Secret of Life

"Work hard, work hard," said my friend's teenage son, who I have always thought was gay, who naturally seems to gravitate into my orbit whenever I am around. He's doing year 12 and says all he hears is people telling him to work hard.

"Secret to life," I say.

"But nobody tells you when the pay off is for working hard?" said Patrick.

"I'll tell you, it's in thirty years time, when you will be thankful for working hard." Forty years, maybe, but I was being kind.

"Thirty years?" His voice squeaked. He looked embarrassed. I felt embarrassed for him.

"Yeah, that's the bit they don't tell you?"

"What?"

"You doing all of this so ultimately you can pay for your own nursing home costs."

"All of what?"

"Life, haven't you been listening?"

He said he wanted to kill himself. He has a touch of the dramatics about him, as I said.

"Sprog up a couple of kids, and a nice funeral, that's all that's promised," I said. "At least if you work hard, you'll be able to take your mistresses to nice hotels, you know, when your kids hate you and your wife has more interest in shopping than you."

Patrick's eyes widened.

I felt a hand on my shoulder. "Stop scaring him." It was Patrick's mother Jesse. "At least wait until this year is done."

I'm pretty sure that Patrick's eyes widened in the recognition that babies and girls weren't in his future, nothing to do with working until he was old, something I'm sure Jesse missed.

Jesse and I were in the kitchen later and the words, Do you think Patrick is gay, were materialising on my lips, but, she has never mentioned it, and I thought better of asking.

I Like Mike Ross

I’m watching Suits. Yes, it is very topical, at the moment, I guess, me going back to work and all. Adrianna enthused about it on Sunday night. She said the main character, Harvey Specter, was hot. She did that hang shaking gesture that I have never really understood, but, I know, that people don’t do that hand gesture unless they really mean it, I have deduced. She’s hooked, she said.

Hooked. I don’t get hooked on TV shows. Ha ha. But Adrianna emphasised how good looking this guy is, so I had to have a peak. Harvey Specter is very polished and handsome, but I, actually, fancy his intern, Mike Ross much more.  He’s cute, he reminds me of my school boy boyfriend, Alex, who I have written about before. Alex made all of his money in real estate, but he could have been Mike, there is a similarity.

I watched a few episodes last night. 

And here I am watching mid day Tuesday. 

My Heals Clip Clopped on the Deserted Footpath

I hate this time of year, well, perhaps hate is too strong. It was dark already as I walked through the gardens to the Richmond train station, on my way to Lauri’s, my ex’s dinner.

It is my bit for the world environment, besides, if you go to the south side, by the time you find parking, it is just as quick to go by train, one stop, two stops from Richmond station.

I listened to Marvin Gaye’s What’s Going On. The park was gorgeous, really, the muted hues of autumn, but it was essentially night time. I don’t mind the dark, really, but I prefer the sun.

Off to Clara Street, Peter (Lauri’s ex, one before me) is away. I gathered Pete was somewhere between Shanghai and Seoul, nobody was quite sure. What was he doing there? Nobody was quite sure? Someone joked he was working for the peace process. I thought he was a painter, a successful painter. (perhaps he could paint the fat orange one and the insane fat one) Lauri and Leroy are house sitting. It’s a nice house. Peter has lived there for years, well, ever since I have known him, and that is longer than I care to think about. Pete has always lived there.

I walked from South Yarra Station to Peter’s. In my mind, it was a short walk, but I wasn’t 100 per cent sure. I didn’t want to be early, I didn’t want to be late, I wanted to arrive at 6.10pm, for a 6pm dinner, it was a dinner after all, couldn’t be a fashionable half an hour, that is too cruel on the cook.

Funny thing was that Lauri kept giving me directions to Pete’s, when I have been there 100 times, always with Lauri, granted it was a few years ago, more than I care to think about.

I got there about 6.10pm. I was the first one there. We drank wine. Lauri told me about his latest treatment.

Sebastian, Adriana, Miss Chris, duly arrived by Uber. Sebastian had just moved into Miss Chris’s place, (the two people with the most challenged sense of arriving on time, are now living together) and Adriana lives near by, so, of course, they Uber’d it together. They arrived late, of course, there could be no other out come. Not Adrianna, she’s not a late one. Johnny, (I wish I fucked Johnny when he was young) arrived, by tram, on his own, and Matt arrived last. Matt and I came by train, the others by Uber, nobody drove.

So, yay for our carbon footprint. Oh? No, not really, hey, a lot of the transport was internal combustion engines. Yay for me, Matt and Johnny.

Leroy cooked. The broccolini and asparagus were over cooked, with some charred nuts of undetermined origin. There was pork that was just slightly over cooked, so close, fennel and orange cut up and thrown in a bowl, and a cake bought from a shop. (grimace) The food was ordinary. This is from a man whose main claim to financial security is from restaurants. All I could think was that I was glad, or not glad (evil grin), Sam wasn’t eating it, he would have said something afterwards. He’s not diplomatic when it comes to food, either. People all fall for Sam’s charms and think he is the sweet one. “Oh, really, Sam’s not coming?” They are a pack of bitches.

Shit food is an exception. You see, Sebastian usually cooks, but he’d spent the weekend moving.

We drank wine and smoked pot. We laughed as if twenty five years hadn’t passed at all.

We all left about 10.30pm, all except Matt. All at once. One left, we all left. Sebastian, Chris, and Adrianna got their Uber and Johnny’s Uber mixed up and there was much confusion in the street. Well, the Uber drivers weren’t stoned, they could have sorted it out, I ask you. I must admit, I stood back and rocked on my feet and enjoyed the moment. It was a bit like herding cats though, to be truthful. And then they were gone and I was left standing in the middle of Clara Street on my own. I’d worn black shoes, my heals clip clopped on the deserted footpath as I walked towards Toorak Road, echoing in the thin, cold air.

I caught a taxi in Toorak Road. A nice Shri Lankan driver was behind the wheel. I laughed to myself about the time I, spaced out on pot, having had a night with Adriana, we’d had cookies and bongs, I told a taxi driver that he’d have a really nice cock. It just came out, it was a moment when my filters were at zero capacity. I couldn’t believe what I’d said. It was truly a did-I-just-say-that-out-loud moment? He squirmed and told me that he was a happily married man. We didn’t speak for the rest of the trip. I didn’t because I clearly couldn’t trust myself. It was lucky the taxi was dark and that he couldn’t see my head blushed red, for various reasons, I grant you. I don’t know why he didn’t say anything else? Not even when I paid the fare. I looked at the metre and gave him the nearest note to cover it. And stumbled out the door. I chuckled to myself at the memory.

I didn’t speak as we turned up Punt Road and steadily accelerated.

Something Far Worse

I vacuumed the lounge room. Clearly, Sam has change my once happy yearly spring clean, maybe twice a year plus spills, to a two week cycle, three week cycle, depends how you count. He and I do it every Sunday, and I guess I have got used to a certain look. He went away on a Friday, (I’m sure there was a pre-emptive clean just before he left though, mutterings about how I can't be trusted, or something) and I didn’t do house work that Sunday, or last Sunday. So that, now, means it, apparently, takes 2 weeks for me to reach my cleaning threshold. Gosh there is debris all over the floor, now isn’t there? I kept thinking. I've been ruined.

I swept the back yard, it is macadamia nut season. They are like marbles on the paving. But more than that, is that they just come and come and if I didn’t sweep them up my back yard would be full of macadamia nuts. They cluster like minions.

I hung the washing out.

I have to go to my ex's dinner party tonight. Oh, I make it sound like the worst gay cliche, don't I, it is not. Most of them are DJ's and cool. My old choofing gang. I just can't be bothered. (I play out the whole Catherine Tate skit in my head before I move on) It means I have to leave the house and talk to people. Yay. Go to a party on my own. Poor me. They are all old mates, it is just me.

I mustn't smoke too much, otherwise I'll be brainless. But that is the catch22 thing, now isn't it, you smoke more to ease yourself into the public humiliation. Ha ha. I've been told that I had this sense of humour since I was a little boy. Tiny, angelic, rosey red cheeks, big green eyes, and out of his mouth came the blackest remarks, they say. I was a dark-humoured, cynical, 5 year old moppet of a child who'd stop dowager aunts in their tracks, with the things that came out of his 500 year old mouth, someone was famously known to say... once.

Anyway...

The whole day of chores has been a delaying tactic for going out. I've always said that, make the chores a distraction from something far worse, and the chores do themselves. 

The house is clean.

The dinner will be great. Someone else is cooking, what is there not to like?

The nearly-winter, morning sun. It is cold. Well, cold for Australia. Over night it got down to 5 degrees Celsius. It is now 15 degrees. Brrr!

Cold Morning

I am watching Harry's Garage on YouTube. Buddy is sitting in my lap, as he likes to do when the morning is cold. My legs are around him, like crossed legs not quite closed. His head is on my thigh. He is like a hot water bottle, all 26 kilos of him.

My legs have now lost all feeling, I can't even detect them to move them out of the offending position for some relief. Buddy has no desire to move, let me tell you.

I'm in pain. Oh, just my legs, not spiritually, or emotionally. Ha ha. I've just got to stand up. (if only all pain management was so easy)

10.30am. It is chilly but sunny, time to take the dogs to the dog park. Two dogs is a handful.

Shining Sun

The sun is shining, it is nice. Crystal clear. Some may say sparkling. It is glistening in my garden, warm and bright. The sun is glinting in my eyes, just as it peaks over the fence. The leaves turn dark green and light green where the sun seems to shine right through them.

We're Filthy

I was shocked to discover how dirty our kitchen is. I was making a cup of coffee, the coffee machine sits on the back bench in the kitchen, the one that gets less use as a work bench and more use as that place to put stuff. I started to rub the granite bench top, as the coffee machine did its thing, with my fingernail, and something scraped off. "Euw!" 

Then I noticed there was a kind dust mat under everything, just inside where we, clearly, have cleaned with the sponge. That led to daring to look behind the big wooden bowl, with all the pasta piled into it, that I can't remember when was the last time that it was moved. 

"Ah!" 

There was a crusty mound there of indeterminate origin. "Er." Grimace.

I thought we were clean people. Of course, Sam would blame me.

"I'm the tidy one," Sam would say.

And while technically he is correct, he cooks and I clean, I'm sure that doesn't include the long term cleaning maintenance, surely that is a core, structural household chore, to be shared? I clean up from the day before, with the main emphasis on the kitchen area. (I'm not really building my case, am I?)

It was all putrid. Grimace. Dirty kitchen. Familiarity breeds blindness. You just don't see it after a while. You get used to it and you end up not really looking, as the scenery, essentially, stays the same.

I'm waiting for Sebastian to come over, he said he'd be here by 10am. Sebastian is always two hours late. If he tells you he'll be over at a certain time, the joke is that you can just add two hours to the digit and save everyone the stress.

10.45am. Comes the text from Sebastian, Just woken up, how about midday? So, I have plenty of time to clean. Yay me!

I have one magnet on the fridge that says, A mind is a terrible thing to waste on housework.

I'm listening to Janis Joplin. I started with her first album, and now I am on album number 4.

Buddy is asleep in my arms as soon as I sit back down. He thinks he is a chihuahua, a 26 kilo chihuahua. More accurately, a bulldog is a dog that is hyper aware of his own space, but has a total disregard for anyone else's space. It's one of the things that make them bulldogs.

Cold and Grey

Ha, ha, I took the dogs to the park on foot. Normally, always, Buddy won't leave the house unless both Sam and I are there to walk him. 
Some people say, "Isn't he cute gathering his pack around him."
"Isn't he annoying," I say. "Try moving a 26 kilo bulldog who won't move, then see how cute you think it is."
So, that was a sucess.
The plan was, I was just going to drive to the next street. I knew if I did that once, however, Buddy would always want to go in the car, walking would then be out of the question. So, this was the moment. Having Bear staying, I just hoped it would have a good affect on him. I know that when Buddy decides to sit down in the street, one bark from Bear gets him going. 

Buddy wouldn't leave the lounge room, the usual deal. He just won't set one foot into motion to come when called. So, I got Bear to bark at the front door and Buddy came running, ready and raring to go walking. 

I was suitably sedated, as one might say. I wanted to waft around to the park, as if on a gossamer wing, or whatever that expression is? As soon as we got going, I realised there would be no wafting involved, no, not today. Walking two dogs is not as easy as it sounds, they both walk at a different pace, in different directions, often at the same time. One minute I am doing the splits, the next minute I feel like I am in a straight jacket. We stopped to chat to some people in the street, at which moment Bear looped me for a second time to get to the lovely people, wrapping me like a mummy in dog leads, and threatening to topple over at any moment. "Pat me! Pat me!" If Buddy had pushed against me, I'd have been a gonner.

"Ah, yes, they are," I step out of the death loop of dog leads, "er, quite a handful."

It was cold and grey, my expectations far out weighed the reality. A cold wind blew. Quite chilled. I couldn't get my fingers warm. There were no other dogs in the dog park. It looked like it was going to rain the whole time we were there.

But, I think that is only the 3rd time I have walked Buddy to the park by lead.

Heading home is never a problem for Bud, he's like a homing pidgeon. He can be off his lead to head home, on occasions, a quite Sunday morning, or something, but today we needed the safety of a lead.

Buddy harrumphs down on the cool tiles.

The doorbell rings. I go to the door thinking it will be a delivery man, to find my sister on the other side. I've just blown a split, I had just thrown it in the ash tray outside, as I came inside to the door. I feel a bit cross-eyed as our eyes meet. Don't look away, don't look self conscious. Meet her gaze, you have nothing to hide. Smile.

Just be cool, and you will never have to explain something she has never tried or would know nothing about.

She drinks tea, I drink coffee. We chat away, she is none the wiser. I tell her I am stressing about this new job and how, if I was really honest, I don't want to do it. She tells me to work for a couple of months, get a couple of good tax returns, then if I don't like it, resign, and stop thinking about it. Two months goes quick. "You can literally just walk out, at any time, if you want." She's working somewhere in town, today, I guess. She did say, but I can't remember now.

I keep smelling fish and chips? It's cruel.

Time to light the fire and watch Netflix. At this point, I am glad that I did not buy any more ice cream.

Bear is keen to see if the fire lighters are edible. She is a walking stomach, that dog.

I'm watching all the gay movies, one after the other, as though that is the normal world.

Brokeback Mountain

I watched Brokeback Mountain in bed. I still don’t like it, although I did jerk off to the sex scene, thinking about Jake Gyllenhaal taking it up the patootie. He should have showed a bit more arse in that scene.

None of it makes sense, though. They just suddenly fuck in the middle of the night in a tent in Montana? No build up. No hints. No longing looks. In fact, when Jack is making eyes at their best couple-mate’s husband, later in the story, it is much more believable.

Essentially, Jack and Ennis are unrequited, really. They miss out on happiness.

And Jack is beaten to death in a homophobic attack. Aren’t we a bit sick of the loser gay story line? Always the victim.

They could have chosen to live together in that late/final scene they have together. There could have been a believable story line there. Maybe Ennis’ daughter approved of a relationship with Jack. Maybe his wife could have told him that now she realises what was missing in their relationship, now that she is with a man who wants her sexually. Maybe they could hide it in some quirky way, I’m not being completely unrealistic for the times. I'm sure there are true stories of gay men who did exactly that.

How Many Showers?

I wondered how long ago was it that I had a shower, maybe Friday morning, which would drive Sam mad. Then, seeing the lonely sight of one razor in the container, again, (funny how some images affect you) kind of stabbing straight to the heart, I realised I had a shower Saturday morning before I went out to lunch with my old friend. She got 2 breakfasts, more than most of my friends get. So, not so bad, just one day.

I did a double fist pump in the air, Oh, it was small and subdued, that was until I caught myself doing a double fist pump in the air.

I found the kitchen scissors in the bathroom, it feels like I have been looking for them for days, so that was good to know.

I wondered how many times I'd brushed my teeth? Head tilt? I clean my teeth twice a day, it is automatic, not really something I ever have to think about. So, yay for me.

I've got to go out and pay some bills, damn life intruding. Suck the fresh air into my nostrils, and take in the vitamin D. I still haven't got my exercise routine back on track. Not really sure why? Is it the cold? I got my blue exercise hoodie back from a friend's mum, she put new wrist bands on it. The old wrist bands were hanging like rags, even I couldn't wear it any longer. Good to go for another 20 years. So yay for Evelyn. Maybe, it is the dark? It always nice to exercise on a sunny day.

This guy came and stood next to me at the train station when I was off out to lunch. He was gorgeous. Widow's peak. Eddie Munster grown up. Jules says it is creepy taking photos of people, but I was lining up the station when he walked in front of my camera. It's true. I couldn't help but imagine his penis after that. As you do.

Cookie, Ice Cream, Cookie Sandwich

I bough chocolate chip cookies. I bought frozen custard ice cream. I put them together in a cookie, ice cream, cookie sandwich. It was a sugar overload, if I am truthful.

I watched terrible movies on Netflix.

The open fire burned.

Sam Is Away

I take Sam to the airport, he'll be gone for two weeks. It feels like I am not there to take care of him, when he is gone. That's all. He can take care of himself, that's the good part. He grabbed my Parrot headphones as he got out of the car. "I'm taking these."

"What?" I say. 

We had an incident, earlier, with the apple EarPods, he said he was taking them. I told him I used them all the time. He got snarky, I relented. (They are, actually, his EarPods, what could I say really?) I took the headphones to listen to music in the car on the way home from the airport.
"But I use them more," I say. (But, again, they are, actually, his headphones, what could I say really?)

What am I like?

He is just as likely to give them to a nephew. Damn. (Of course, then he'll buy new ones. He is reducing his carbon footprint if he is recycling, or some shit. No, hang on, isn't that the problem? I'm confused.)

It's been raining.

I've got nothing to do for 2 weeks, just me, Buddy, Bear (Jill's in London) and Milo. We'll all be on the bed. I'll have ice cream. The teli is on, mainly just to light the room.

I play John Farnham, Help. It is the next song to play on my phone. Live. Full sax. The best voice, ever.
It is cold on the balcony.

Then I play Joan Armatrading, The Joan Armatrading album. This album has been a friend longer than all of my friends. It is in my top ten of all time great albums.

Then I play Tracy Chapman, the Tracy Chapman album.

Then I think some black boy porn.

Is that terribly Freudian, or something? Don't know, too stoned.

Work, It Is Good For You, They Say

The walk into the CBD was brisk. Clear my head, bring me too.

I get there thinking this is a temporary assignment, for a few months, maybe longer, while they recruit somebody new. Easy. Knock it over in 30 minutes. (Short meeting, long lunch, sweetie)

I pretty soon realise this was a permanent role, and it was full time. What the fuck? I'm a bit stunned by this turn of events. I am also a bit stoned still, I realise. So that clearly isn't good, I remember thinking to myself. (I didn't mention that bit to Sam, as you may understand) I realised I, perhaps, hadn't sobered up quite enough, when I attempted a joke, near the beginning, and it went south very fast, my mouth started running on. I just stopped telling it, nobody noticed, we were still in the get-to-know-you, still smiling at everything, stage.

I fully concentrated after that.

I got it back to 3 days, really smartly, I was straight on to that, the finance director was taken back for a minute, I saw the flicker in his eye. The rest of the time, I was thinking, so I get the dud colleague,  in a job that is undefined, with no handover person, and I don't want to do it... and it is for the rest of my fucking life. What could go wrong? says Christian as he looks from Beck to [name of finance director] We're all talking as though we are going to knock this over in 30 minutes. I thought I was filling in for a couple of months? How did our communication go so horribly wrong on that one?

We went out to lunch afterwards. I was still a bit stunned into silence, bunny in the head lights, the full bit. I was being very careful to be chatty, I could have slumped into the "stares", very easily by that stage.

Everybody is excited to see me back.

Yes, it will be rich and real, I think.

I walked home up Collins Street, still dazed and forlorn. Oh, how did I get myself into that? Defeat snatched from the jaws of victory. I just had my life where I wanted it. Well, almost, you know. Who knows?

Up Early. Into the Office.

A couple of spliffs at 5am, I couldn't sleep. Then another at 6am, and a second coffee. It is cold outside at 6am.

I've got a job interview at 12.30pm. Sam doesn't think I am taking this seriously.

"She'll be right," I say. "A couple of coffees at 11am, perk me up. Brisk walk into town, I'll be fine."

Do you think it is all the coffees, not being able to sleep? This is the boy who could have an espresso night cap and still get a full night's sleep!

An hour later, I'm good to go.

It's not really a job interview as such. I've worked there before, I've worked with all of them. It is really just to discuss hours. Maybe a 3 month contract to sign.

Eat some chocolate just before you leave, that's good for a spark up. Suck a mint, the worst thing is the dry mouth, but if you can master that... What could go wrong?

How do you think all those top lawyers manage it?

Sam's going for a job interview too. A job in the finance sector, which he hated last time, I might just add. But the offer is too good.

"You have a job 5 minutes from home, with normal hours that you love," I say.

I think he just wants to be offered it.

My friends treat me like Patsy Stone, when I have a job on.

"You?" they say. Quizzical looks. "Going to work?"

"You have a job?" they ask, looking around the room.

"An office?" They look perplexed.

Rude bitches.

David is in Amsterdam, so I'll have to wait for his expression.

Jill is in London, so I'll have to wait for her expression.

Mark is in Hanoi, so I'll have to wait for his expression.

I Don't Remember Anything

The day is a blur. Just how we like them. Big smile. I think I watched YouTube. Fell asleep on the couch. Sam woke me up. We took the dogs to the dog park. Gorgeous day.

A Cat's Life

I realised that our cat, Milo, is the most chilled member of the house. Of course, truthfully, he has the least to do. Sleep on the couch, eat breakfast, head upstairs to the vacated bed, lie down for the day. Head down stairs, eat some more, get on the couch. But is it traditionally the cat that is the most relaxed member of the household?

We’re all pretty chilled, really, even Bud, just don’t try and take him off the couch, then he turns into growling monster bulldog, until his paws touch down on the carpet. Then he has his mad eyes on, willing me to explode, as he sits between my legs. Then he relaxes, I feel his tension go. He harrumphs. And he goes to his bed.

It’s a cat’s life though. Only the very best people must get to come back as cats.

I put Nancy Wilson on. It always reminds me of being a kid with a migraine. When I say kid, early to late teens. It was the only thing that fixed it, Nancy Wilson. I was lucky I had a father who joined up to one of those record clubs, and who got a number of albums he, perhaps, didn't want before he mastered the automatic monthly order facility. Lush Life, in a dark room, hand, literally, draped over my brow. Migraines are debilitating. Not to be disturbed.

And they were still mystified when I came out as gay at 25. (chuckle) The clues were there people.

Now it is into a $500 pair of noise cancelling headphones, so you can understand that it is my own peculiar little world. My very own solitude. The outside world goes on as if in some else’s peripheral vision somewhere.

Some memories you just have to laugh at. Another person. Another life. But, it gave me my first taste of great jazz, and a great black lady singer, the stars had aligned.

Nancy Wilson is the best. Now a days. Smoke a joint. Put your feet up. Where did that behaviour come from, I ask you? Busy day. I just have to get the cat off the couch. Laptop on my lap, who'd have thought.

They call it stormy Monday, but Tuesdays just as bad...

Of course, it drives Sam mad, we know that. The sitting back, feet up, stoned thing. Apparently, you have to do something, every day. Who knew?

This job thing is very curios, coming alone at this time, you know after a delivery, and two weeks alone, the house to myself. I have to pull it together for, essentially, a job interview, 12pm Thursday. (Oh, the pain) They all know me, I have worked there before. I still can't go in in track suit pants with my eyes hanging out. Still, if I work for a few months, tops things up for this year and for next year. Groan. Too sensible. I hope they don’t want me to work for more than a few months, and then I could only commit to three days. I can’t do more than that per week, otherwise my week morphs into something completely different, all work, no play. It seems the bone idle even have to work sometime.

I met up with an old friend, a writing friend, for breakfast Sunday morning. I can do mornings, I quite like them. Just don’t ask me to come out in the evenings, they can be so long and boring. I’m glad she didn’t ask me if I have been writing. I hate that question.

I find my emergency secateurs, I haven't been able to find my real pair I have looked everywhere. And its rubbish day. I never throw things out, I knew there would be a pair in one of the cupboards.

Adele is the anti dote to Nancy Wilson.

I chop up all the branches that have been falling in all the wind we’ve been having lately. I clean up the back yard, swept the paths, picked up the debris. Who says I don’t do anything?

11.11am. It rains.

I stew apples and pears. Green and yellow fill my kitchen. Autumn colours. It is a good batch too, sweet and juicy.

Sam is at some conference, so he won’t be home for lunch. He walked off on the wrong side of our street this morning, I meant to question him. Send him a message. Ask why? Now I know.

I am getting my own lunch. That calls for a joint.

11.30am. I light a fire.

I contemplate a movie, just like a song, my god this reminds me, of when we were young.

Buddy

There's a moment with Buddy when I take him for a walk to the dog park that I always look for. Buddy is usually in a rush to get there in the afternoons. As soon as we get to the park, he takes a dump. Then he does the obligatory lawn mower impersonation. After that, just before he bolts off to sniff arse and wag tail with the other dogs, just as he is breaking into a gallop, he looks back over his shoulder at me as if to say, "You go that."

It's cute, our eyes meet for just a millisecond, over his shoulder like a free-style swimmer, "Pick up my shit."

And then he blasts off across the reserve, into the sunshine, to the other dogs.

It makes me laugh.

Saturday the Sun Shone

I made apple pancakes for breakfast. Sam said to use the receipt that only made four pancakes, then proceeded to eat four himself. Suffice to say, I used a different recipe.

The sun shone, it was nice. I walked to the shops in my t-shirt, the sun on my skin was nice, after the last few days.

We had BBH in Victoria Street. I always dribble it down my chin. I drink the last of it by picking the bowl up in both my hands.

We shopped. I bought pears to stew with my apples. I ate last weeks pears, and I still haven’t stewed the apples. Good thing Granny Smiths keep okay. They will have brown spots boy now, but it all comes out in the stew.

We came home and had a nap on the floor, resting my head on the big, orange cushion that I keep for those occasions. There is something nice about the hard floor, it stretches out all the kinks. I slept and hour, or so. But then, I can sleep any where, it is my best talent.

We ate curry for dinner. Red, Thai curry.

We watched Eurovision. Ah Eurovision, nothing is as tacky, but that is why we like it after all. I like the boy from Norway, he's just too cute.

The open fire burned. Buddy slep in my arms, as he likes to do, when I sit on the floor at the coffee table. It is interesting having a 26 kilo bulldog say, I'm going to sit here, and then he does, like the bulldozer that bulldogs can be.

Oh Jasus, I said Yes To Work?

It was cold and it hasn't stopped raining all day. Since last night, really. Of course, the news said it was going to be a down pour, batten down the hatches, we are in for it!!!!! Surprise sudden chilliest, despite it being just a few weeks until winter. What the fuck was the news on about, it is not January, I mean to say. The coldest day since last August, what, last winter? Really, the news really needs to have a long hard look at itself.

Translation, we were going to get some rain.

Midday. Sam decided not to face the rain to go out to lunch, so I got my own and he got his delivered in to the office.

Then there was only one thing to do, put on a Hugh Grant movie, Music and Lyrics. Open fire. Tuna on toast. A coffee. On the couch with a blanket.

Oh yes, Jesus fuck me Christ, I seem to have agreed to some work. I had fallen asleep on the couch reading my book wrapped in blanket with the cat on my lap. I was still in that stars in the eyes phase, delirious, some might say, when Beck, my old boss called and wanted to know if I wanted to do some work. So, of course, I said yes, anything for Beck. But, as it turned out, she is leaving and she wants me to work in her office when she has left. And I am realising what I have said yes to as she explains. I am sure, if you had been watching me, my eyes would have been getting bigger and bigger and bigger as I am realising my mistake.

And Sam is going home to visit the folks and I am not going, I don't do parents. Well, I do do parents if required, but on this occasion I am not. So, I am going to be unsupervised for two weeks well, you know I have a potfest planned. Well, it is directly after that, during June.

And dear god, I had said yes. Nyr. I'll do it for a bit, it is good to get out of the house sometimes, it is good to go out there and reacquaint oneself with the freaks. But I won't be doing it for long, you can count on that. 

Roseanne

I had the first 3 episodes of the new Roseanne recorded, but I hadn't watched them. I loved her show the first time around. But, this time there was just something about the fact she could support a liar and a cheat and a racist that made me think about supporting her new show. I just deleted the episodes. I decided that if I was going to be true to myself and how I feel about people in the world, I couldn't support her.

She made her choices. I made mine.

Four People On A Plane About To Crash

An airplane was about to crash. There were 4 passengers on board, but only 3 parachutes.

The 1st passenger said, “I am America’s greatest sporting hero. The country and my fans need me, and I can’t afford to die.” So, he took the 1st pack and jumped from the plane.

The 2nd passenger, Donald Trump, said, “I am the US President, and I am the smartest President in American history, so my people don’t want me to die.” He took the 2nd pack and jumped out of the plane.

The 3rd passenger, the Pope, said to the 4th passenger, a 10 year old schoolboy, “My son, I am old and don’t have many years left, you have your life ahead of you, so I will sacrifice my life and let you have the last parachute.”

The little boy said, “That’s okay, Your Holiness, there’s a parachute left for you. America’s smartest President took my schoolbag.”

And, you know, I am not one normally for a joke where the Pope lives.

Cold Toast With Cold Tea

Sam eats cold toast, or cold tea, which I find really peculiar. The butter doesn’t melt on cold toast. The taste changes completely when tea is no longer hot.

If everyone accepted cold toast and cold tea, society would break down, as we know it. Cafes and restaurants would close. Supermarkets would go out of business. Trade would be put at risk. I tell him.

He calls me a Promite lover.

My mother fed me Promite when I was young because she read it contained less salt. "But that is in conjunction with Vegemite," I say. "I love them both. Your tastes are just unnatural."

"Ha ha, I disagree," Sam says.

"What are you thinking?" I ask him, as he sips his tea with that clearly visible cold tea film on the surface.

Sometimes he sits there and consumes both. When I am watching him alarmed, he tells me to look away.

Whenever he asks me if I want tea, or toast, I politely decline.

Cold tea with cold toast, I can hear all of my great aunts restless in their graves. Grande old English Dames (okay, not quite Downton Abbey) who'd make me tea pots of tea covered in tea pot covers, tea that would come out the colour of mahogany, who'd have neenish tarts and fairy cakes and cream sponges and eclairs to eat with our afternoon tea. My grand mother and her generation of women who taught me how to drink tea on Sunday afternoons. So please, before you question me, I want you to know that I was taught by experts.

I Was Going To...

Sam is sick and home from work.

“Oh, honey, that is no good.”

I was going to curl up on the couch with In Cold Blood, but Sam being home sick stopped that.

“Oh, you are staying home.” I slid my novel back onto the coffee table.

We watched Lost In Space on Netflix.

Don West was one of those guys who sparked my interest in men as a child. You know, back in the day when I was too young to really know what those feelings were all about, but those feelings were there, being born gay like all gay people are. I can still feel those yearnings to this day.

Don’t you love those right-wing commentators, usually, always, hamstrung by Christian belief, or some other childhood trauma, who claim being gay is a choice, when they have no idea what they are talking about. That would make me laugh, if it wasn’t so serious, denying us our life experiences.

Don West in the new Lost In Space does not disappoint. I’d… well, you can guess what I’d offer to do for him.

Feeling the Difference

It is cold this morning, as I cuddle up with Milo for our morning routine on the couch. I can feel winter in the air, I can feel it coming.

You know, I don't mind feeling cold, maybe I am a bit weird. Maybe? Or hot, for that matter, in the summer. I like feeling the seasons. I like feeling the difference.

Milo doesn't care, he has a luxurious blue coat, even it he does snuggle close to me.

We don't want to feel the difference any longer. We switch the heating on the minute the temperature drops below 21 degrees. We switch the air conditioning on the moment the temperature rises above 21 degrees. We don't want to feel anything, is that conclusion to take from this?

This is all at a time when our quest for insulation from the world and the increased power needed to fulfil that need, is further poisoning the planet on which we live? Are we all in a collective state of denial?

I pat Milo's thick fur, his coat seems thicker. I sip my coffee and gaze out the window at the morning sun shining on the trees in the back yard.

The sun is shining on the stack of fire wood I had delivered a month ago in preparation for the winter. I can’t wait to have open fires. The burning of fire wood puts the same amount of carbon into the air that it would have if the wood was left on the ground to rot and disintegrate back into the earth. That is my environmental justification for having an open fire. I must google that fact to confirm that it is true.

Life Is Short and Regrets Get You No Where

I get up early and sit on the couch in the semi dark cuddling up with Milo next to me and think it is Saturday. Again. Nyr. The day slowly brightens outside and the first thing I can see clearly are the pink geraniums flowering profusely. I used to think geraniums were an ordinary flower, but recently I have decided they are cheerful, and I am growing red ones to plant out my front yard next spring, or whenever you plant geraniums. I must google it.

I don't think I will ever regret stopping work, going to my specially allocated office, or, at other times, my very own cubicle, to bosses who were always more stressed than they let on and colleagues who felt set upon for the ever increasing hours they had to work for the every diminishing pay. The company can't afford pay rises despite their ever increasing profits, the usual mantra of the modern organisation. Bosses now cheat workers to make the profits look better.

Even though it cost me, but did it cost me, really? I was lucky, well clever. Lucky that I was always a saver and never really a spender. Some people may say I am stingy, I get it from my mother, but those same people are still in the rat race going to work trying to make ends meet.

Yesterday, I caught the train to Prahran to look at CDs and when I came home I wrote poetry and looked at historical photos of Melbourne, with Buddy sitting in my lap. And Friday disappeared and then it is Saturday again. No matter what day of the week it is they all have the same meaning to me now, so I don't live for one and hate another, in fact, I like Mondays, it is the first day of the week I get to spend on my own, after spending the weekend with Sam, doing what I choose.

Of course, I stopped working so I could write the great Australian novel, well, a novel, my first novel, writing something. And I am not doing that. So that is not so good. But, there is always tomorrow. I am also not in peak hour traffic struggling into an office I hate, to a job I'd rather not be doing, working for bosses who are just self interested cunts, no I am not doing that, so that is good.

This is not really how I saw it, spending my time, but life is short and regrets are not productive.

Okay, so I won’t be able to afford a new car, or to spend the weekends at shopping centres spending money for entertainment, but, I don’t drive the car I have now, and I never wanted to hang out at shopping centres anyway. My theory is, that if we all settle for a bit less, we will all be much happier. Do you really need that new 4WD, or that new phone, when your old car and phone still work perfectly well? Why do you want to work so hard to buy things you don’t really need? Work less, and only get the things you really need. Don’t get hooked into the buy, buy, buy, spend, spend, spend, mentality. How many of the things you have bought recently do you really need?

Rain On The Roof

I fell asleep on the couch. I love that, don't you? I woke to the sound of rain falling heavily on the roof. I love that too. It had been threatening to rain all day. Of course, Sam woke me, he hates me falling asleep on the couch. It was lovely to hear the rain. It seems to have been so long since we heard the sound of rain drops falling from the sky.

I had watered my garden early in the day, as suddenly I notice the plants were looking shrivelled with cat's arses for lips as if to say, "We are dying here!" As I said, it seems so long since it has rained. It makes no never mind though, a bit of extra hose water can only be a good thing.

Sam wanted to take the dogs out for a piss before bed, but how could he, they'd get drenched. Bear is staying again, Jill has pissed off to the US again. And London, too. And Paris, I think. I wasn't much help, as I lay languorously on the couch, as Sam Stressed about what to do. Funny how you care about very little having just woken up. He eventually took the dogs out with an umbrella when the rain lessened off for a few minutes.

I'm a big lazy arse
my requirements are sparse
all I want to do is eat and sleep
beyond that I won't complain, not a peep.

And then they left me and I was all alone with the rain. Ha, ha. I had to gather my thoughts, and my stuff and follow them up to bed.

Then I lay snuggled under the doona as the rain fell on the roof upstairs. Drift off to sleep and dreams as the world was washed new again. It is romantic. I took hold of Sam’s hand, but he was already asleep.

It is Autumn, go outside, play in the leaves and there is no better place to do it than The Fitzroy Gardens