the end of an extension cord. “Can you plug this in for me.”

“Sure.”

He attached the power cord to his welder, put on his visor, and welded up the gate, just like that. It took 5 minutes, or so.

“How much do I owe you?”

“Forty bucks should cover it.”

“That’s great,” I said.

“This gate should have been made in Birmingham, or Italy, it would have a stamp on the bottom saying which. It was made before welding was invented.”

“I’d say it was installed around 1900,” I said.

“Yes, that would be right. It would have all been leaded, which has now fallen out, which is why these uprights are lose and now rattle." He touched several ends of the uprights. "It would have been quite an art to make one of these gates back when it was made.”

He stood back and gave it a look over. He looked at me and smiled. “Anyway, cheerio.” And then he was gone.

Street Art... if you like that sort of thing

Street Art

At The Dentist

I went to the dentist yesterday morning before work. I've never been frightened of the dentist, it just never occurred to me to be frightened. It wasn't until I was an adult that I learned that people were scared of the dentist. What a funny thing, I thought, when I first heard about that.

We talked about dementia, death and crime. I'm surprised how many times that I have heard just lately, from very different people, that an abusive childhood is no excuse for criminal behaviour later in life. Even mental illness, I've heard people say, "I'm sick of people using mental illness as an excuse for getting away with crime." It is kind of sad, an indication of how mean (or scared) (or stupid) our society has become.

Not responsible for you actions, doesn't seem to mean anything to anyone any more, unless it is referring to driving a monster 4WD, or running air-conditioning when the temperature gets a fraction over normal, or your unchecked consumerism, or your Islamaphobia barely covering your racism, then, of course, it is perfectly okay.

Still, the conversation was great, even if I could only contribute to a lesser extent, as you would understand. Fingers in the mouth. The suction hose. I love that sucking on my tongue, that round end, blup, blup, blup. I love the water, all that water in my mouth on which I never gag as it is all sucked out again before I do. On the edge, the water is continually threatening to make me drown, choke, cough, but never does. I love that. It's wet and fresh, like being the source of a river way up there in those hills.

I just had a clean. That pointy scraper tool. Zzzzzz! Sends my teeth nerves on edge, and there was plenty of that, right around my mouth and back again, and then around again, but you just have to relax and it is okay. Don't be a baby. I never have problems with my teeth. I had plenty done when I was a kid, before you say having no problems is why I have no fear.

I like my dentist, he's nice. He's a gentleman, very polite.

The morning sun, a golden ball in the east