We headed to Rachel’s at Mount La La, her new place in the country, for the first time. We headed out through Footscray. We went through all those suburbs that we all pretend not to know the whereabouts of, Deer Park, Caroline Springs. We turned off the Western Highway at Ballan. (It sounds like an expensive sports car, or vomiting) The scenery became picturesque, as the ground began to undulate. Suddenly it was a bit hilly and the road began to wind. Mount La La was picturesque, I could see why Rachel liked it.
Everybody I know is getting a country house.
We got there at 10.30am, and there was the green house, just like the photos, except it was grey. Rachel always thought it was blue.
Son number one, Anton, was there, as were son number two, Oliver and his friend. Rachel, of course, was there. Peter was asleep because he was just recovering from a knee reconstruction. Ned, the Rottweiler, and Buddy seemed to be fine, initially, Buddy rushing about to say hello to everyone excitedly. Ned gliding about aloofly. It didn’t last, however, it descended into biting and growling and Ned was put in the car. Not long after, Oliver and his friend left. I don’t know if it had anything to do with the dogs? Maybe. I guess.
Anton left pretty quickly too, driving off in Rachel’s convertible.
Everybody cleared out. Was it something we said?
Rachel made us an egg breakfast, with toast and avocado and coffee. Peter got up on his crutches. We chatted. I told Rachel I had a new job, she rolled her eyes. Rachel is one who doesn’t think I should be working.
We walked around the yard. The sun shone. The air was cool. The air was scented with fresh country sweetness. They have lovely views out the front stretching out as far as the eye could see.
There were lots of dogs in the neighbouring houses, the dog next door barking incessantly, which wasn’t so good.
We left at 2pm. We sailed down the highway towards home. The sun shone.
We got home at 3pm.
We were at the pool by 4.30pm and we swam laps. The life guard tonight had great legs, nice and thick, baggy shorts. He had his hair in a pony tail, even if it was short. He was handsome. He walked up and down. He was a well built boy, you could just tell he’d had a beautiful cock.
I asked him if it was always quiet on Sunday afternoon. He knelt down in front of me as he told me that other than Saturday morning and Sunday morning when there were swimming lessons and Sunday afternoon when there was aqua aerobics, starting any minute, mostly the pool was pretty quiet, as the hardcore swimmers liked the 50 metre pool up the road. I felt quite pleased with that response, as I was careful not to look at his crotch which was pointing at me. Hairy, thick thighs. I knew if I looked I’d want to slide my hand up the leg of his pants. I just knew it would be a mouthful.
The men at the pool are old and out of shape, hairy and some are simply repulsive. Those there were like society beyond the walls of gym, fat and ugly in the grip of the obesity epidemic. There were a couple of emaciated hairy ones. I’m not sure which are worse? So far, there are no fit pretty ones.
We went to Woollies. The quiet of a slow period of shopping, clear isles, empty registers. You could swing a cat and not hit anyone, but of course you wouldn’t.
We ate cauliflower soup for dinner. My job was to cook the onions and the garlic and then the potatoes and the cauliflower, then Sam takes over at the chicken stock stage. I cooked six slices of thick toast, despite Sam telling me to only cook four. I didn’t listen to him. The toast is how you eat the thick creamy soup. You don’t need a spoon when you have thick toast. Blah, blah, blah, too much bread, Sam said.
We watched Grand Designs, don’t you hate New Zealand accents, Mystery Road, I’d fuck Aaron Pedersen, Whiteley, I wish I owned some of his paintings, one of his paintings.
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