Happy New Year

We stayed home, watched the Songs of the Decade concert on Sydney Harbour on teev.

I fell asleep on the couch and Sam had to wake me up in time for midnight. 

Partay!!!!!!

We covered Buddy and Brun's ears during the fireworks.

We were in bed pretty soon after the new year began.

Happy New Year.

The World Is Full Of Idiot Drivers

I realise that I am a whiny little bitch behind the wheel.

“The only. Person’s ears you are making bleed are mine,” Sam tells me all the time.”

But how can you not be, I say in my defence, when there are so many god damn fuckwhits on the road who seem to have fluked it for a licence. OMG! So many stupid people behind the wheel of a car. Idiots.

“What are you doing?”

“It is 50 kilometres an hour, not 20, you fool.”

“This one is clearly on their phone.”

“Stop talking and drive your bloody car!”

“Go around them, go around them, I could drive a fucking bus through the space you have.

“Why have they stopped in the middle of the road. Why? It is mindboggling.”

“OMG! Your car has blinkers, why don’t you try using them.”

I blame the reduced speed limits. There are now so many different speed limits, coupled with speed camera technology, coupled with fear pervading modern society, that everyone defaults to 20 kphs just to be safe.

And, let's just note, that ever since reduce speed limits have been introduced, road deaths and pedestrian deaths have risen dramatically. I'm not saying that reduced speed limits contribute to road fatalities, but it does make it plainly obvious that reduced speed limits do nothing to stop road deaths.

Post Op

What can you do when it is 43 degrees? It is hot at 43 degrees, I kind of like it, none the less, but it is very hard to get motivated to do anything physical. An air conditioned car helps. It is time to stay indoors and keep still.

I was hungry by lunchtime, but Sam said he was still full from breakfast, so I had sardines on toast. But sometime later, not long after, Sam was hungry and he made red berry smoothy ice cream, which was followed by a mountain of spring rolls.

“This is the strangest lunch I think I have had in some time,” I said to him. Maybe it was the heat?

We were picking up Brun at 1pm, but the surgeon called and said he was still a bit puffy, so he wanted to keep him until 3pm.

We left just before 2.30pm to pick Brun up. It was 43 degrees as we approached the vet’s rooms in [name of suburb].

And then there was our little guy, his head in a cone collar, which he has to wear for 10 days. (that will be fun) The final price was the original quote minus the other two things we won’t deleted in full. The special deal on aesthetic, which wasn’t a special deal at all, seemed to have been discarded. I’m not sure why? Sam seemed to think it was my cool demeanour as I was discussing it with the surgeon, that got us over the line. With our deductions. I don’t remember feeling anything like cool. I just gave it my best shot, which didn’t seem like it had any affect at the time.

It was hot driving home. Brun tried to climb through the buckets seats as he want to do.

Buddy rushed over as soon as he saw Brun, and he and Brun sniffed conspiritually. “What happened? Oh, I see. You were taken in where? I see. Really? What on earth. By these two clowns? (head flick in our direction) They did what? Yes, yes, oh. Really? That’s got to hurt, however you look. At it.”

Brun had trouble with the logistics of his cone with his head being 3 times as big as normal. Buddy barked at him on and off. Brun is still a bit out of it really. Poor him.

We headed to the bedroom and turned on the air conditioning with both bulldogs.

Sam fed the dogs in our bedroom.

We came downstairs after the cool change around 7pm. We ate creamy pasta for dinner.

We played with conehead for a while. Buddy continued to rush at Brun barking at him. Scardy cat Buddy gets triggered by odd and unusual noises. Scrape, scrape, went the cone on the furniture, the walls, the doorways, the cupboards, the floor, our calves, just about everything really.

“Bark, bark,” woofed Buddy. “You are freaking me out, freaking me out, I tell you.”

Deluded Rantings

Barnaby Joyce ranted on about there being a higher power which we ignore at our peril.

Which bit? Not eating shellfish? Wearing clothes made from mixed cloth. The bit about drunkenness being a sin. Or not cheating on your wife?

Which bit shouldn’t we ignore, Barnaby?

So, god created the world, then he waited 800 million years before he got us to kill his son to save us from the sins that he created in the first place. (A bit like the discounted aesthetic, kind of self serving) Completely, unhinged nonsense which can best described as a kind of state sanction infanticide. Or, as is really the case, the end point of thousands of years of Chinese whispers that started off as the mutterings of illiterate cave dwellers who didn't know the world existed beyond what they could see in front of them.

You know, if Barnaby Joyce wasn't in such a position of power, dare I say hypocrite, he'd be funny. A character of mirth and scorn. If you wrote that stuff nobody would believe you.

Brun's Op

Sam woke me up at 6am, he and Brun were coming back from downstairs. “Wake up.” We all had to get up. Brun was having airway surgery, a preventative procedure, pretty much. We had to head off to the vet as soon as we could. The vet opened at 7am.

7am. We left home, heading to [name of suburb], across town.

It was a glorious morning, down the highway in the Peugeot, windows open, 24 degrees, road practically empty. My favourite morning ever, just perfect. The Peugeot roared to life and accelerated beautifully from every set of lights. The highway was so empty it was like our own race track. A Subaru WRX, a VW Golf GTI and a Volkswagen Polo GTI, both white, were keeping up with us. It was fun. I felt alive. Good driving more so than fast driving, although fast too. We’re all too namby pamby, yes sir, three bags full, just ripe to be made a police state, to drive over 40 fuken kph now-days. Sometimes it is nice to let go, live a little, hair down, engines reving.

7.35am. We left Brun at the vet, the nurse took him by his lead and he followed obediently. He didn’t look back.

We had to get a new quote, as Brun wasn’t being de-sexed and there was a couple of scans we weren’t having done from the original quote. $235 for the former and $380 for the latter, off a quote of $2400. The new quote only dropped off $100, the reason being that in the original quote, arguably “the standard deal”, the aesthetic had been discounted, in the new quote it was not discounted, so that put the price up. The surgeon was asked to call us and explain. He gave the same explanation, in his best business like tone, and it made no real sense. The discounted aesthetic was just a decision they made, it bore no relation to what aesthetic was used. Presumably, Brun was only going to be put to sleep once, no matter which quote we accepted.

My response to the surgeon was, “Well, that makes no sense to me at all, roll of the eyes, what could we do, if that is what the price is, okay.” What could I say? He said it had all been explained to me, but the explanation I got wasn’t that, not that at all. I won’t bore you with the details now.

Brun would be ready to be picked up early in the afternoon.

9am. We’re at [name of cafe] having breakfast with Buddy. Neighbour, Jackson Wag stopped by, saying he couldn’t stay otherwise he’d have an exploding coffee pot situation at home, and then he stayed anyway. Kodak and his owner, also stopped for a chat, but the fact we were eating by then hurried them away again. Kodak’s owner is impossibly cool, I’m sure we all wished we were as cool as he. The nice lady from over the road wanted to know where the baby was? And a puppy called Tully, who Buddy sniffed encouragingly, stopped to eat at the next table.

‘Good puppy, well done,’ was Bud’s attitude.

It was lovely sitting out in the fresh morning air and the sunshine before the day got too hot. It was predicted to be 43 degrees today. It was nice to be out in it before it got to that. Sure.

Xmas Lunch

Okay, today was the Fletcher family Xmas lunch, what there is left of it now that mum and dad are dead and their grandchildren have all grown up, at my sister’s place in the country. Xmas is for kids. Getting together is nice though. I have to say that, it is expected, after all. No, it was nice.

It was going to be lovely in Melbourne 29 degrees, but 38 in [name of country town], not so lovely. The bulldogs had to stay home, first Xmas they have missed ever, 38 degrees is too hot for them. It would have been Bruno’s first.

We took David’s car. We’ve been looking after it while he has been faffing about trying to sort out his life. I promised him I’d keep the battery charged, so a run to the country was just the ticket.

Lunch was nice. I think Gill and Grant went to the least amount of trouble in the years they have been doing Xmas lunch. Gill said she had had four Xmas lunches, which may explain it, she said she had enjoyed Xmas a lot. But, maybe, that was the booze. I can’t help but think ours got the last priority, hence the date.

My brother and his wife were there. Xmas is the only time I see them. They bought presents for everyone, apparently, they didn’t get the memo. My sister in law lives to shop.

Two of the four nieces were there, my sister’s kids. I don’t know where the other two were, I didn’t ask, I guess I should have. Nyr!

It was… um… interchangeable with other years, but, Xmas is a bit like that, now isn’t it. I didn’t give presents, I adopted a koala instead. [Well, that was what I said I did, and I have every intension, I just haven’t done it yet]

It was certainly hot.

We were home early in the afternoon and I slept on my own couch.

Out For Lunch With Clean Pups

We washed the dogs and then went out to find an outdoor café at which to have lunch, where they could air dry and we could eat. We went to a place just around the corner for the first time, as it is very popular, always busy. We were going to walk further, but they had a free table, and we thought why not? We squeezed into a table in amongst their crush of small tables, which I thought was too small for us, but Sam was keen and nobody said they minded when I asked before we sat down. The café staff said how pleased they were that we were there. They see us and the bulldogs walk past every day, and this was the first time we stopped to eat. 

“Is this your first time?”

“Yes,” we said.

“Lovely,” said the waiter.

The sniffy French woman, eating with her handsome husband and child in a high chair, at the next table, got all cat’s bum when one of the dogs got too near to her. I know I should care, but really, Buddy and Brun were pretty quiet, so she had little reason to complain. (not that she did complain, actually, she said nothing, but she drew in breath and gave it big eyes, we got looks, sweetie. Not too hard to decipher) We kept the dogs away from her in the cramped small space as best we could. 

People continually stopped to say hello. Our neighbours, dog people from the park stopped by addressing Buddy and Brun by their names. 

“Which one is the baby, I can’t tell anymore.”

Everybody seems to know the names of our bulldogs. It left the sniffy French lady with little room to complain, frown, whatever. Brun and Buddy were well behaved, just pimping for pats from each passer-by, otherwise lying out on the footpath.

She had a husband worth looking at, though.

The coffee was terrible.

The food was average. Mine was a bit weird. Salmon, potato, cabbage, dry wafer, beetroot. Sam had a burger, with chips inside it. Why do they do that now? It’s a ‘thing.’

I was never really sure why they were instantly popular, as they were and I am still none the wiser. Apparently, they had another popular eatery someplace else, and the reputation just transferred.

Then we came home.

Sam kicked me off the PlayStation VR telling me I was hopeless, after encouraging me to use it, talking me into it, even.

Buddy lay at my feet.

We ate curry leftovers for dinner.

We watched Kevin Hart series documentary, Kevin Hart: Don't Fk This Up.

Holidays. 😬

Karma

Karma doesn't exist, not because bad things don't happen to bad people, but because not enough bad things happen, and too many bad things happen to good people.

I mean, look at the world.

Karma implies there is an order to this thing, there is not.

And, of course, too many "bad" people – not, generally, my judgement – who get away with "it". Just look at it, as they say, ad infinitum, in these troubled times, (no, I don't have a news service to sell) the troubled times in which we live, all the people who are doing bad shit...

There is no logic to Karma, it may make some people feel better, and that's okay, but call it that. A panacea for our fear. A placebo for the masses.

It really is just a hangover from all the religious nonsense, we haven't quite shaken off the coat of Christianity, or whatever hand-me-down fairy tale your parents have lumbered you with, which you have to unlearn.

The Day After Xmas

Boxing Day, the bridesmaid's day. Never the main event. Always the afterthought. Forever the exhale. The loosening of the belt. The sit down. The sigh. The step back. The stop.

The day the present givers get to reward themselves for presents well bought during the December present giving festival, the modern meaning of Xmas.

Another present festival completed for another year. It is what we all live for now-a-days; presents, food, and then holidays until the new year starts again. And we can repeat it all again, reboot, as this is the day it all, really, starts again – officially January 1st.

So, we pimp it out and pump it up and give everyone an excuse to spend more, what else could say Xmas so precisely, than an orgy of spending and consumerism?

Spend up people, it is the new normal.

The Princess Margaret of days, always the consolation prize. Never the real thing. Enjoy. Like Margaret did. She got to take pills, and drink booze and fuck Mick Jagger, because she meant nothing.

Happy Xmas

Cancer, Sweetie.

Our friend David (David M. Pretentious David, not lovely David, David C) has had a long time boyfriend, Harry de Wit, who is just so full of himself, so opinionated and really just rude to people. He is obnoxious. Yes, that is a good description of him, loud and obnoxious. He took a dislike to me, I have no idea why? (smiley emoji) And he blanked Jill out very early on due to some imagined slight about not being invited to some party at some stage early in the relationship. 

So, as you can guess, we have never really liked him that much. We refer to him as the poisonous one.

Sam and I went to visit our friend Rachel, who has remained friends with David & Harry de Wit, yesterday at her place in the country. We drank tea we ate chocolate chip biscuits and had a look at how her renovations are coming along.

As we were leaving, Rachel told us that Harry had been unwell. My ears pricked up.

"Really?" Do tell. I hoped it was serious.

So, I thought to myself, the poisonous one is finally being poisoned by "her" own poison, now there’s a surprise. "She" holds grudges so tightly, and hate so fondly, there is a palpable bitterness about "her", so it is no surprise to me "she" has broken out somewhere giving "herself" “the boils.”

I sent a message to Jill today.

Good news about the poisonous one, cancer.

Rachel told me he's had bladder cancer.

"Oh, really, that's a tough one to survive," I say. I wondered what the survival rate is?

"He's just got his 12 month results, so hopefully…"

"Hopefully," I repeat, not daring to have anything but a straight face. And I thought to myself, funny, your hopefully and my hopefully are hopeful for different outcomes.

I think Rachel said he was sharing his results with her at afternoon tea.

Cross your fingers, I thought.

You are terrible, replied Jill.

* usual disclaimer applies, nothing I say, or think, will affect the poisonous bitch's health outcome in any way.

Eating Themselves

Apparently, people across the world are voting conservative possibly due to three things, 9/11, the world financial crisis, and the wave of refugees across Europe, all things, arguably, cause by conservative politics.

No Meaning, No Boundaries

Existence is meaningless, moral codes worthless, and grandma's God is as dead as Grandma. And it is liberating.

Concentrate on the now, because nothing else matters, and enjoy what you are doing.

The only thing that is true is that you are skidding towards death, so lighten the fuck up and have a look around as you slide.

There is no ever after, this is it.

All that is required is that you try your best. Be true to yourself. That one may take a life time, and maybe that is the point. Probably being kind will go a long way to happiness. Enjoy the ride, because the ride is the meaning. It’s the doing that is the reward. 

Otherwise, life is pointless, so let go and enjoy.

The (dyslexic) nazis are coming, er, too late they are already here (running the joint, Heir Scumo and his lying Storm Troupers, criminalising journalists, and shutting down opposing voices). 

The Buddhists are coming, and they are drunk.

Lovely Red Flowers, just look at that red

The Stupid Will Inherit the Earth

So, the British just voted overwhelmingly for the conservative politicians who caused the whole damn political mess in the first place, arguably for their, and the wealthy's, benefit.

The stupid really are inheriting the earth.

Religious Nonsense

Speaking of the stupid inheriting the earth, the Morrison Government's religious discrimination laws will allow, amongst other things, 

On Social media - An office worker could declare on social media that a fellow employee is in a wheelchair because they are sinful and urge them to attend a faith healer. The workplace inclusion policy would be overridden by such a “statement of belief” and any action taken against the offender could be appealed to the Human Rights Commission as “religious discrimination” (Just Equal).

This is the contemptible insanity the Morrison Government is proposing to make lawful.

Fluff On The Dog

You know your cleaning skills are questionable when you see bits of debris from your life stuck to the dog, as he walks passed.

The Teskey Brothers sing.

Pour Cousin

Hip Hop is for those who can't cut it in R&B circles 

It is the opportunity for the less talented. Just as Rap is an opportunity for the non-talented.

Friday Morning

I was up early, 7am, so not so early, but to be truthful, I am always up early, now a days. Morning seems to have become my thing.

7.30am. Joint and coffee, it is freezing outside.

8am. Joint and coffee, it is freezing outside.

You know, just to ease me into my morning off.

8.38am. Sam saunters on to set like Gina Lollobrigida, (not at all sure where that analogy came from) throwing orders and sweeping down to pick up Bruno’s bowl, before sweeping back inside.

“Honey, honey, honey,” I say. 

“Don’t you honey me. Look at you! First thing in the morning. Look at you! First... thing... in... the... morning."

What gave it away, I think? Was it the eyes? I almost giggle at that thought, but I don’t. Not now. I laugh on the inside.

He's working from home until further notice. (Asbestos scare at work. Hip inner city warehouse conversion. "Everybody get out." That was the answer they got to the investigation of the white dust falling from the ceiling)

So, I have to share my days off. Hopefully he heads upstairs, so I can get back out to the table on the back veranda. Nudge, nudge, wink, wink.

Reflection

The end of the parliamentary year is a moment of reflection, and there is not much to show for six years of Coalition government. With drought and wildfire ushering in a frightening summer, the economy floundering and banks gone rogue, something near panic about China, schools going backwards, and sorry revelations from royal commissions underway into aged care and disability (and possibly a inquiry into veterans’ suicides inquiry)

The Morrison government was “working to make this future even better”. These words, the siren song of conservative optimism, but are without a good news story to back it up. Deny, deny, deny seemingly the order of the day. So Morrison falls back on his trademark bluster.

Morrison axes departments. The Canberra Bubble eating itself.

Just Rearranging My Days

I kidded myself there for a moment, that I would go into work tomorrow, but that is now looking highly unlikely.

Don't worry, I am essentially just changing my days. Just one  day  sick, I made up a day. Nah. Bullshit.

Yeah... nah. I can't see it.

I hope not much work pilled up while I have been away.

I had it organised since last week when Sam let it slip that he was going away this week, when he was making a doctor's appointment, and he was struggling to find a date.

Still Sick

Email to my boss, I'm still sick, banged out and fired off without a seconds hesitation, not a care in the world. Unashamed.

I'm lying on the couch, when I can wrestle it away from Buddy, watching Netflix and YouTube on the teev, drinking coffee and eating far too much bread.

Cuddling up with Brun, he is a cuddly pup, a good time being had by all.

3 Days Away

Sam goes to Sydney to work for 3 days. Christian is on the phone to Guido, literally, before the Holden Captiva carrying my honey away, had turned out of our street. Before the red tail lights had averted their steely red gaze back. "I know what you  are doing."

Writing an Eemail to my boss, I'm sick not coming in.

Margaret XXXXX Nobody

She gave her opinion, and the rest of the world gave their opinion, and she whinged that people weren't respecting her greatness, and the rest of the world responded that they didn't think great people had to denigrate other people to prove they were great, and she continued to waffle on about what an out of date book, that most people don't read now a days, claimed and her imaginary friends and what they said and the rest of the world said, "Oh Margaret, we moved on from that idea at least fifty years ago," and she responded by saying you should damn well respect what I say because I am a great tennis player, and people said we don't respect you because you say things with which we don't agree, great tennis player, or not, and then she claimed that the people shouldn't bring her tennis into it. And the people said, "Oh Margaret go away." And now she is saying, "Hello, I'm still a great tennis player, you should respect me." And most of the people said, "Oh Margaret, will you please just shut up."

You know what. Margaret who?

Mayhem at work. Idiot in Sydney HR got it wrong, and so as to not have to admit her mistake, she chooses to change the whole system to accommodate herself. Apart from anything else, it puts NSW at odds with all the other states. Apparently, it was pandemonium on Friday, from all accounts. "She is a dope," I hear myself saying in one of the meetings, a thinly veiled swipe at everyone for not knowing their jobs.

I can feel the vapours coming on.

I'm well versed in the dark arts of passive aggressive... 

Is That a Tarot?

Middle Aged white men have driven our hopes and dreams into the ground as they feather their own nests, feed their own greed, and make laws for corporate Australia, there has to be a better way

You've Got To Love Thursdays

It was a lovely day, the weather has been great. We both had the day off, we took the dogs to the park. The sun shone, the sky was blue.

Sam shopped in Woolies, Buddy and Brun and I waited outside. We sat on the plantation. The Yarra City Council used to clean the streets once, clearly not any more, there was shit every where. Buddy stood in front of me, off his lead, waiting for Sam to return. Brun sort out sticks in the garden, chewing them oblivious.

David is back from drug rehab in Thailand, he just got back to Brisbane. I asked him if he could be trusted, he said, "Next question." He's going to buy himself a new Audi, so, I guess, that will keep himself distracted. Yellow, though? He is going to buy a yellow one. I sent him a great picture of a gum metal grey one, but he has decided on yellow. "Too drab," he said. He is going to call the new car sunshine. I think I had names for my first couple of cars that I had before I grew stubble on my chin. In fact, just my first car when I was eighteen. And then it wasn't me who named it.

Jill is going to bid on two houses this weekend, she still hasn't secured a new house to live in. She says the house prices have gone crazy since they turned around. She was depressed because she sold her old house when the prices were down, but she missed buying another house in the same depressed market. "The house prices turned around so suddenly, catching me off guard," she said. They caught a lot of people off guard.

LouLou Brown called me, her mum has been sick, mostly from a change in her meds. "She started acting like a crazy person," said LouLou Brown. "So, we had to get her seen too." Her mum is now stabilised, and LeeLou is ready to get the hell out of Mother Dodge. She has been staying with her mum for a while. "Being a carer is hard work," she said. It sure is, I thought, and my mind wandered back to Lottie and me trying to look after her. Me, often crying in the car alone at the lights on my way home, it was such hard work.

Sam is going interstate for work next week, LeeLou and I should have a pot play date.

It was a beautiful day. It was. I love spring, crazy, balmy, changeable, slowly turning to summer, but not as hot as hell as summer can get, spring.

Anyway, I'm off to make a banana cake, my fall back cake tin filler. My mother made banana cake as her fall back cake tin filler, and although I don't make my mother's banana cake, have I turned into my mother, none the less? Do we all turn into our parents eventually? I don't know?

Guy's Arses In Suite Pants, Now That Is Something

I followed this guy up Collins Street... he had a the great arse. OMG! You could suck your dinner right out of the crack in those butt cheeks, let me tell you. A huge mixed salad and some veg, he could accommodate it.

I wish I'd got more of a close up of it, so you could all wipe the drool from the tip of your tongue as you slid it back into your mouths.

Now that is stylish, don't you think

There has been an influx of hetro wedding parties taking photos in Fitzroy of late, this never used to be the case. Is this what marriage equality has given us?

Couldn't Sleep, Wouldn't Sleep, My mind said I Shouldn't Sleep

5am. I can’t sleep, I am lying in bed staring at the ceiling. You know, usual stuff, I am nothing, I never do anything and eventually everyone finds out and they look to other people who are more interesting.

It is still dark at 5am, it is hard to see the ceiling.

All there is is breathing. Staring into the dark.

Luv, Close Your Window

The girl over the road in the middle floor of the flats had her window open and was clearly getting fucked with the groans she was emitting. The girl on the floor below was looking out her window, I think, trying to get this girl’s attention... or was she trying to take photos, I’m not sure now. People walking in the street were looking at each other and smiling in that kind of bemused kind of way. We ran upstairs and perved from our balcony to see what we could see, which wasn’t much, some white skin, the curve of his back. 

One of the neighbours said later that it had been going on for hours, from this morning. 

The two of them had obviously taken drugs and were oblivious to the world around them. They are going to be really embarrassed tomorrow, in the stairwell of their block of flats, I’m sure. Or, perhaps not. Who knows?

Nice Shorts

 

He had great shorts on, and as an old queen friend of mine, Lily White, used to say, 

"And legs that go all the way up to his arse." Lily would laugh that far-too-many-cigarettes-laugh [different times] "I'd volunteer to wash out that lingerie, luv."

Ah, Lily, you used to make me laugh.

Drinking coffee in Collins Street

A long black and the world psycho drama

Nobody should vote for Scott Morrison? The man lies as easily as he breaths. He seems to have no conscience about deceiving the Australian people. 

His climate changes credentials are summed up in the moment he took coal into the House of Representatives, that's what he thinks of your climate change concerns.

Small Vet Appointment, Then a Big Lunch, Sweetie

We're taking the dogs to the doctor, a double appointment, that will be quite a high energy consultation. They are both having allergy caused paw problems. Buddy has always suffered from red growths between their toes - um, he's not gender fluid - his toes and now Bruno has just got his first. We're trying out a bulldog specialist for the first time.

Then it is off to lunch, I reckon, it is Sunday after all. If it was a nicer day we might have headed to the beach. All four of us, best we find a nice table outside somewhere. They always attract a lot of attention when we take them both out to lunch, which is sometimes cool, and yet at other times it is a bit much, when we want to sit quietly and eat.

It's a bit overcast and not so sunny, but we'll see how we go.

The specialist vet was nice, so much information dumped on us, so much to think about. It all sounded good, kind of what I wanted to hear, expected to hear. He sounded genuine, I hope he is genuine. It is hard to find people who are genuine, rather than genuinely interested in money.

... we ate pork rolls by the Yarra, while Buddy and Brun ran around with a bunch of doggo mates. We sat on an old picnic table and chairs. We moved from one picnic table, that was in the shade, to a picnic table which was in the sun, for the sun, and after sitting in the sun for a while, a short time, I moved to the shady end of the picnic table. You never know what you want, hey, until you have it, and then sometimes it is, I don't want this now. It doesn't matter even if you have moved especially to get it. The picnic tables were made of weathered wood, like drift wood, perhaps, surrounded by grass all around, lush green grass. The dogs ran around in dog packs, temporary for sure, but they were having a good time. Joggers ran passed, bike riders glided passed on their bikes. The sky was blue, the sun shone.

2pm Every Friday

And if we are going to survive...

... we might have to strike every Friday

What's Wrong With People?

There was a question online, why is the country burning? Why are the rivers running dry? Why is there a drought? Why is Scott Morrison, and David Littleproud, and Craig Kelly shitting their pants? Why do your children effectively have no future? I can’t quite remember exactly, but it was a perfectly reasonable cause and affect climate change question. And the participants were asked whether, or not, they thought the cause was, in fact, climate change.

38% of the people said it was not.

That amounted to a number frighteningly close to 50% of the people who do not believe in climate change.

The message isn’t getting through to the stupid people, now is it.

The lying, obfuscating, cola backed, fat slag Western Australian billionaire endorsed conservative politician s are winning, now aren’t they.

I was shocked. It was nine.msn.

We're not going to survive, are we? Like, I didn't already know that.



Just as an aside...
The two women who sit closest to me at work, Mum and theidiot, always get a slightly bemused look on their faces whenever I talk about climate change. Usually it is after they have complained about the unseasonal weather, or the bushfires destroying the country. They kind of fix their jaws in a half open attitude and just kind of look wide-eyed at me, as if surprised, as if they think I am a fool for believing in this climate change nonsense.

We’re not going to survive?



And then there was this...
I watched David Attenborough’s Seven worlds on which there was a segment on Walrus. The ice they usually lie on has melted leaving them a small island on which to rest. The island is small and there is a lot of them, something like 100 thousand, or something, a huge percentage of the world’s walrus population. Due to the overcrowding on the island, some of them have to climb up on to high peaks to find space. One of their predators is the polar bear from which the walrus can protect itself in the water, but on dry land they are not so agile. And now that they are having to lie on high ground their advantage is lost and the polar bears can attack them much more easily. To escape some of the walrus throw themselves off the high peak towards the water to escape the polar bears, falling to their deaths. It was hard to watch knowing that us humans are responsible due to our poor management of the planet.
We owe a duty of care to all of the other creatures on this planet.

At the least, even if we are too stupid to save ourselves, we should be giving all the other creatures on this planet a chance at continual survival.

It is sobering to realise that every other creature on this planet would be better off without us.

Bad Dream

I had a weird dream about the word upendedness. I was doing some word game with my now ex friend Josh Gale and I had to find synonyms. I had a time limit. I wasn't getting it. I wasn’t going to finish. I couldn't find the word. I was going to fail. I woke up with a start, tossing and turning. Dear God (do you like the way I use God ironically) When did Jeopardy become a thing of nightmares?

Climate Change for Queenslanders

About the fires burning across Queensland today, maybe Queenslanders might like to consider voting for a government that takes climate change seriously. Queenslanders were a key voting block responsible for returning our truly hideous, climate change denying, conservative government to power, because Queenslanders wanted new coal mines built for jobs.

Well, Queenslanders, as your homes burn, you get to see what the outcome really is of voting for climate change deniers, in an immediate and practical way.

I have no sympathy for climate change deniers any longer. We have the vast majority of scientists telling us what the science is and yet we still have backward states like Queensland voting for fossil fuel extraction.

The same as I now believe it is time to start cutting the climate change deniers out of the debates about the future. We don’t have any time left to make allowances for fools.

* all that sniggering you can hear is the smug told-you-so Victorians.

Climate Change for Victorians

6pm I lit a fire. I have never had an open fire in November before. Never.

As parts of the country burn, Victorians are experiencing a big chill.

No people, our climate isn't changing, no cause for alarm.

I read a survey recently that said 38% of people don't believe in climate change. We're doomed, I tell you. People don't want to believe it because if they did they would have to change the way they live.

I made such a comment at work regarding our unseasonably cold weather, "And people still don't believe in global warming."

This was met with this response from my work colleagues, "If it was global warming, surely we'd be having hotter weather not cold." They laughed mockingly, really.

(Note to self, remember to use the term climate change) "Overall, the planet is warming, but it is the change in the weather that is significant, whether it is hot or cold. Our climate is changing, and we all need to take it more seriously," I said.

No response from the peanut gallery.

Day Off

It rained all morning. On and off. On and off. The rain came down.

There was a moment when the rain stopped and the sun came out, and Brun and I headed to the dog park.

But, the rain was never far away, and it was wet and cold. New South Wales and Queensland were burning with bushfires. Funny weather we are having. You’d almost be forgiven for thinking our climate is changing. Of course, not in QLD, they don’t think our weather is changing at all. Of course, Queenslanders are smarter than the average.

Sam came home and cooked me a red curry for lunch. Heated it up. I cooked fresh rice when I got home from the dog park. In the rice cooker. I, actually, know the other way to cook rice, in a saucepan, but I don’t do it that way. Who wants to do it that way?

I spent the afternoon on the couch with Buddy and Brun watching MotorTrendOnDemand.com, my favourite car show. A bulldog on each side. And a bunch of guys fixing up old cars. Lovely.

When I stay home all day, when Sam is working all day, I have to make sure the kitchen is cleaned up so he can come home and cook dinner. So, around 4pm I had to tear myself away from my pups and the TV to get the kitchen in order. You know, get that rice cooker back in the cupboard. Wash the saucepan in which the red curry was heated. A clean sink, and a clear bench, that’s what’s required, equals a clear conscience.  You know the look that makes it look like I have done the most work. But, I haven’t.

Tough day, but somebody has got to do it.

Hi Jeff

We were heading to Coles to do some shopping. As we walked down Smith Street a voice said, 

“That is Christian Fletcher, I know that voice.” 

It was Jeff Titan heading to the optometrist. Fancy seeing Jeff, after he was mentioned by BigAnge, and then I wrote about him recently. There he was, looking shiny and new and smiling and saying hello. He looked good, he hasn’t changed.

It is interesting how those coincidence happen all the time. Of course, the cave dwellers amongst us would make more of it, even David would say it was a sign from Shiva herself, of some such nonsense, but it is just a coincidence.

“Hi Jeff, how are you?” Cute as ever, I think.

Sam walked onto the super market.

"I'm good, Christian, how are you?"

Still got a thing for you handsome, even I was surprised. "I'm good. You got trouble with your eyes?"

“No trouble. It’s just twelve months is up.”

“That’s very organised.” Ha ha, 

“I’m organised, what can I say.”

You’ve still got nice eyes, kiddo. “Life’s good?”

“Life’s good,” said Jeff.

We gazed at each other after that. I have no idea what Jeff was gazing at. I was gazing at him. I’ve always liked gazing at him. It never worked out between the two of us. Pity. But that was last century.

“Well, good to see you,” I said. And it was. “You’d better get to your appointment?”

“Yes,” said Jeff.

“And I’d better get my groceries home,” I said.

“Good to see you too,” said Jeff. And there was his sweet smile.

No matter what anybody says to the contrary, to save the human race, and the rest of the species on this planet, we need to stop burning fossil fuels

Life Is Good

8am. Drinking coffee with my bulldogs wrestling at my feet. Life is good.

Public holidays are always good. There is some horse race on which I couldn’t really care less about. Is horse racing cruel to horses? [grimace] Er?

The sun just came out. Lovely.

I only have to work Monday and Wednesday this week, you’ve got to love that. I only have to work one day before I get a day off. Of course, it’s not good for me, give me a day off and I never want to go back.

Oh, I’ve got to get writing, and then I can stop work. I can’t give up work and spend my time watching Youtube. I still watch too much YouTube on my days off, still.

You'd think it would be easy... an easy choice. Sit back and write? But, when I have all the time in the world, I find every distraction there is. How do I stop that happening?


The things we want to do, hey? What is it that stops us? Fear? Laziness? A combination of the two? Sometimes it is the things not standing in the way, as much as those that are. Of course, they are not the same thing. Physical. Mental. Is it a fear of failure? Or a fear of success? Maybe, sabotage is preferable? Maybe? Maybe, life is just too good. Maybe?

A happy life never did a writer any good? Is that what they say?

I've slid down onto the floor, I have my back against the couch. Bruno breathes heavily in my ear like a pervert on the other end of the phone, then he licks my ear like he might go a pice of steak.

I love a plant that flowers inside

It Rained

It rained and rained. It rained all day. The sudden blast of summer we’d had for the last few days, gave way to changeable spring. We had to run as the rain drops fell, as we left the safety of the car, which we hadn’t done for... I kind of liked it, if I had to say. Windows fogged up, everything was washed clean, washed new. We were cool, the oppressive heat was blown away.

We shopped at Preston Market, we got a parking spot straight away.

We ate dumplings in High Street, fried and steamed. And we ate some spiced fish.

We came home and sat around, as you do on rainy days.

Saturday. The best day of the week, because of Sunday. On Saturday one can relax because the next day isn’t going to spoil it. It is just the start of something that is promised to continue. Relax. Put your feet up. Fuck the world can go to hell, who cares.

The house was hot, the heat had got in, but a breeze was blowing. I love that about Melbourne, no matter how hot it gets, relief is just around the corner. Throw open the windows and doors.

Let’s do it all again tomorrow.

Hot Friday

Pinch, punch, first of the month.

Who works on Friday? I just like saying that, it is sort of a self congratulatory pat on the back, more than it is me wanting to annoy all those people who have to work 5 days. But it is so dull, soul destroying for most people, without them ever knowing it, for the most part. Just conform and hand your life over to your boss, so your boss can make money and have an interesting life. Yeah, no thanks.

It's lucky me, I guess.

Lucky, in as much as I never really had a plan, I just fell into stuff, and that has always worked out well for me.

I mean, I did go to uni so I guess I had some sort of a plan. I never wanted to work on the 32nd floor of an office building, but guess where I am, getting caught up in the petty tyrannies of those people building themselves empires within the corporate structure, I can only assume, to make themselves better about their small, dull lives. It is nonsense for which I have no time.

Work is not the most important thing, it is just a means to an end.

It is just nice to have a day to do as one pleases. A hot sunny day too. Lovely. I have a chair to fix, I have a back yard full of flies to attend to, and I have some tap washers to change. As exciting as that sounds, it still beats going to work.

Brun and I headed off to Bunnings, as it is hot today, 35 degrees, and that is too hot for a bulldog to go to the park. Buddy didn’t even want to leave the house. He looked out the door, I swear he shook his head and went back inside.

So, Brun and I climbed into the car and headed off to Bunnings. Really, air conditioning on and the car is the best place to be on a hot day, no really it is, even if the road stretched out in front seems to shimmy like a mirage in the midday sun.

Bunnings is full of cute tradies too, so what is there not to like, I ask you?

We bought a fly trap, as yesterday, another hot day, when I went outside I was swarmed by flies. I was going to buy a large G clamp to fix a chair I have acquired (translation, picked up from someone’s rubbish in the street) but at $32 I wondered if it was really worth it, stupid me, I should have just bought it. I like doing stuff like that and the pleasure of getting it done is worth the $32, even if the chair isn’t.

So, then I had just a $3 fly trap and I looked in my wallet and I had $2.60. Could I put $3 on a card? It is kind of old fashioned thinking that I can’t put $3 on a card, I mean, if they want us to be a cashless society we’re going to be putting a lot less than $3 on our cards.

So, Brun and I wandered around Bunnings wondering what else we could buy so that the amount on the card would seem worth it, as stupid as that sounds? (Maybe, I have too much free time on my hands?) And then we headed out to the garden section and, of course, I need potting mix, so I bought a bag. I was going to get a trolley and buy a few bags, but Buddy freaks out with wheelie things, Bunning’s trolleys in particular and I wondered if Brun would be the same, so I just got one bag so I didn’t have to risk the trolley saga. And when I looked around there was a suspicious sprinkling of what could have been piss, but Brun had been right by my side all along, so I asked him if he did it and he shrugged and wouldn’t say either way, so me the fly trap, the potting mix, and the bulldog got the hell out of there. To be fair to the little guy, it is outside the back of the store and (cover your ears Brun) he is just a dog, when all is said and done. Also to be equally fair to the little guy, it may have been water from one of the pots plants.

Brun hesitated at the entrance to the lift. Sniff, sniff at the crack in the lift floor. The tradies banked up with a laugh.

“They don’t do what they don’t want to do?” suggested the cute blond tradie in shorts and work boots.

“If they really don’t want to do something, they sit down and you can’t shift them,” I replied.

The cute tradie smiled with, what I can only say was, admiration.
I put the fly trap out the back, and not one fly has gone near it.

I left the potting mix in the hallway, and Sam complained about it when he came home for lunch. He cooked green curry. Heated it up, whatever, it was nice.

Now, Buddy and Brun and I are sitting in front of the fan together. Last year, we bought one of those super fans so we are being blasted with volumes of fresh cool air.

The thing I like best about a hot day is watering the garden late at night. When I had a convertible car, I used to like driving that at night on a hot day, but I haven’t had a convertible car for a long time now, they just don’t seem worth it, because on a hot sunny day, the last thing I want is a car without a roof, on a hot sunny day I was a roof over me and really good air conditioning cooling me.