I Was Caught Off Guard, His Beauty Was Sprung On Me Quite Unexpectedly

I was out putting the bins on the footpath early this morning. Actually, I was sweeping my front yard, I am trying to get into the habit of sweeping it on rubbish day, then, at least, it gets swept once a week.

My neighbours had put out two half empty bins, so I just had to fill them up. I really don't know how people only have half a bin of rubbish to put out on bin day, we struggle to get all of our rubbish into our one bin.

So, I pulled out all of those fishbone ferns, which I hate, that are taking over my garden. I stuffed them all into the bins with gusto.

It is amazing how much stuff I can get done in an hour on the morning of rubbish day.

Anyway, I'd just stuffed the last of the fishbone ferns into the bin and slammed the lid shut, and I turned to head back inside, when this gobsmackingly good looking boy - I'd say he was twenty five - came walking along the footpath with headphones on. I didn't have time to filter myself, not really. I'm sure I just stared completely unabashed. Round face, light brown hair, sparkling blue eyes, square chin, with a small dimple, gorgeous smile. Chest. Guns. Tight waist. Noticeable bulge. But, really, it was his face, just so pretty.

I'm sure my expression said, Jesus, fuck. I'd like to sniff out every crevice on your person.

He blushed with a big smile, which just made him seem more adorable.

"Hi," I said. I couldn't stop myself. I'm sure I felt a bit like Kevin Spacey, right at that moment. (Ha ha, that's a joke. I just wanted to say that) Oh, Christian, I thought. Get it together. You are just not normally...

I was caught off guard, his beauty was sprung on me quite unexpectedly. It was just me and my broom and my pan and shovel on the footpath. It was quiet. I was alone. I'm really not like that, not often. I'm usually the model of... um... ah... er... you know.

"Hi," he said.

I slid my tongue back into my mouth, with both hands, as I watched his pert arse, clad in camel chinos, walk away. I felt like whistling. It is a great day, I thought.

Just Be Yourself

You just have to be yourself. It seems like such an easy proposition, now doesn't it. Just be yourself. If only everybody was just themselves, how refreshing would that be?

So many people have trouble with this, seemingly, simple concept.
We've got all the technology in the world to make our lives easier, but even that doesn't help us just being ourselves. 

Sad Really.

Buddy Has A Sore Paw

Buddy has had a sore paw. It is an allergic thing, he gets it from time to time. It seems to be a bulldog thing, many of them seem to get it.

It is the time he gets really grumpy, as his paw swells and swells, and he gets really unhappy. If we touch it, he snarls and growls. He wouldn't bite, although it is a little disconcerting, he is just telling us that it really hurts.

We bath it twice daily, with medicated shampoo. If one of us tries it, he growls and complains, but if it is two of us holding him and bathing the paw, he becomes compliant and he doesn't complain very much.

It only lasts for a few days, the angry Buddy, the the swelling pops, and he doesn't care any more about it.

Humpty Dumpty

Rupert Murdoch

There is hope for the world. 86 years old, had a bad fall. Maybe now it is time for his inner workings to stall. Goodbye Rupert. 20th century looter. Climate change denier. Political shyster. Editorial liar. Manipulator...

“But I lead a good life...” 

Just for yourself. Not good enough. Nose in the trough. Nobody is going to cry, at your demise.

American Guns

I have to say, that I don't care any more, I don't give a toss about school shootings in America, I don't even get cross. Shrug. America doesn't care, they don't change their gun laws in the face of despair.  

Nothing happened after Sandy Hook, and that is crook, all those little children shot in the head, all dead. Cry? why should I? The NRA cares more about its guns than its children. So, why the sorrow, there will be another shooting tomorrow. 

Hot n Sweaty

It was hot and humid and I sweated all day. I couldn't get away from the heat. I had that wet t-shirt feeling (and I wasn't getting my tits out for it) you know, where the damp cotton sticks to your skin all day. It's exhausting. I could feel the sweat rolling down my torso in drips, at one point. I hate that, it always makes me feel like tearing off my clothes and finding a cool gust of wind to stand in, to blow my skin dry. 

The closest I got was the electric fan. Thank the universe for electric fans. (Or, should I thank Philip Diehl? Thomas Edison? Benjamin Franklin? Does Tesla get a mention?)

Still, I guess, it is summer. It has been a funny old summer at that. More humid than sunny. There have been a few hot days, but there seem to have been more cool changes than sunshine.

Who wonders where global warming will take us in a few years? Anyone? Any ideas?

The Shape Of Water

We went to see The Shape of Water. Unfortunately, I had a laughing fit in the key scene, (The Ziegfeld Follies scene) as I thought it was so ridiculous and cliched. (David and Sam had both their hands over my mouth) In a small cinema too, what's more.

It was a gorgeous film to look at, the design was fabulous.

However... just more American pap, in my opinion.

Update on the Speakers

The B&O speaker was returned. And the Zeppelin has been replaced. It has now taken up residence in our bedroom for night music.

We now have two Apple home pods (I told you Sam is an Apple nut) in our lounge room through which to play music. The sound is good, what can I say?

I'm not really interested in the "Hey Siri nonsense," but the sound is good, I have to say. (The corporate world and their evil marketing departments spying on us withstanding)

Religion Fucked up the World

Religion fucked up the world. I think that most of us understand that. All those native tribesmen would have been safe with their traditions. All the gay kids around the world would never have been put down. The Greeks, the Romans, the Pagans, the world never gave a toss about being gay, in fact some of them encouraged it. All those Aboriginal kids would never have been taken from their parents. All those unwanted children would never have been born. All those unhappy marriages would never have been performed. All of the poor in India would have had their lives saved and not just their souls. All those children would never have been molested in the name of the great sky fairy. All those wars, all of those deaths, all of that suffering would never have occurred if ignorant men, no doubt with small penises, hadn't shouted, "My god is better than your god."

Religion is like those hotel booking apps, Trivargo and Hotels dot whatever, you know the ones, totally unneeded, as you can simply book directly with a hotel. Just like with religion, you can just engage with the real world, rather than subscribing to an intermediary, to tell you how to engage with the real world.

Smithton

The old sex scandal from Smithton Grammar reared its ugly head again. It just seems to be the case that won't go away. 

It resurfaced last June, when we got back from Europe. There were two messages on my answering machine, one from a lawyer and one from a detective. (Don't get involved with the law, or the police, as my dear old grandma used to say - that is the one who used to wheel and deal in property, and not the who used to drink a bottle of brandy a day) Oh, what can I say? (I look back now and just shake my head) I was fresh home from Europe, rested and invigorated, all at the same time, which distracted me sufficiently from the realities of day to day life, and my interest was piqued. Really, I just wanted to find out the goss. It's true.

Seemingly, gone was my resolve not to get caught up in this.

So, I called the lawyer, and as it so happened, I was heading into town that day and I was going to walk right passed his office, as it turned out, so I said I'd drop in and have a chat to him.

I just wanted to know, who'd been up who and who was now braying for blood. (Too many episodes of SVU?) It turned out to be the usual suspects, really it did. The broken and the lame, broken long before Peter Nelson came along, who were pursuing the claims.

Then I rang the detective, and she was willing to meet me any where, anytime. (I'm guessing now that should have been a red flag) She came to me, and I blabbed my story.

There was a moment, you know, when I got to the touching bit, such as it was, (that's getting touched, not the sweet bit, you understand) I felt like I was a diva telling my story. A bit of a shudder at that point, I remember feeling it. Hesitation. Looked to her for reassurance, I remember that distinctly. Why? I don't know. But, you know, as you do. Was my hand clutching at my throat? I can't remember.

We had a nice chat. Then she left And I didn't hear from the good detective again.

It crossed my mind that may be even she was a lawyer for the defendant, finding out what the defence had. I'm not sure. I didn't see any ID.

Then when I thought it had dissipated back into the ether, like a fart disappearing into the atmosphere, we were back in contact. 

Could I read the statement. Could I come to her office to sign it. "The lawyers are very keen for you to tell your story."
"Tell my story?" I was important because I was someone who corroborated the evidence who wasn't directly involved in the case.
"In court."
"In court?" (How naive had I been?)
"Yes."
"I don't want to do that."
"Can I ask why?"
I don't want to be arsed. (Then it came out) "I don't want to see him." Oh, okay, that's as good as anything.
"You can give your evidence remotely, by video. You don't have to see him."

She clearly thought I was traumatised, of reliving the trauma that I obviously felt. Yeah, no. I just felt embarrassed that my trivial little drama would be used in evidence against him. I just wanted to find out the goss. If the other guys felt some kind of permanent trauma then that was their story and they should pursue it, but I didn't feel that, that wasn't my story. I just wanted to know what was going on.

"Did I want time to think about it?"
Not really. "Okay." She seemed keen for me to think it over.

So, she called a few weeks later. I told her I didn't want to go to court. She said she was disappointed but understood. And that was that. (I never heard from her again.)

My Own Romance Scam

These romance scams, I don't know what to make of them? Of course, they are unbelievably cruel exploiting people's loneliness and need for love, of course that is true. Exploiting the vulnerable is reprehensible and I hope the perpetrators of such crimes get what is coming to them. You know, made to wear makeup and assume the name of Cheryl while someone bigger and crueller makes them their jailhouse bitch. That seems fitting to me. Held down by bigger men than them and... well, you can fill in the rest.

But handing over money sometimes in the hundreds of thousands, I don't understand that. It just seems nonsensical. (Admittedly, I am a bit tight with my money, however...)

Quite a few years ago, I was seeing a nice Italian boy, it was very casual, as far as I was concerned, just sex really. But he was cute and funny and I liked him and he really liked it up his arse, but then again what Italian boy doesn't?

We saw each other for a few months, he fulfilled a need for me, and I assumed I filled a need for him. He told me how lovely I was, how I was the best he'd ever had. How he missed me when I wasn't around. He even dreamed about me, so he said. Yah, yah, yah. So many compliments, over the top really for me, the cynical one.

At about the third month, he called me at work and said he was having some financial difficulty. He was selling his car, but he'd found the new car he wanted to buy and he wanted me to lend him 30K to pay for the new car, which was such a good deal he felt he couldn't pass it up. As soon as he sold his current car, he would be able to pay me back. 

My initial response was to laugh, which I distinctly remember he didn't take too kindly. Momentary Silence. Crickets. Really, I barely know you, I thought, and you want me to lend you thirty thousand dollars. Then I told him that I didn't have 30K to lend to him.

I never heard from him again.

I felt like I was being ripped off, really, and I guess I was. I thought we had a nice thing, I guessed not. Maybe, he was just indignant at my response to his financial difficulties, you know, laughing, maybe. I don't really know. But I did feel with that phone call he was scamming me. What's more, he worked for a Bank, so why would he need money from me, I thought?

All those compliments? Did he mean any of them? I guess not. Was the whole thing fake? What was I meant to think?

I Have To Get My Own Lunch

Bear just shits anywhere she wants, that is the main problem with her. Buddy, never. Always up in the back corner of the garden, on top of the old composite site. Suddenly, there is dog shit in all sorts of places it has never been. As Sam says, "She leaves her shit across the back yard like landmines."

We're always standing in it

She's just crapped right outside the back door.

They are none too pleased, the dogs, as they have been outside all morning as I am waiting for a parcel to be delivered. Sam is, of course, tracking it, so I am getting constant up dates from him. The two of the dogs maraud to the front door like an out of control wolf pack, every time the doorbell rings. Buddy snorting, Bear barking. Show me, show me, show me. Oh, Me, me, me. Me, me, me. Pant, pant, pant. It is really hard to deal with, and receive the parcel, as more often than not the delivery person is scared of dogs, and the delivery guy just wants to run. I have had a parcel thrown at me from the front gate. And the whole thing is a spectacle.

So, they have been out the back all morning. The parcel arrived with minutes of being able to be called a morning delivery.

Then once the parcel had been delivered, Sam informed me there is a second parcel, so the pooches have to stay outside for a little longer.

Buddy has been waiting patiently to be let in, for all the back door opens and closes up until this point, but now he is curled up in his kennel and he doesn’t seem to give a toss.

"A second parcel you say," says Buddy. "I don't care."

Sam isn't coming home for lunch, I have to get my own?

Favourite Things To Do

I wrote a story called, Nate, about four straight male mates. Nate is the closeted gay one. He gets drunk and has sex with one of the other guys, through who's eyes the story is told. They fess up to their other two buddies, one of which talks about his gay experiences. In the process, Nate comes out as gay. The fourth friend hasn't had any gay experiences, and the whole saga prompts him to marry his long time girlfriend. 

That's it so far.

I fell asleep on the couch listening to music.

The Zeppelin

Sam likes buying speakers. He is always trying to replace whatever speaker we have currently, in our lounge room, for something better. I'm not complaining, you understand, even if it does get all my anti consumerism hackles rising. Good sound, it would appear, tops the health of the planet.

Yes, feel free to call me a hypocrite any time you want. Go ahead.

He always buys them on Sale, at a half price discount price, if he can. He has a good eye for a bargain. Sam doesn't pay the asking price for anything.

Be still my beating hackles. (Destroying the planet at a discount rate?)

We've had a few speakers, it is true to say. Some got returned to the shop when they proved to be inferior. Some were returned because they were broken. Some were kept, replacing whatever speaker we had at the time. He gives all of our castoffs to his brother and sisters, so that must count for something. They have the best audio equipment of anybody they know. (Too much?)

However, we have had a zeppelin styled speaker for the longest time. (I guess I should work out what type of speaker that, actually, is, but it is the one that looks like a zeppelin) It has beaten all challengers, thus far.

The latest unit up for the test, is a B&O unit. (I had to look, I had no idea otherwise) It looks like a beige box.

Apparently, I fell asleep on the couch at 8pm. I got some hooch, I have to be truthful.

"Mark is down," I say.

"Any fucken excuse," says Sam.

Sam says he hates coming home every day to stoner eyes, while I think I am being delightful.

"And you fall asleep at 8.30pm on the couch," says Sam.

But, I digress.

I woke at 10.30pm with Sam comparing the old zeppelin speaker to the new B&O speaker. I woke to music playing.

"What do you think of this?" says Sam.

"Where am I?"

"Do you like this sound?"

The lounge room comes into focus. "What?"

"Hang on, I'll switch them." Thank the universe for modern technology, mercifully the music wasn't changing too.

"Switch what?" I pull myself up in the couch, I feel like I weigh 200 kilos.

"Which one do you think this is?"

"Which one is what?"

"Do you like this one?"

"Huh?"

"Hang on, I'll switch back."

"You are making me dizzy."

"Come on, it is an easy question," says Sam. "What do you think?"

"I like this one better." It somehow felt warmer.

We switched backwards and forwards a few times, as I wiped the sleep out of my eyes.

Surprisingly, the zeppelin still holds up.

“Which do you think is better?” asks Sam. He switches between speakers again. I was trying to focus, one eye closed, trying to backtrack to the last thing I remembered.

“So, what do you think?”

“This one,” I said. “Which one is this?”

“The zeppelin.”

They were both good, as he switched speakers again, but somehow the zeppelin still gives a warmer tone.

Drive To The Airport

I drove Mark to the airport 8.30am. My take on airport pick ups and drop offs, the person flying should catch a taxi, why make a friend do, what is essentially, two trips to the airport, there and back, when you could make one trip in a taxi. Mark doesn't see it the way I do. Mark always manages to book a flight around peak hour traffic in Melbourne. At 8.30am the roads were surprisingly free of cars.

The sun shone, the sky was blue.

I've been looking at new cars lately? I'm still not sure about it, I already have a perfectly good car that I don't drive, but it will be 20 years old this year. It clucks and squeaks a bit now, it is true. But, then, so do I some days now. I'd like the new Peugeot 308 GTI, but they are still expensive, there aren't so many of them and they aren't dropping in price quick enough. And they don't seem to come with sun roofs. They come with a moon roof, which is a fixed glass roof that the only thing I would imagine you do under it is cook. I want the fresh air, I always have my sun roof open for air when I drive. You can get the latest model VW Golf GTI, 5 years old, not so many kilometres, 80,000, pretty cheap now. And it comes with a sun roof. I'd like the Peugeot, which is (kind of) the newest model of the car I drive now, because it is the best car I have driven, even now in its decreptitude. 

But whatever car I have, I'm still only going to drive it occasionally, like to the airport. I guess I drive it once a month. My mechanic always jokes about how many kilometres I do between servicing. It is due to be serviced now, actually. Good thing about living on the edge of the city. I love that arc of power my car has, especially from 2nd to 3rd, you put your foot down and the car just rockets forward. It still gives me a thrill to drive it. It is probably as good a sign, as any, that I don't need a new car.

No Waterfall

We got the waterfall on the pond working finally. All it took was some new tube from Bunnings. Sam has talked about getting the waterfall working for ages.

Mark was down from NSW, or at least, he has been down for a week and has been off other places, in my car. He'd been visiting his daughter, my stepdaughter, walking her dog on the beach, fixing things around her new house. He had a day before his flight, so I managed to work the waterfall into the conversation and he and I were soon heading off to Bunnings. We bought long-handled Secateurs and chopped the branches of the trees first to allow more sun into the back yard.

We got the waterfall working, it hasn't been operational for years. It sounded perfect, just the right amount of 'tinkle' of water into the pond in the evenings. And it looked amazing. All it really took was a new piece of tube from the filter to the, still, existing waterfall tubing. Mark's an action man, he likes to get things done. Sam is more of an action man too. Me, I'm more your sit back and contemplate the situation, kind of guy.

Unfortunately, the waterfall allowed water to get under the pond liner, allowing a huge water bubble to erupt in the pond, so that is the end of the waterfall. After all this time of Sam wanting to get the waterfall working, there we did it, and it is no more, due to a major design fault.

Mark didn't get time to fix the water bubble in the pond before he left. "Just drain it," he said. "Just the way I did it."

"Um... er... um," I said.

Sam copied Mark's method of draining off the excess water, with a piece of hose, and a working hose. Up the end of the hose underwater with the working hose and the water is pushed to the other end of the draining hose, as long as the other end of the draining hose is lower than the end sucking the water. It works perfectly, almost everything back to normal.

No waterfall, though. Sad Face.

The Perfect Coffee

Put a decent shot of coffee in the cup. I guess you might call it a double shot. Although, the thought of me drinking double shot coffee all day is worrying. 

Here's what I do, I put a long shot of coffee into the cup.

Put equal parts warm milk to coffee.

The perfect coffee.