Sometimes It Just Comes Out

I left at 7.20am. In the dark. It seemed dark this morning. The light is fading, the days are getting shorter already. Summer is on the wane. Are we ready for this? So much for being burnt up by the summer sun.

I don’t walk to work, the same way that I walk home, never, sometimes I wonder if that is odd? (Deep down, perhaps I think I am a secret agent?)

I like looking at the hot bike riding boys riding to work all waiting in Brunswick Street for the lights to change at Victoria Parade. They are generally young, in their twenties, or thirties, generally in shorts, often thin cotton, and always with the bike seats, you know, doing the split beaver.

I got on the tram at Albert Street. It was quite a breezy day, but it was also quite humid, so I didn't feel like getting to the office covered in sweat. I found a seat just inside the tram, but it was hot inside, stuffy, airless. My question continues to be, why isn't there any air conditioning on the new trams in the morning? It is especially hot for me as I have just walked twenty minutes to the tram stop. Okay, 10 minutes, but who's counting. But, I began to sweat quickly, so, the only thing to do was to go and stand in the doorway, because at least then I get a gust of fresh air when the doors open. There is a spot on those trams where there is a bit of a wall and you can stand more out of the way but still get the breeze when the doors open, but a chick in her active wear had already taken that spot, so I had to stand in the doorway, at the rear door, as it turned out, in front of the seat. It was 7.30am, so the tram wasn't so busy, so I wasn't really in anybody's way. Headphones in, Rolling Stones playing, lovely. Each time the door opened I leant out and took great lung bucketsful of fresh air in, as I felt the cool breeze blow around me.

Now, out of the corner of my eye I saw a man get up from the seat next to me, and another man move to that seat as the tram got going. I don't know why those modern trams are so stuffy in the mornings, I assume the private operators avoid turning the aircon on to cut costs, you know like when they took over the network they said they wouldn't reduce the number of stops to cut costs, and then they got rid of every second stop in the city.

Then there was a tap on my left arm. I turned to see the guy who had just taken the seat wanted to say something to me, express a view, give me a weather report, whatever. So, I took my left earpod out of my ear and Street Fighting Man stopped playing. It immediately hit me that this guy was the spitting image of George from George and Mildred, I guess that ages me. "If you moved away from the doorway, you wouldn't be blocking it for everybody else." His rat-fat came to rest in what I would call a snide attitude. Or, resting rat face.

It was early, it was practically just me and rat face. There were a couple of others, of course, but there certainly wasn’t a line of people wanting to use the door, in front of who I was standing, just me wanting some air.

You know, I may have attempted to explain to him the heat and stuffiness and my need for some fresh air, but as it was just me and him and, I am sure, because there was something intrinsically repulsive about this guy, some annually retentive number cruncher – yes, I am aware I could be described in such away, well, not annually retentive, or repulsive, I hope, but a number cruncher – the type who'd sweat furiously as he masturbated to old, stained, girlie magazines, a true mouth breather, that what, actually, came out of my mouth was, "And if I told you to mind your own business you'd probably be offended, go figure." There was a moment that we just gazed at each other, both of us not quite believing I'd just said that. Then it was 'close your mouth, Christian,' earpod in, good job done. Look straight ahead. Street Fighting Man came back on.

Hey so my name is called Disturbance

I'll shout and scream

I'll kill the king, I'll rail at all his servants

Not long after, I felt him push aggressively against me, like a five year old who hadn't got his way, as he exited the tram at his stop, which was also my stop, so I stepped out into the cool breeze and watched him scuttle away like a small, insignificant blue crab in front of me.

If the world laughed even just a little more, it would be a much nicer place

Am I Getting Intolerant, or is it People?

Buddy and I were sitting out the back of Woollies in the sun, under our favourite tree, there was a nice gently breeze blowing, the occasional bird chirping in the tree, it was quiet and serene, as we waited for Sam to buy some sausages for dinner to go with the mashed potato, the one thing I make with any regularity. (Sam came back with ribs, but that makes no difference to this story)

There is a gnarly tree root on the edge of the garden which makes a lovely seat, Bud sat at my feet, off his lead, his big pink tongue hanging out dripping saliva all over the cobblestones in front of him.

We watched the people come and go.

A woman, who’d parked her car at the end of Hodgson Street, (which is blocked off by the footpath on which we were sitting) or right in front of us, came out and got into her car. She looked a little sweaty, her hair was pulled up on top of her head, with wisps having let go during the day. She started her car and then, clearly, she started to check her phone messages. She checked her phone messages for the longest time, all the time her car’s engine was revving and her air conditioning was switching on and off, on and off, on and off, continuously. (I’d like to say the smell of exhaust fumes wafted by us, as that would build my case, but I can’t really say they did. And she was driving a Volvo so it was probably unlikely)

“Kerchee.”

“Kerchish.”

“Kerchee.”

“Kerchish.”

All the time the car’s engine revved.

“Errrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.”

She must have sat there for 10 minutes. Ten minutes! How many messages could you possibly have that need reading at this moment?

What about the planet? The petrol. The carbon dioxide. The world's resources. Give it some thought.

“Kerchee.”

“Kerchish.”

“Kerchee.”

“Kerchish.”

“Errrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.”

It nearly drove me mad. Why start your car if you are going to sit there for the rest of your life checking your phone? Of course, by the end of it I was hoping it was the rest of her life, as I was very definitely wishing her dead.

A Great Cheesecake Recipe

A cafe near my house makes the best muffins. Blackberry muffins. The only muffins they have are blackberry, and they are great.

I reckon you can have one great thing to be a great cafe, you know, a great cheese cake, or a signature blackberry muffin.

(Is it painfully obvious that I have never run a cafe?)

Of course, it helps if you have a lot of great things. But, blackberry muffins, yum, yum.

Of course, I am not going to tell you where they are, as I don't want any competition for them. I want them there on the days that I might want one, and certainly not in your stomachs. But, you can trust me, they are good.

Today, my fingers taste like blackberry.

Mellifluous

Mellifluous is one of those words that I always wanted to be sinister. She was murdered in an alley by a mellifluous character who came at her from the shadows with a big knife. She never saw him coming, she didn't know he was there until his hands gripped her throat from behind. She only saw a momentary glint from the knife as it came down upon her.

But it actually means sweet sounding, musical.

Vote The Liberal Party Out Of Office

No matter what rubbish our idiot Prime Minister says, just remember when it comes time to vote in the election what we really want. A decent NBN. A fully funded and equitable public health and education system. Clean drinking water and clean air. Action on climate change. Affordable gas, electricity and housing! An ethical welfare system that doesn’t punish the poor and favour the rich. Acknowledgement of our nations first people, and not just closing the gap, but surpassing all the limitations placed on them. A fully funded ABC. And the humane treatment of refugees. All the things on which the Liberal Party has failed us.

Saturday Night Out With The Guys

David booked a show which was a part of Midsummer. Surrender to desire, cathartic release, joyous and rebellious, this is a queer punk cabaret of the divine kind. Sounded good.

Well, that is something like how David described it. He sent me a link, which I didn't read fully. I started to read it, but I decided not to spoil it. I got the general gist as above.

David was bringing his new boyfriend, Malcolm, which usually never goes that well. Oh, what do I mean? David acts like he's been married for years with some guy he could barely know, usually somebody that I just can't take to. (Usually, first impressions are right) He plays happy couples to the nth degree. Donna reed eat your heart out. It always seems a little forced, pathetic, even desperate, as I always know how they are going to end. Oh, badly, yes.

A couple of the other guys were going too. Tommy V, Fat Beau. David would pick us up, we'd meet the others there, at the place.

I liked Malcolm immediately. He seemed genuinely lovely, which I was pleased about. Surprised, a little.

It wasn't far from home. I was very pleased to see the Spiegeltent when we got there. I love the Spiegeltent.

We got drinks and waited enthusiastically.

The show started half an hour late, which always gripes me a little. You can at least start a show on time. Seriously. I know there can be reasons for a late start on occasions, but really you should be able to start a show on time generally.

Then we got the angry lesbian show. The audience was mostly women, I could see. David had picked badly. The girls were really into it. I like seeing lots of different stuff on stage, edgy is good, I reckon, but I found the high pitched whooping and squealing after everything the girls in the audience thought was a great point, shall we say, unfamiliar to me. Read grating. There was a lot of clapping, but not really from us. 

Then it was interval. We got more drinks. The boys weren’t being quiet about their disdain for the show. I wanted to say shhhh to them. Only David – he booked it what could he say – and I were willing to give the second half a go.

Beau looked pale and wide-eyed and wasn’t going back in for anyone. Beau the Bear, not really one for girl’s issues.

Tommy V wasn’t keen either. “Yeah, no,” said Tom.

Sam didn’t want to go back in either. “It’s rubbish,” said Sam in his usual blunt style.

David said he’d never left a show halfway through. The new boyfriend, Malcolm, was sweet with his comments, he was easy, willing to go with the flow.

And me? You know, if someone is getting up on the stage to do something, I’m willing to keep my bum in the seat to repay that bravery, at the very least. There is always something you can get from a performance. No, really. Be generous, that’s what I think. The lights, the action, the hot breath of a live show always has to be good in some way, surely.

However, we left. Fled before the end of interval. And. That was that. David chose badly.

There was nothing really wrong with the show, the rest of the audience were clearly (drunkenly) loving it. But, you know, was it really edgy? I’ve seen chicks with strap-ons before who were more interesting. I’ve heard better rage before, that was more powerful. If you want to staple a love heart to your arse go right a head, but it really needs to say more. I’ve seen sexier dancers. I’ve been captivated much more by songs of longing and a performance strip.

The ZZ Plant And The Coby Story

David is hopeless with plants. Terrible, I know that. I have saved a number of plants which I have taken out of his custody, removing them from his clutches.

Dogs, plants, people, I like them in that order. Dogs over people is a no brainer. Plants over people too, they are much nice, easier to understand, and give you so much more joy.

And now that David is in the middle of a nervous breakdown and rearranging his life – cleaning out his cupboards, moving house, moving cities, new car, everything is in flux – he has decided that he doesn't want any plants in his life. So, he bought over an agave and a ZZ plant to me, as I am good with plants.

The ZZ plant was in his bathroom, and I've wanted it for some time. Wanted to save it for some time.

Now ZZ plants are really hardy, considered indestructible. The only way people kill them is by over watering them, with too much love. They pretty much survive on neglect. I don't really understand the neglect, as it is not hard to google what a plant’s needs are. If not, why have them in the first place?

David's ZZ plant looked near death. (looks near death) So, this morning I re-potted it, thinking the roots were probably rotten, been in his bathroom, it made kind of sense, that its soil was, waterlogged, whatever. It was in one of those useless pots that has the saucer permanently attached, and the plant was probably left sitting in water. As I slid my finger down into the pot it seemed like the soil was collapsing though dehydration, and not wet at all.

I text David and asked him when the last time was that he watered the plant? He eventually text me back to say he'd never watered it. Never watered it? Really people, how hard is it?

We took Coby to the dog park with Buddy. She kind of 'went' two dogs. I wouldn't exactly say it was aggressive, more your dominance thing. I can kind of understand, Coby is away from all she knows for the first time in her life, she must be stressed out. She kind of jumped at them and gnashed her teeth. Charged them. She must be feeling insecure, which is understandable, everything is unknown for her right at the moment.

Unfortunately, one of the dogs was little Honey, and her owner Robyn was standing right next to us.

I was surprised. Embarrassed a little. Not that anything really happened, Coby just kind of mouthed Honey's head, but it was sudden and unexpected.

So, I told Robyn the David and the ZZ plant story and how he never watered it. I kid you not. Why? I don’t know. Really? What possessed me? I was a bit thrown by Coby, and looking for a subject changer? Robyn must think I am the most boring person on earth. Maybe I am the most boring person on earth? I cringe at the thought.

She looked at me politely, then she took her phone out and checked it.

Crickets.

I've Got A Big Black Dog

Mark called me on Messenger. I was drinking my first coffee and waking up. He's renovating the small cottage on his property, he was just taking a break from it. I was just pissing around, my first day off, off the two days I have off, for the week, reading the news online, or as I like to call it, the daily misery tale.

"Hello," he said. His smiling face coming into focus.

"Hello," I said. My eyes dropping to the small picture in the bottom of the screen of my face looking back at me, to see how I looked. I hadn’t looked in the mirror as yet today and I was checking my appearance.

"How are you?" asked Mark.

"I've got a big black dog," I said.

"Oh, really," said Mark. "Why are you feeling so down?"

I laughed, the sympathetic tone in his voice was sweet. "No, really, I have a big black dog."

"What?" said Mark. “I don’t…”

I am dog-sitting Rachel's Portuguese Water Dog, Coby.

I stood up and got Coby to stand up so she was visible on Mark's screen.

"See," I said. "A big black dog." I chuckled.

"She's beautiful," said Mark.

And she is.

Rachel is away for a month, travelling to South America, Antarctica and then New Zealand. She's always going somewhere. She loves to travel. This is the first time we have looked after Coby.

It is interesting having a big dog again. Buddy might be a muscly guy, but he’s not big. I like having a big dog again, there is something nice about a dog being as big as you when you are both sitting on the floor together.

I'm Terribly Sorry... I Mean... You Know... Oops

I slapped the woman in the legs with 10 kilos of dog meat as I got off the tram and she was none too pleased about it.

“Oh, I am so sorry.” And I was. There isn’t much room between the seats on those new trams, like most things modern and up to date.

My apology seemed to make little difference she still had her lips pursed into something resembling a cat’s arse as I smiled sweetly in her direction.

I don’t really think it was the impact that she was most concerned about, it would have been cold and soft. When she sat down I saw her gaze into my bag on the floor between us, Oh, what have you bought, to see a mountain of diced beef just sitting there staring back at her, and she looked more aghast at that point than later. She did an uncanny impersonation of Edna Everage, as she looked from the bag on the floor and back to me. She gave the distinct impression that, perhaps, she was a vegetarian, or vegan, certainly anti meat.

So, I guess I can understand her anguish when 10 kilos of lovely red meat shimmied up her shin, as I was exiting the tram. Well, I don’t actually understand it, but I can imagine. 

The look on her face was priceless. Worst nightmare, and all.

Oops.

I threw 10 kilos of dog meat over my shoulder in my reusable carry bag and nearly dislocated my shoulder in my attempted get away.

Oops, again.