Rainy Friday

We stayed in all day, lit the open fire and watched TV, it was that kind of day, cold and wet. I thought we'd had the last open fire weeks ago, but apparently not. Winter was back, unexpectedly. We put the central heating back on, we'd already turned it off for the year. It was cold and it rained all day.

I’m not complaining, even if the change back to cold was sudden and unexpected.

We binge watched the new season of Jack Whitehall Travels With My Father. That’s what you do on a wet Saturday, er, Friday. (With both of us working from home, which day it, actually, is becomes kind of sketchy) It kind of takes you back to your childhood, in a sense, so there is an aspect of it that is comforting.

A day in, the fire crackling, orange and blue flames, flickering, radiating out.

Jack Whitehall, kind of handsome.

Lazy Arse

I waste my talents as a writer. I've been writing a story from the sentence, everybody would like a super power, and it is coming along quite well. But, it is hard work, all that creative energy, I just can't be bothered to do it, some days. Quite a few days, you know, once the initial motivation wears off.

But, that has always been me, really smart, but really lazy. I've got a high IQ, but I have always been a lazy bastard. Getting me motivated is really hard work, I am one for taking the easy way out, always. 

I have never had to put in too much effort to get to where I am in life, much to a lot of people's chagrin. (funny how people hate that in other people)  And, that still persists. Even to today, I have so many unfinished things. And then I kind of think it is self-fulfilling, because then I get turned off doing anything that requires too much effort. Then you become that guy, who doesn't really put in. Sure, I do enough to have a good life, but I never do anything extra. You know.

That is masked by a laid back attitude. "Oh, Christian is so laid back. We should all be just a little more like Christian." No, no not one of you want that, let me tell you.

Then, I think, it is only a short step to jaded and cynical, of course friends tell me I was born cynical, but be that as it may, jaded and cynical are good covers for lazy.

Then, I guess, there is a part of me deep down that always feels just a little disappointed. There, I've said it, it is true. Coasting will do that to you.

Anyway, I am still uploading my DVDs to my new hard drive, so what do I care about achieving anything. I've done all of my movies, now I am doing TV shows. I have done Black Books, Absolutely Fabulous, the DVDs I have of Friends, as David pissed off with the majority of them, Will & Grace, Oz, The Tudors, Spartacus, and now I am doing Weeds, the best series ever.

Of course, season 2 of Weeds isn’t uploading for some reason so that kind of rules out smoking a blunt and binge watching it this weekend. Ah, the good old days. Of course, I have given the old spliferoonies away now a days, anyway, even if Guido still has me on his delivery roster, but I just say no like Nancy told us all too and we’re all good. Sam doesn’t like it, he has that special you-are-a-loser look he produces just for those occasions, which nicely coincides with me not really liking it any more anyway. It just doesn’t do what it used to do any more.

Anyway…

Do I do Doctor Who? I only have a couple of series, a couple of the new ones and one Tom Baker.

I have one season of Mash, something I used to watch with mum and dad when I was a kid. The opening music to Mash still invokes something inside me.

And about that story I am writing? It is going around in the back of my head while I do other things, don't worry about that.

Of course, the other side of all of this is that when I finally do get motivated, they say I am single minded in my execution.

You do realise, I am only writing this in some attempt to motivate myself to write. I’m not really needing to tell you, but there, I have anyway.

Blood Sugars

Did I tell you my blood sugars are back to normal? My doctor is very pleased. (I really hate this new blogger dashboard, how do you save a draft again?)

My doctor told me they were 8.5, when they should be 6.5 whatevers when he told me they were a worry and that I had to do something about them.

So, I did. I modified my diet a bit and I exercised every day losing 8 kilos.

Today he told me my blood sugars were 9 on the second test I had back in June, but today (last week, I am telling you late) they were 5.8, when 6 is normal.

He said I had bucked the trend of putting on weight during lock down. "Very good," he said. "Now, I guess you will have to have a blood test every 6 months just to make sure they don't creep back up."

"Sure." I'm cool with blood tests now a days, I can even watch the needle go in and the blood come out now, where once I was a bit squeamish.

That wasn’t hard, as I didn’t want to have to take medication for the rest of my life, I presume, so it hasn’t been hard to put in the effort. When I am motivated, I can do anything, but, I guess, that is true of anyone. So, it was no big deal, really.

Low Blood Sugar, Desperate Urination and a Needy Dog

The sun was shining, it was a gorgeous day.

I got back from my walk with low blood sugar, busting for a wee, with Bruno acting like I hadn't seen him for a week.

Ah! It did my head in. I already had the shakes and the camps, er, cramps, (not really, but you know what needing a piss feels like) then being rushed by Bruno, 

“You’re back! You’re back! You’re back!” Jump, jump, jump.

For a split second I just didn't know what to do first? Pissing my pants as I collapsed onto Bruno squashing him seemed like a real option for a second.

Get my mask off, get my shoes off. Do I wash my hands before I pee? 

“Yes, Bruno, yes Bruno, I’m happy to see you too.” You can’t ignore such pure love. I probably shouldn’t touch Bruno before I wash my hands.

Wash your hands. Wash your hands. Wash your hands. Wash your hands first. 20 seconds is an awfully long time when you are busting.

Bruno jumps up. “Yes Bruno, yes Bruno.” Don’t pat Bruno with wet hands.

He seemed to know when I’d dried my hands. Jump, jump, jump. I was still busting for a wee. 

All the time I am still a bit giddy, I needed a couple of those mandarins sitting in the fruit bowl. Then, of course, I had to wash my hands again. It seemed to take hours to wash my hands.

But those two mandarins that I ate never tasted better.

What Your Brother Did?

You don’t like it that I got into your brother’s pants, we’ll he seemed to like it and that is, pretty much, all that counts.

What? You don’t like it that I’m saying your brother is gay? I’m not saying your brother is gay.

What am I saying then? He certainly knows how he likes his cock sucked.

No. That’s not saying he’s gay. It is just saying he sure does like having his dick slobbered on.

By a guy? Yes, by a guy.

No. That’s not saying he’s gay. It’s just saying…

Why? Because he’s only gay if he says he’s gay. He never said he was gay.

Well, that’s why we don’t call that gay stuff. We call it men who have sex with men.

No, that isn’t necessarily the same thing. It depends how your brother identifies.

I’m sure he has had girlfriends, he is very handsome.

No, sex with men doesn’t make him gay.

How come? Because it might just be sex and nothing more.

So, why doesn’t he have sex with girls? Didn’t you say he has girlfriends?

So, if he has girlfriends, chances are he has sex with them.

So, why does he have sex with guys? Because he can.

Why doesn’t that make sense. Guys are very accommodating with each other. You know, they are all built the same way. 

Yes, and your brother. He’s got a really nice…

Okay, you can take your fingers out of your ears, I was just saying.

I don’t know if he is gay, why don’t you ask him.

Yes, yes he did do gay stuff, lots of gay stuff. And he was good at it

I’d say he enjoyed it, he… um… certainly made a mess of himself.

Too much information? Well, you did ask.

Bread & Butter

One of the simplest joys in life is bread with butter. Of course, being Australian, that would be topped with vegemite. Oh, you don’t like vegemite, then chances are we wouldn’t like you. Vegemite is an Australian test of character, you understand.

And in this day and age, it would be spelt bread lightly dusted with seeds, wrapped in recycled brown paper, neatly folded.

It would, of course, be butter. Now we all know that margarine is just a conn. The marketing department took something that makes everything taste better and replaced it with something nasty. (my mother was firm in her belief that giving my dad the cholesterol lowering margarine, because of his high cholesterol gave him cancer which ultimately killed him, as the rumours about that particular margarine suggest)

You’ve just got to remember to keep the butter in the cupboard and not the fridge, then it spreads so easily.

Fresh bread and butter, one of life’s simple joys.

Purple, red and yellow, sunrise

 

Boys & Girls

I think of girls as different to fooling around with boys.

 

girls are, perfume, soft, long hair. not mates. 

boys are, physically equal, performance art,

girls are, matters of the heart

Girls and boys, cats and dogs,

boys are, beer and nuts,

Girls are, kale and spritz

Girls are sisters and friends

Boys are arseholes and cocks.

Girls smell like roses and talcum powder

Boys smell like used shaver stubble and cigarettes.

Girls are sugar and spice

Boys are snails and puppy dog's tails.

Boys you can do what you want to

Girls you have to take your time to fulfil their needs.

 

Play footy,

 

Hold conversations,

 

Tell tall stories,

 

make logical sense,

 

Drink until you want to fuck,

 

talk until you feel safe

 

walk away after, no regrets

 

call up and reassure.

 

Make a mess.

Give Us A Kiss

Sam told me to stop uploading DVDs as we watched TV. He said I was getting obsessed.

 

"You're getting obsessed."

"Well they are not going to upload themselves."

"You don't have to get it all done this weekend."

"Why not?"

"You can take your time," he said. "There is no deadline."

"Why the delay?"

"Nobody is going to come and take them from you."

"I want to get it done, though..."

"You love it when you have a project."

"You say it like it is a bad thing."

"Do I?"

"What would you rather I be doing?"

"Oh, no, it isn't that," said Sam. "It's just that this is all you have been doing… for days."

"So, you would rather I did something else?"

“Maybe.”

“What?”

"No, not really..."

"So, what are you saying?"

"I'm just saying you don't have to get it all done today."

"Are you feeling neglected, honey?"

"No, it isn't that."

"What is it then?"

"Oh, nothing."

"Nothing?"

"No, nothing."

"Well, it has to be something?"

"It's just that is all you have been doing for days..."

"Come here and I'll give you a cuddle."

"Don't be ridiculous..."

"When did cuddles become ridiculous."

"I don't need comforting because you think I think I am feeling neglected."

"Well, that's what it sounds like to me."

"Well, it isn't."

"So, what is it then?"

"I'm just saying, you don't have to do it all now."

"I'm just doing it." Quizzical look. "There is no hurry, involved in this, this just what uploading DVDs looks like."

"No, you are just being ridiculous."

"I'm being ridiculous?"

"Yes."

"You are telling me to do something, the details of which you can't explain."

"I'm just saying..."

"It doesn't all have to be done now."

"Yes."

"Whatever that means."

"I think the meaning is perfectly clear..."

"Although this whole conversation would tend to suggest otherwise."

I move closer to Sam.

Sam visibly recoils. (You know, just slightly) "What are you doing?"

"I'm going to give you a cuddle, as feelings of neglect are the only logical explanation to this whole conversation."

"I'm not feeling neglected."

"Come on honey, give us a kiss."

A Clowder of Cats

It was a lovely morning.

I headed to the bakery at 8am and tried to get a loaf of yesterday’s spelt bread for half price. When she had none, I asked for yesterday’s whole meal, but she had none of that either. So, I got a fresh loaf of spelt bread.

I was going to toast it and top it with smoked salmon, but the bread is so nice when it is still warm from the oven that we had smoked salmon on fresh bread with butter and some coffee.

I had trouble getting the smoked salmon from its packet it was so oily and the plastic packet’s open was quite narrow, that by the time I was finished I had salmon oil on my fingers.

The problem was that most of the way through the salmon preparation I suddenly needed to go and take a dump, I was just hanging on and the recalcitrant salmon packaging certainly wasn’t helping. So, by the time I was done, I was quite in need. I threw down the packet and started making my way to the toilet, remembering that I hadn’t washed my hands as I went. I hesitated. Oh, fuck it, I’ll wash my hands when I come back from the loo ready to eat my breakfast, which, of course, I did.

Straight after breakfast I headed out and watered some pot plants, and the strangest thing happened, I had a clowder of local cats following me around the garden sniffing the air.

Ha ha. Sooty and Snowball and Tiger and Zazzy. Titus and Sylvester and Marmalade and Jinx. Grumpy Cat and Mr Bigglesworth and ColeStar and T.C.

The day sparkled

I followed these guys for quite a while, not intensionally, they were just walking the same way I was

A Temperature and a Dry Cough

She came and stood next to me and coughed and coughed. We stood there together, she and I. 

When she’d stopped coughing, I looked at her, she looked at me.

Then she coughed and coughed and coughed again. Her face turned scarlet.

When she was done, I looked at her again, and she looked at me.

She coughed and cough and coughed some more.

I looked at her, she looked at me. I took a step away from her in these covid19 days.

She’d stopped coughing and she shrugged.

"Ventilator?" I said.

She laughed nervously and said, "Well, let's hope it is cancer."

The sun shone down

This boy had a great arse, big handsome Italian that he was

Uploading DVD in Between Doing Work

I'm still uploading DVD's to my new hard drive, as I said I will probably be up loading DVDs until next year. All my old black & white movies. 

Bette Davis is first, then Katherine Hepburn, then Elizabeth Taylor, how gay is that for a sentence? All my old B&W movies, I have collected quite a few when I stop and take a look at them. Mostly I have rummaged through sale bins to find them, but then there is that DVD shop at the top of Bourke Street from where the rest have come.

Then it will be Paul Newman and the rest of the guys.

Then it will be my Australian collection.

Then it will be all my more modern movies.

Sam was doing it to start with, but I have now taken over. (Because waiting for him was boring) I thought I was doing well, but Sam said I hadn't done one part of the process. 

"Funny how you expect me to know stuff even when I haven't been shown even once," I said.

"You are a smart guy," said Sam. "It is all just folders and files, like any other computer application. You should know what you are doing."

He is the IT guy, of course.

And he has installed an app that makes the hard drive appear on the TV just like Netflix, or Amazon, which is pretty cool.

Conservative Politics

So, every conservative politician from Scummo, Fat Boy Josh, that complete fool (bought by political donations) Craig Kelly, all the conservative commentators, Alan old-vile-cunt Jones, all the fools on that abomination Sky News, Peta Cretin, even as far as that foul American screamer Tomi Lahren all screamed "Arsonist, arsonist," when Australia had its bush fires.

"Australia has an arsonist problem, not a climate change problem," they all blabbered on.

Unanimous were all these idiots in their calls.

Well, the enquiry has concluded, and apart from one, or two fires, every one of them was started by lightening, the intensity of which was most likely as a result of climate change.

And someone asked me the other day why I don't say nice things about conservative politics, and that is because time and time again they have all been proven to tell any lie to push their agenda.

How many fires were started by arsonists? Probably none.

And how many of these conservative twats went back to the public and corrected their deliberate lies, er, errors? Also none.

It Was A Sunday Kind Of Day

It was Sunday and we did Sunday things. We shopped for food, earlyish. We had Buddy and Bruno with us, as we were going to the park afterwards, so I waited outside in the sunshine while Sam shopped.

It really was a gorgeous day, the sun sparkled, the sky was blue. I was chatting to a nice lady with a puggle, I have old lady charm, they always love me, (probably more of a gay thing than a me thing. Maybe?) standing in the sun, with her telling me that she grew up with bulldogs, when a bunch of lads barged their way into our conversation.

"What kind of dog is this mate? What kind of dog is this mate? What kind of dog is this mate?" a voice started asking me with a distinct sense of urgency. Your usual meth head with no manners to speak of.

"Err... English."

"Is this a bitch? Is this a bitch? Is this a bitch?" said the next guy.

I turned my gaze to him to see his big brown eyes and his gorgeous lips..."

"No… ah… he's a boy." Just like you are, handsome. “They are both boys.”

“They are awesome, they are awesome, they are awesome,” said the first guy.

Ashamedly, the nice lady with the puggle was forgotten about in the intrusion.

And then they were gone. The Abbottsford druggies. I kind of like the characters a suburb throws up, thankfully we aren’t all the same. Do they do bad things? Not to me. But then, I have always been more drawn to ‘the other’ people, they are generally more interesting than the ‘normal’ people. I’m not saying I’d like these guys but, you know, the sentiment is still the same.

I watched the puggle lady walk up the street with her husband.


We took the dogs to the off-lead park, the morning light glistened, the weather was fantastic. We met up with three other bulldogs, Rupert, Daisy and Hugo. There were lots of dogs in the park. Bruno still hasn't quite mastered the concept of off-lead, we tried and he made a run for it, so he was put back on his lead pretty smartly. It is not so much how it affects us, it is the possibility of him jumping all over other people excitedly that is really the problem.

We ate roast chicken and vegetables for dinner. Yum, yum. Who said roast chicken is hard to cook.

We bought a new hard drive and are in the process of uploading all our DVDs to the hard drive. You just don't realise how many DVDs you have until you take on this project. Funny, as I set each one up to copy, I thought to myself, when did I last watch this? When do I think I will watch it again? But, what the hell, it doesn't cost anything but time.

Oh, time...

Except, I am going to be uploading DVDs until Xmas.

E.M.D.S.

He was a sexy boy

Morning Walk

10.10am. I head out into the cold for an hour’s exercise. Carlton Gardens here we come… er… I come. It is grey and overcast and cold.

I am listening to the re-released Goats Head Soup album. I like it, but then I don’t think the Rolling Stones have ever released a dud album.

10.20am. Walking in the sun the day is warm and quite nice, balmy, but sunny. The sun is warm, but the breeze is cool.

10.30am. I had to take my hoodie off, I was getting a sweat up. I should have worn shorts instead of track pants, it is so hard to tell what to wear as spring takes effect.

There is just a bunch of oldies walking in the gardens this morning, of which I don’t consider myself, but it is all relative, I guess. Ask a twenty year old what they think and I am sure the answer would be different.

10.35am. My ring closed and I didn’t feel a thing. (did you see what I did there?) It is an Apple watch thing, I’m still not completely sure what it means, or if it is even a good thing.

10.40am. Two hot boys in shorts with really great legs, and good shorts, you know, masculine and fitting, jogged up and passed. One boy’s eyes connected with mine as he jogged passed. I can’t help but turn around to gaze at his arse, something I never normally do. My motto, you can look all you like, but never turn your head to look some more.

The usual guy walking the white staffy walks towards me over by the driveway into Rathdowne Street. It is interesting how you get the regulars.

The grass was green, the sun shone, it was a lovely day, as I walked around the sweeping bend near Victoria Parade.

Then a boy jogged by in tiny black shorts barely keeping him nice, and a black singlet, with his pale white skin passing me as I crossed the plaza in front of the museum off Nicholson Street.

Then every mother’s handsome dream son sprinted towards me at the driveway to the museum. Strapping. Muscular. Handsome. Athletic.

A girl with a plucky Jack Russell by the tennis courts pulling forward on his lead, walks towards me, he was quite a handsome little devil.

There was a man with a black French playing in the middle of the brilliant green lawn

A beefy guy all dressed in black with a Westie (small white dog with pointy ears on a lead) walking towards the Carlton and Nicholson Street cnr. You know they say dogs look like their owners, well, he, they didn’t. I wondered if he was walking his girlfriend’s dog?

There was a guy with a Chow walking towards the Carlton Street driveway. And a girl with a black and white Papillon, also walking towards the Carlton Street driveway, her Papillon getting yappy towards the Chow.

There was a woman with a Beagle, young with great colours. Beagles often fade as they get older. Don't we all, I think.

The middle aged guy with the grey hair who is a regular walking in the park in the morningswas in the park walking this morning. We don’t acknowledge each other. I should remember to give him a smile next time. Although, with a mask on, he probably wouldn’t notice, hey?

If I don’t stop writing this shit I will never get any exercise done, I think. I look up and see every mother's dream son sprinting down the hill towards me. I get photos of him as he is running down the hill towards me, (None of them turn out to be great) pretending to take shots of the trees.
A girl with a big, white feisty Groodle, which she lets off the lead and it chases a ball enthusiastically, walks in from Carlton Street.

A girl with a black greyhound saunters along.

I see those two guys on the park bench like modern art, posed just so

Two boof joggers sit on the park bench together by the Carlton Street driveway. One with “Super Brock” emblazoned across the back of his sweat shirt, and the other with a buzz cut. They sit next to each other not speaking like a gay couple who have been together for too many years.

I take an extended break at 3.42 ks to write notes into my phone. To photograph every mother's dream son and the two boof joggers, so much so that my watch trip-o-metre thing goes into automatic pause. Rude, I think. So, I soon get going up the hill and around the caretakers red brick cottage.

There are two women with toddlers and prams meandering along the path heading out to the Rathdowne Carlton Street cnr.

Another regular, the girl with the collie comes walking towards me, as I turn the corner to head up the Rathdowne Street straight.

There is black guy with his small son both in masks looking adorable sitting on a park bench together.

There is girl jogging in the huge pink mask that makes her look a bit like an alien, with the golden lab comes running at me as I approach the rubiks cube.

Every mother’s handsome son sprints by at the other museum plaza on Rathdowne Street, red faced and glistening with sweat, shiny and wet.

Only one of the two regular cute Asian boys jogging with their dog runs passed, I wonder if he has split up from his boyfriend? Two boys together are always boyfriends to me.

The regular blond jogger, I call (young) David McCallum, jogs by.

The sun is out, as are the hot boys now. The blue skies make them slide their arses into shorts and propel themselves out their front doors.

There is a fat girl talking into her phone coming up from the Victoria and Rathdowne cnr, I imagine she is pretending to exercise, but really she is just dawdling along yapping into her phone.

Star Fucker plays

The cute Asian boy and his dog, pass me for a second time, just as I am coming up to Gertrude Street.

There is a gaggle of toddlers and prams and parents under the Oak tree. Isn’t there a song about that?

There is a woman planting plants on the fence line of the last Royal Terrace terrace house. I think, as I walk passed, the bulldogs will have a great time snuffling in them when we come for a walk this afternoon.

Guys with beards and masks look weird, they look like unshaved bikini lines.

11.25am. I’m home again. I have a shit and a shower.

We have Sam’s fancy instant noodles for lunch.

I Had a Dream

I had a dream that I was by the beach with a woman whose baby was tiny, as small as shrimp, and the same colour. The baby dives into the water and swims about and I ask the woman isn’t she concerned about the baby, as we can’t see it swimming about. But she assures me that the baby will be alright. We stand in the water up to our knees and try to watch the baby. I can’t see the baby, but the woman seems to be able to. Or is she trying to find the baby? I can’t tell. We both stare down at the water.

She says, “It will be okay.”

I am up at 6.45am. Bing! Eyes open. The baby, the baby... ha, ha. And just as quickly the dream is evaporating from my brain. The mother was someone famous, but the detail was the first to go. I had an image of her face in my mind, but as soon as I tried to think who it was the image disappeared, a bit like trying to grab a pen with my finger tips, only to have it roll a bit further away with every attempt.

I can’t have coffee, or food, as I am going to have a blood test this morning, to see what my blood sugars are doing. I curse the morning for getting up so early. It is a long time to wait until 9.20am, when the queen at the clinic told me to come in.

"There is often a rush at 9am," he said in his efficient voice. "I'd suggest you come in at about 9.20am." Dotting his i's and cruising his t's.

I got a huge glass of water and drank that, until it was time to have a shower and get ready.

I got there right on 9.20am, and it was true I was ushered right into the girl in the blue smock and the glass vials.

Then it was done and I was in the car driving home, when I remembered I was going to ride my bike to the clinic this morning. Oh well. Hopefully, the 8 kilos I have lost - even if I seem to be stuck at 8 kilos unable to progress to 10 kilos weight loss - and the hour of exercise I have done every day since my doctor gave me the results of my last blood test 3 months ago has been enough to bring my blood sugars down.

Guido messaged me just as I got home saying he was delivering. I wondered how he had the nerve to do deliveries in the lock down period where we are not allowed to venture beyond 5 kilometres from home. And if I could just have a j in the morning and a j at lunch time and a j in the afternoon, I wouldn't hesitate to say yes, but I can't, I am too much of a pig, woofing it down like there is no tomorrow, ending up with Sam looking at me like I am pathetic, and I really hate that. So, it's a no from me now a days. My pot days are over. Tra la la.

Ex-PM Credlin's sex tape with Ex-chief of Staff Abbott

First Day of Spring

First of the month. The beginning of Spring. The beginning of the best season. 

Of course, summer is wonderful, all that sunshine. And Autumn is gorgeous, all that colour. And winter, well, winter makes you appreciate the other seasons, it is nice to feel the difference. We walk our muddy footprints out of winter.  

But spring, spring is when everything is new and vibrant and vital. Tiny green signs of life on those bare branches suddenly appear. All those flowers, everything blooming. Everything comes alive in spring.


7.52am. David calls me, I am dumbfounded, as he is the guy who scratches around until 3am, doing god knows what, then never getting up before midday, never having had a real job in his life helps. Oh, except when he worked as a doctor, but he hated every minute of that and soon gave it up for guru’dom.

His opening line is, “Why? Can you tell me why anyone would be up at this hour?”

“I was up at 6am…”

“What’s wrong with you?”

“Are you playing with David (Our vague friend Sarah, except he hates it whenever anyone calls him that) again?” The other David has lived up north for some time and he and David have got chummy.

“No, I have mirrors coming.”

“Not for above your bed, I hope...”

“No.” He laughed. “Wardrobes and other places.”

“Just as well you don’t want to be crying during sex, it’s really not a good look.”

We both laugh.

“It puts the trade off his game.”