I Found An Old Journal

I found an old journal yesterday when I was looking for something else, what that was I forget now.

Wow! An old hand written journal. I remember, this is the one I used to carry with me in my satchel, for writing on the move. At work, and such places, before I took Sam's Mac Air.

I get to add to my journals, who'd have thought. I always find that kind of a thrill. I guess you have to write a journal, and perhaps be a virgo, to feel the same way. (There are so many times in my life that I wished I wrote my journal when I didn't, that it is always exciting to fill in more blank pages)

Well, I know what I'll be doing on my days off, keying it in.

Well, it is writing... of sorts, even if it isn't anything new, and that nobody will probably ever read it. Still, it's not such a waste of time as vintage male nudes, at least. It's heading in the right direction, surely. Yeah, it is.

Following these guys was not a chore, they were fine, strapping boys
Solider on with Codral, soldier on (sniffing out the crotch of their undies would clear your nostrils beautifully)

I went for a walk before I got on to my newly found journal writing. 

There were busloads of police in the park, don't know why. There must have been something going on, I guess. I was going to ask, but when it came down to it, it wasn't worth the effort of turning off my head phones.

These three coppers at the back, were... yes officer, anything you want officer. 😀

I Woke Up To Rain

I woke up to rain. Is it too cliched to say the world was crying? (Probably at all the lies our Prime Minister, Scott Morrison has been telling) Any hint of summer we had been feeling completely gone.

I woke up to rain. Is it too cliched to say the world was crying? (Probably at all the lies our Prime Minister, Scott Morrison has been telling) Any hint of summer we had been feeling completely gone.

I felt a shiver as I stood in the kitchen gazing out to the garden. Brrrr.

"Well, that is a shame," I said out loud. I was just beginning to enjoy the sun. Still, with global warming, how much should we look forward to summer now a days. There is probably safety in winter.

I switched on the coffee machine.

The colour was washed out of the world. It was all a bit grey looking out my windows. Quiet, still and grey. The sun was behind its winter diffuser, making it soft almost behind a Vaseline filter.

Look on the bright side, it was nice walking in the park in the cooler weather later in the morning. Less people out and about too, the fatties don’t come out unless the sun is shining. (Although, the annoying chicks who yabber into their phones walking right behind you do, as I also found out. Pet hate!)

The threat of the anti-everything protesters (oh why don’t I just say it, the racists) must have diminished considerably as there was only the old grey, close to retirement cops patrolling the park. The ones who give you a nod and a wink. The strapping young coppers with the beautiful eyes are nowhere to be seen.

Tuesday, Hump Day

Ah, fuck it Tuesday. What can I say? It is my Wednesday, but with only one other day on either side. One more day before I run away and hide. 

Got to love it.

What is it they say about hump day? It is the toughest day of the week. Perpetually stuck in the middle with nowhere to go. The middle child, of the days. It makes you cry? Contemplate suicide. Isn’t that what they say? (of course, ‘they’ say a lot of things) The day you are going to break down, or throw a rope over a beam. So, it would seem.

Not for me, with just one day either side.

It's been a long time since I have cried. I can’t remember why? I quite like crying though, it's cleansing, I’m not shy. Let the tears slide, down my rose pink cheeks.

Or someone's died? (Oh, passed, sorry to anyone who was offended) Remember, hand twinkles in the air, some people are triggered by clapping, if you believe that)

Are we breeding them soft?

There is a big difference between modifying the language to help eradicate sexism and racism and homophobia and transphobia and bigotry, and pandering to everyone else.

Sometimes I think those in the majority see allowances and modifications made for minorities to help them have an easier life, influencing them to want special treatment too. But it is not special treatment if you are being discriminated against. It is special treatment if you are not being discriminated against. It is a difficult point for some people to grasp.

Only Black Lives Matter, because all lives already do.

Tuesday? Who'd have thought.

Here's to Charlie Watts and Sarah Dash, to great lives lived well.

I've got all my work done by 2pm. Sam is cooking me lunch, prawns and noodles. Time for an extended break. Gotta luv that. Have I told you I love working from home?

Monday

Ah Monday, what can I say? They come around again and again. 

Back to work, back on the chain. I don't need work to keep me sane.

I never understand those people who say, if I didn't work, I wouldn't know what to do? Seriously? I wouldn't know what not to do. I'd want to do everything, all at once? So many things from which to choose. (But, then I google vintage nudes for days when I have days off?)

I started at 6.30am, just the time I got up. I don't fight getting up early, it's good to get everything done, undisturbed. There is something slightly cathartic about early mornings.

I went for a walk late morning. Twice around the park for an hour. There were gaggles of police out and about. I guess the anti everything  protests had bought them out. (no gorgeous eyes looking out from behind masks like there were on Saturday with all the cops guarding parliament house)

And I took a two hour lunch. Why not?

And then back to the grind. (Oh the pain 😀)

I got all my work done by mid afternoon. Easy peasy, hoo hoo. I love working from home. It is the best. I certainly don’t understand those people who say they feel disassociated with their work colleagues. And there is no differentiation between work and home blah, blah, blah.

We took the dogs for a walk, once we'd go all our work done. Late, sunny afternoon.

We ate soba noodles for dinner. There is a way of eating them, dip your fork in the wasabi, pick up the noodles, dip them in the broth. Yum. And teriyaki chicken. Yum, yum. I’ve got a chef for a boyfriend. And the icing on the good food cake is that I never have to cook. Win win.

We went to bed early. Sam, Buddy, Bruno and me. Not quite 10pm. I fell asleep on the couch in front of the teev. And Sam is really quick to shut everything down if I fall asleep in front of the TV.

Distractions

I've been collecting vintage male nudes on the internet. What won't I do to distract me from writing? What can I say? I'm not sure it is deliberate? But then, what is deliberate?

I was tidying up a couple of folders on my big, storage hard drive, Thursday morning, first thing, when I found a collection, a tiny collection, I had started a few years ago. Surely, we can do better than that, I thought?

I had a few stray photos I had collected randomly. I googled a few more. And then there I was adding to the collection. It progressed from there. I found a photographer I liked and then I became Hercule Poirot tracking his photos down.

And it was all over from there.

And suddenly it was Sunday night and I'd done nothing else. It is amazing how time slips away. And nothing else constructive got done, all weekend. Nothing. Grrr!

When collecting vintage male nudes, I stumbled across a few vintage female nudes and I can see where the nicknames of beaver and muff and growler comes from. 

There are these pretty women seductively and sexily showing off their genitals that are this wild mass of black hair. It now looks like something out of a sketch comedy show. Do you want to look like grandma?

Oh no, nobody wants to see that. Girls, girls, girls, get your Brazilians please, it is so much better if you do. 

I heard a feminist say not so long ago, that 20 year old boys have never seen a hairy snatch, like it was a bad thing. Those boys will be thanking their girlfriends for that. I’m sure a millennial boy would be traumatised by such sights. Still, it would give us an excuse to comfort them. There, there, don’t you worry about that, come sit with me.

Sorry Sir

I went and asked the 21 year old boys next door to turn their music down, and I found it kind of hot when they called me sir.

I momentarily pictured the main offender, the junior alpha male, the one with the most bravado and the cheekiest smile, in his undies, on his knees in front of me. 

I shook my head, and he was back standing fully dressed in front of me looking at me with a nervous smile. 

"Thanks, that would be appreciated," I said.

"No problem," he said. He smiled the smile of someone who will never have a worry in his life.

(Young, handsome, university educate male)

$90 Billion Re-election Bid

Everybody stand and give a rousing applause to Scott Morrison and his govt. You just have to hand it to them, the sheer skill that they pull off spin and bullshit has to be admired for its breath taking ruthlessness of the delivery.

It is fairly well agreed that the Morrison govt has screwed everything up they have attempted in the last 12 months from the bush fire response to the pandemic and the vaccine roll out, to the treatment of women, with Morrisons remarkable clueless response to Britney Higgins. 

(That’s not even mentioning that the Liberal Party had increased the debt exponentially before the pandemic hit, which they, of course, will blame on the pandemic.)

A few months ago, that miserable piece of shit Dutton started the narrative, the drums of war with China and the great big lie that we are at war with China, if not stated directly, it certainly was implied, so much so that a couple of members of the great unwashed stopped me in the street to tell me we were, actually, at war with China.

Then, apparently, the end of the war the conservatives started, in Afghanistan happened, and Biden failed at the resolve, and Boris Johnson, stuffing up everything in Great Britain, and they were all looking for a distraction. 

And now we have AUKUS (the irony that is sounds a bit like the slang abbreviation to awkward AWKS, is not lost on me) and the Chinese have been pissed off yet again, and the French were made expendable, and we are making a lovely big announcement of increased military capability to fight the slump in the polls at home war with China that at least the fringe voters who elect Australian governments think we are fighting, all so the empathy deleted Scumo can have a better shot at winning the next election, after his string of most recent failures.

One of the big problems is that our economic future is probably tied to a great extent to the EU and China, the people we have pissed off and keep pissing off to win domestically.

Can you imagine that lion's head as a belt buckle? I can.
The clasp below, the fly, struggling to keep it all contained, of course.
After that, can you imagine the thighs, thick and muscular.
Standing strong like oak.
I can.

 

To all the boys I've loved before

Who travelled in and out my door

I'm glad they came along

I dedicate this song

To all the boys I've loved before

To all the boys I once caressed

And may I say, I've held the best

For helping me to grow, I owe a lot, I know

To all the boys I've loved before

The winds of change are always blowing

And every time I tried to stay

The winds of change continued blowing

(like all the boys I’ve known)

And they just carried me away

To all the boys who shared my life

Who now are someone else's guys

I'm glad they came along

I dedicate this song

To all the boys I've loved before

To all the boys who cared for me

Who filled my nights with ecstasy

They live within my heart

I'll always be a part

Of all the boys I've loved before

The winds of change are always blowing

And every time I tried to stay

The winds of change continued blowing

And they just carried me away

To all the boys we've loved before

Who travelled in and out our door

We're glad they came along

We dedicate this song

To all the boys we've loved before

To all the boys we've loved before

Who travelled in and out our doors

We're glad they came along

We dedicate this song

To all the boys we've loved before

To All The Italian Boys I’ve Known, before

8.35am. And I have everything wrapped up. I stared at 7am, but still that is pretty good. In fact, if I played my cards right, that might be it for the day. Boris (my boss) is away, not that Boris ever bothers me. Finished at 8.30am, only works 3 days per week, so this is my Friday, and she still complains about working. Sam just gives me that exasperated look, like go tell it to the marines (I must look up the origin of that expression, I know what image it puts in my head, but, in all fairness, that is probably not the image that particular saying was going for, but I digress) You just have to love working from home, best thing since, well, evolution put penis’ on Italian men. (to Lee, Michael, Lauri and Maurice, here’s to you guys)

It’s a bit grey and overcast outside, and the summer seems to have been sucked out of the day like last call at a feltching party, but you can’t have everything, I guess. (of course, go tell that to the trust fund kids and see what response you get)

It must be time for more coffee but, of course, it is always time for more coffee. That and some crunchy Turkish bread toast. Lovely.

Just after 9am, I was thinking I'd better get my lazy arse out the door for a walk, and everything rattled. An earth tremor is very unusual in Melbourne so they are kind of interesting. We just don't get them.

Now, I'm going for my hours walk.

Film noir. Thriller
They'll be passing through here in a convertible any time soon.
Do not approach, they are armed and dangerous.

 

Trust an HR Professional

One of the brains trust from HR is complaining that she has been paid too much parental leave from the government and she can’t cope. Truthfully, this is the only time an employee has made this complaint in my knowledge and it had to be a member of our illustrious HR team.

It has come to me to sort it out. (You know when you feel your grip on life letting go ever so slightly)

Now when I say she has been paid too much, no error has been made, as such, as far as I can ascertain. Centrelink has made a catch up payment to her, because her initial claim was messed up, something she claims was Centrelink’s fault, but seriously I have to question anything the HR brains trust claims, from passed (do I have to add bitter) experience, and that payment takes her to a couple of weeks in the future.

So, essentially, she now wants to pay that money back to us, so we can pay her exactly the same amount in two weeks’ time. (No, Seriously) 

She can’t cope with big amounts, or some such thing, who the fuck would know.

The government gives them free money and still they complain.

The first email I wrote was, go away and enjoy your free money and stop bothering me with your first world problems you entitled fool. I find it does me good to write such emails out, it gets it out of my system somewhat. (And hopefully, I will never get so distracted to hit send instead of delete L)

I deleted that one and went and made coffee instead.

I put it on the back burner for a while.

Then I wrote her out all the facts plain and simple. Send.

She responded with, It is my understanding that the government pays the money to the company and then the company pays it to the employee.

I read her reply and it was one of those moments where you feel yourself tilt you head and squint an eye, where there is only the faintest sound of crickets somewhere in the distance.

I wrote an email back agreeing with her. I didn’t know what else to say. Oh yes, of course, I could have said, I’m sorry I’m not following, could you explain to me a little further, but, seriously, I had already wasted enough time on this nonsense.

Midday is started to rain.

Sunday, So Far Away

Early Sunday morning, I’m watching Youtube when I look at the time. I should go for a walk, I think, but I am so comfortable and the wind is blowing outside.

I push myself to go for a walk. Think it, do it. Go for a walk every day without exception, I remind myself.

I have a shit before I leave, not wanting to put too finer point on it. Somehow, I manage to get shit on my thumb, oh Jesus, and when I reach for the toilet paper to clean it up, I manage to wipe the shit across my thigh. Ah crap! I shake my head. 

9.50am. I leave for my walk. I cross to the sunny side of the street  first thing I do, and as soon as I do, as I am acclimatising, there is a guy in black track pants walking towards me, and I could see his dick moving in his pants with each step he took, and it was a big sausage. He is looking at his phone as he walks so he is oblivious to where I am looking.

I start whistling, Soldier on with Codral, you know, something to suck on.

I call David, we live for stories of our failures, it is what old girlfriends do.

“It always worries me when you call me,” he says. “That someone has died.” (Okay, I’m not good at phone calls, but I don’t have to be, as David is. We speak every day, despite my recalcitrance)

I launch into my story straight away. “On my fucken’ thumb, Jesus Christ!”

David laughs nervously. (Adjusting to the subject matter)

“Then my thigh! Do you believe it?”

David laughs some more.

I ask him if this is what I can expect now? Is it all downhill from here? He says it is. “Not 20 anymore.” I told him I felt I had to report in on the ongoing decrepitude and he tells me about his latest weight gain. We both laughed.

The chick with her bull terrier that used to play with the bulldogs, but is now not able to be trusted, is at Nicholson Street pedestrian crossing when I got there, but I kept walking on the red lights as there was no traffic so I didn’t say hello.

There are two Ridgebacks crossing the plaza in front of me. They are beautiful.

There is a gorgeous blue French bulldog coming towards me as I cross the driveway, one of its ears was still floppy so it was still just a puppy. I can’t help telling the owners what a gorgeous dog he has.

A cute jogger with wild hair and great, hairy legs in short black shorts jogs towards me as I walk down passed the tennis courts. I imagine he is French, he looks French. (French boys are filthy, they always want things shoved up their arses. My last trip to New Caledonia comes to mind)

Pugs and Cavaliers ensue. They seem to be the dog of the day.

Then there is a serene jogger jogging towards me in sun glass at a slow pace. He looks too cool for the rest of us plebs exercising this morning, in his knee length shorts and tie-dyed shirt. (I wonder if he is stoned)

There are girls on rollerblades and rollerskates coming toward me across the plaza on the other side of the museum looking like a fast moving octopus, such is there attitude.

There are more stupid people exercising in puffer jackets at the crossing on the Rathdowne Street side. I just don’t get it.

There are more French bulldogs. French Bulldogs, Pugs and Cavaliers seem to be the dog de jour.

10.15am. I stop for a piss at the second pissoir down Rathdowne Street 

A strapping Indian boy is going in after me, it gives me a thrill picturing him with his cock out. Big, solid, thick thighs. (nose twitch)

10.30am. There is a huge line snaking around the perimeter of the Exhibition Buildings to the plaza outside the museum on Nicholson Street as I come around for the second time, lining up for their vaccines. I’m guessing the treat of not being allowed to play with the other kids in the future have got them all off their bums. Or, is it an age allowed thing just come up?

There is an Old English sheep dog with a top knot with a bow as I approach the tennis courts for the second time, towards which the girls on skates make their second appearance. They whizz passed at speed. I hate Old English Sheep Dogs with tops knots, I think.

I’m having a hey fever attack as I get to the corner passed the tennis courts for the second time, which nearly makes me head for home, but I don’t. I resist. Just keep going, don’t be a baby! My hey fever manifests itself in a tickle down my throat and what, essentially, presents as a dry cough, so I wonder what the rest of the dweebs in the park might think. (Quickly followed by the thought, they won’t think anything, they won’t stop thinking about themselves long enough)

I see the two ridgebacks again as I head down the Rathdowne Street side again.

I see the Old English Sheep dog again, crossing the pedestrian crossing. 

The girls on the skates come up the diagonal path from the middle of the gardens at speed, as I head down the Victoria and Rathdowne Street corner for the last time.

 

I stand out the back and gaze at the disaster that is the collapsed creeper on the back wall. I shake my head and try to convince myself that it will all grow back, which it will, of course.

I head inside and watch a movie. Still Life, about a couple who get themselves a male robot to help them with their lives with which they both become romantically involved.

Outlaws

The sun is shining, there is cool air blowing in the open back door, first thing. The bulldogs are both on the big couch, behind me. I am sitting on the floor.

Sam has some game he has to pick up in Dandenong for the longest time, which he suggests from time to time that we should go and collect, except Dandenong is 29 kilometres away, of which I remind him when he mentions it.

“It will have to wait until after lockdown.” 

Sad Face.

This morning, he said he wanted to go and pick up another game in Glen Iris, which is 11 kilometres away. Initially, I said no, but then I thought about it. Fuck it. Rules, rules, everywhere there are rules, blockin' out the scenery, breakin' my mind. Do this, don't do that, Can't you follow the rules?

We have followed every set rule religiously. (And seriously, I am willing to follow them for however long it takes, it is a pandemic, after all)

So, I said lets go.

9am. We sneak off to Glen Iris. We take Bruno just in case we are stopped we can say we are taking him to Glen Iris Park to exercise. Oh, you know, 

“We were bored with lockdown, wanting to change the scenery, I googled it before we left, officer, and it was within range.” Sincere face. (I picture one of those strapping coppers in those blue pants tightly fitting his muscular frame, but that is a story for another day)

It is just over 10 kilometres from home but we could fudge that, you know, by lying, (thank you federal Liberal Party for showing us the way) we thought it was 10 kilometres, we googled it and all. Going to someone’s house is not one of the 5 reasons to leave home, you understand, but, nyr.

Gertrude Street > Nicholson Street > Victoria Street > Barkers Road > Auburn Road > Burgess Street > Tooronga Road > Anderson Road > Bonfield Avenue > Clifton Road > Clifton Grove > Toorak Road > Burke Road > Monash Freeway > High Street, right passed Glen Iris Park > blah blah > blah blah > blah blah.

9.30am. We’re in Glen Iris. The sun is shining down like warm honey.

Sam heads to the front door, as I walk Bruno. He and I stand at the top of the drive way after he has had a wee. Sam is on the front veranda with the woman selling the game, business is conducted outside, masks are worn by everyone, Bruno included. Well, not Bruno, but I could help adding that image because it would be too cute for words.

Bruno begins to bark. She says he must be able to smell her 10 year old dog which is inside the house, but I have to wonder about that. I know dog’s noses are their super sense, but seriously?

I want to go, but Sam wants to look at the house for sale on corner. He asks me incessantly until I comment on him rabbiting on. It turns out to be the corner of [name] Street, where [name of choir mistress] used to live. It is spooky how your past can suddenly catch up with you in the most unexpected ways. It all looked so different to how I remember it…

There is a [big dog] on the other side of the road that seems keen to meet up with Bruno, as we head to the car. I wonder if the girl hanging on to it is going to manage to keep it at bay, because she looks like she is struggling, as she keeps pace with us up the street. Truthfully, it just looks like a big, goofy dog.

Game procured, we head for home. Sam announces when we are within the 10 kilometre range, which is pretty quick. I mean the distance is a grey area, and, as our illustrious Prime Minister has taught us himself, I claim we were never beyond the 10 kilometre rule. Easy. 

We see a car being pulled up on the Monash by Highway Patrol and, of course, that could be for any reason, but you have to wonder, just at the Toorak Road exit, which we take. The copper in question has a great arse, as we slip by in the outer lane

We wend our way through Toorak and all the ridiculously big mansion that no one in this world really needs, and slip up Burnley Street to cross over from the south side to the north side.

It is the day of the threatened anti everything protests in the city, so I think Burnley Street is a sensible alternative to what may be happening in the other parts of the inner city, only to find out from the 6pm news that because the police kept the protesters out of the city, Burnley Street became the epicentre of all the trouble for the day. Thank the universe that we slipped through a few hours earlier.

Chop Chop Chop

I get my hour of exercise over and done with early. Twice around the park. Black women singing in my ears.

I spend the rest of the day cutting down the collapsed creeper. It really is a fuck up. No, seriously. I get stuck in. Sam comes out and chop, chop, chops too. It seems daunting. But it’s not. Time consuming? Kind of? Not really, as I had it all done but early afternoon. Well, not cleaned up, it is still lying all over the ground. But it is cut down. Detached. Shit is still everywhere, but it just needs to be cleaned up. Easy. I’ll get to it.

I still got dirt in my hair and scratches on my shins.

That was my Friday.

Bruno seems better. Even if he was determined to lick the blood off my leg.

Time to catch up my blog. And order a few movies on eBay. I lit a fire and burnt the dead bits of the creeper in my fire place.

The scabs from the scratches (from the day the creeper came down) on my forearms feels like braille.

Bruno's Been Sick

Bruno has been sick. It started yesterday, or maybe the previous evening.

First of all, it sounded like he had something caught in his throat, which he couldn't clear. We had just fed him drumsticks and wondered if that was the problem, which was concerning. We've always fed him drumsticks, though, so it wasn't like it was anything new.

So, my day off, time to take him to the vet. I was going to start cleaning up the collapsed creeper, but what can you do? The creeper would have to wait.

I called my vet to book Bruno in, however, my vet is booked out until mid October. Mid October? What? Apparently, there is a state wide shortage of vets. They've all gone to their Portsea beach houses to wait out the pandemic.

There is another vet that I go to if I can't go to my vet, (I don't go to the local vet as they tend to charge double the vet I go to, which is a 20 to 30 minute drive. Dogs first, carbon footprint second) so this morning I headed to my alternative vet, (also a 20 to 30 minute drive). It doesn't take bookings, it sees everyone on a first come first serve basis from 9am. So, I drove for half an hour and got there at 9am.

The covid procedure was to call from the car park upon arrival, so that is what I did.

The receptionist sounded stressed out, she said would put me on the list.  "I have to warn you, there is something like a one and a half to two hour wait. And it is $180, plus any medication."

“A 2 hour wait?”

“Yes, it has been crazy here. We will call you when we are ready for you.”

Two hour wait, I thought. I got Bruno out of the car for a wee. Then I settled back into my car seat, somewhat unwillingly, for the wait.

$180? Two hours in the car. Well, at least the sun was shining.

$180? Even my local vet that seems to be able to out charge anyone wouldn't be charging that much, I was sure.

So, I called my local vet and the cheery, relaxed voice told me they were taking appointments.

"Oh, great."

"I could fit you in today."

"What time would that be?"

"I have an appointment at 3pm."

“And how much is it?”

“$89.00.”

I left for home. Well, that was a success, I thought, as I started my 30 minutes drive home.

Mid morning, I was home again. Just time to go for my hours walk.

I ordered some fertiliser from Bunnings on a click and collect basis. My understanding of the instructions was make the order one day and pick them up the next day after 9am. I ordered them on Saturday, and hadn't heard until I got back from my walk, time to pick it up. So, I was just going to drive straight down after my walk and pick it up. 

Sam couldn't believe I was driving, but I reassured him I was as I just wanted to be quick. "Well, if you are going to drive, we can go shopping at the same time."

So, then it was shopping. Grrr!

And then lunch.

I walked to the vet at 3pm. And I was seen immediately. And for half the cost of what it was going to be this morning.

I got home at 4pm. And finally, it was time to get stuck into the collapsed creeper. I walked out and looked at it, and considered how I was going to approach it. And sighed. "Oh, fuck it," I said out loud. And I headed inside and lay on the couch.

Some days you win, some days you lose, and some days you chase your tail looking for a better deal. Life, hey?

My Morning in the Office

I’m up early, I’m always up early. I sign into work early. 7am. Blah, blah, blah, that’s what my brain does when I think about work.

I ate my breakfast and then get my lazy arse out the door early and go for a walk for an hour. (30 to 60 minutes walking a day reduces the risk of heart disease by 40%, I repeat that to myself and it gets me up and gets me walking) You’ve got to love working from home.

The sun is shining.

Head phones in, I shut the front door. As I step up to the lights at Nicholson I tripped on nothing in particular and fell forward grabbing a post to stop myself, just as a car whizzed by. I could feel the slipstream of the car blow against my face. Wow, I think, that is how accidents happen so easily.

It’s a lovely day not to fall in front of a speeding car.

Twice around the park and home again and that is an hour.

There is a hot boy with beefy arse in tight tan pants drinking coffee on the first corner of the park. Nice, I think. Soldier on.

Walking down Rathdowne Street a guy jogs passed me from behind. I am lost in my walking world, singing to myself, enjoying the fresh air. The next time I look the jogger is half way around the park on the other side. How did he do that? I wish I could still jog, but if I do I get a shin splint in my right leg which makes it almost impossible to walk, let along run.

Obese boy walks towards me in black, good for him, he is out every morning exercising, along the Rathdowne Street end of the museum.

9.30am. I’m home again. Back to my office for my rest of my day at work.

After work, we take the dogs for a walk.

How come I am putting on weight when I am doing all this walking, I think?

Yellow

 

Makes me want to hum that Cold Play song, the colours are so beautiful

Mandarin Monster

I’ve turned into a mandarin monster. No, that doesn’t mean I am displaying the characteristic of a tyrannical Chinese emperor, no. It means I have developed an addiction for the small orange fruit.

They are my favourite thing at the moment. They truly are. I can't get enough of them. I am eating them by the bag full, by the kilo rather than individual fruit.

I think mandarin is now my favourite flavour.

Yum, yum, yum, as the mandarin juiced runs down my chin.

"More, more, more." Ha ha ha.

Oh, those tangy little orange spheres, I love them. The tangier the better. I love them to be tart and strong, a bit like the guys we all love.

Not Everything Goes To Plan

I trimmed the creeper on my back face, it was the day for it. It has needed to be done for, well, years. It was a huge knot of a mess of over grown creeper. I thought now was the time to do it, being spring and all. I was going for a trim, cut it back to the back fence, and I managed  to rip it right off the wall completely. It, essentially, came crashing down on my head, except for the metal ladder I had next to me which stopped it clobbering me one, and which is still stuck under the bulk of it. Yay, good for me.

I was wearing a short sleeved shirt and managed to scratch both of my forearms extensively. I didn't notice that until I was done and I saw the blood. 

My folding metal ladder is still stuck under the remaining pile of creeper, which I still have to cut up, and it isn't supposed to get wet, and it has rained heavily since I finished. 

It is going to take me a couple of weekends to clean it all up. And what I have cleaned up is in a pile behind my car, good thing I don't need to drive it, or have I driven it for weeks.

If I pull the ladder out, the rest of the creeper will be ripped off the wall and will hit the ground, so I am not really sure how to tackle it now. I'm probably going to have to cut it at the wall, to let the rest of it fall without it pulling any more down.

I don't know, I am going to have to stare at it for a while to decided what to do?

Worrying

I woke up early, 5am, I couldn’t sleep. I never used to have a problem sleeping. I still don’t really compared to a lot of people. 

I seem to be worrying about the things I haven’t done. I am worrying about things I have done. I seem to be suffering from anxiety about stuff more and more as I get older, when I never used to get anxious about anything. When I had things to worry about when I was younger I never did, and now I, essentially have no worries, I am anxious more and more.

I don’t know why.

Perhaps, it is just me.

Maybe it is because the world wants to talk more and more and more and more and more?

What happened to silence?

Sunrise, not in Melbourne, my ex-boyfriend, from far north NSW, sent it to me from the Gold Coast.

Don't you agree, this is how the world should greet us every morning. Just like that, an awesome (note the correct use of the word awesome) display of colour and majesty.

Gorgeous, isn't it. Those colours are really something. God (used ironically) damn! (said the bishop to the actress)

Imagine if all of our intentions were as pure as a sunrise?

Imagine if all of our outcomes were as beautiful.

I Did Nothing Today

I sat on my arse all day and did nothing all day, sometimes you just have to. And we should all be taught that we can, if we want to. Fuck achieving every day. *

I played around with my music.

I played Buddha Bar all day. And from time to time, Sam came in and danced, then he'd go back to work.

The sun shone, a fresh breeze blew in the back door all day.

It was another gorgeous day.

* Fuck achieving, when global warming is coming our way and nothing is being done about it. We really are sleep walking to our demise.

I'm amazed at the rash of maternity leaves happening now with the lawyers at work, they've all been busy during lock down. How could anyone with any confidence have a baby now. We are in denial and sleep walking to the end.

"No, that's not an iceberg, don't be silly, it is just a trick of the light. Another cocktail?"

And what am I doing about it, I hear you ask. I have two cars that I barely use. I try to walk everywhere. If I can't walk, I try to ride my bike, or catch public transport.

I'm not a great consumer of stuff, if anything I quite like buying second hand. I don't buy a lot of things.

I try not to use too much energy. I wear warmer clothes in the winter rather than cranking up the heating. I don't have air-conditioning. I've been trying to get solar panels, but for one reason, or another, my roof has been deemed unsuitable.

And, I am continually hoping like hell, it won't hurt in the end.

The Sun is Shining

It is one of those glorious days here again in Melbourne. It is just the perfect spring today. Sparkling. Fresh.

I worked most of the day, but now I am lying on the couch (what I do best, let’s face it) with my French Doors open and the sweet scented breeze wafting in. I am so comfortable, I never want to move. (Bugger that 3.30pm meeting)

My bulldogs are lying next to me snoring.

You've got to love working from home. I know I do. It is my Friday too, my weekend starts after this.

I'm trying to get back to my short stories. There are a whole bunch of them that are just about finished, that I want to get onto and get finished, but I keep getting distracted by Facebook, and YouTube, and life, and the likes.

(Bruno gets up on the couch and squeezes in between me and the back of the couch – and he’s not a Chihuahua that’s for sure – he turns and lies his fat face right across mine. Yeah, ood onya Brun)

Sincerity is the Key to Success

One of the women at work was having trouble with some financial stuff and she ask me to advise, not sure why she asked me, but she did.

(I mean seriously, do I give the impression that I am that helpful? Really? It’s a character flaw in this day and age)

Anyway, I gave her some advice, and she took that and went off to put that advice to work.

Sometime later, she emailed thanking me for my help, with my advice she had sorted the problem out.

(I call her Big Girl’s Blouse, [to myself, you understand] as she is a big girl, I mean in a hockey player kind of way, and not a slovenly fat kind of way, and she always wears these kind of shirt dresses that always look, to me anyway, that she is wearing a big blouse and she’s forgotten to put on the bottom half)

I emailed her back, Oh that is good news, I am so pleased.

You know, "Sincerity is the key to success. Once you can fake that, you've got it made," as Groucho Marx once said.

Joggers In The Park

You've got to love all the joggers in the park, watch them run by in their little shorts. I admit I am a bit of a perve (said in the best possible taste), the glimpse at their undie elastic is a thrill, I know it probably shouldn't be, but we’re only human, what can we say. Watch all those muscles work, up the back of his legs to...

Thup, thup thup sound their feet on the path…

To all those hot arsed boys, with legs right up to their hips… nose twitch. Sweat drips. Watch them just for the thrill, no strings attached, it’s cool. They fly by like gazelles, with ease so rarely seen.

Watch them go, imagining which spots are damp, sweet, scent of man, lick your lips.

See them running to you, watch their manhood bounce in their shorts, so many sorts, good for a view.

Muscular calves, hairy legs, thick thighs, beefy butts, narrow waits, torsos so full of grace.

Appreciation, not demonised by all those people who have agendas, when they see your eyes dropping below the waist. Nervous smile.

Active wear gives you a view, all those muscles working together and isn’t it better that we can see the legs of a thorough bred on full working display.

I remember back at all those dance parties way back when, straight or gay, it didn't seem to matter if they wanted to play. Curious, I guess is what you call it, boys are curious it is true. And dicks are their favourite thing, usually their own, but it is not such a stretch to appreciate a buddy just like that.

I watch the joggers run in the park, and I can’t help but wonder who loves them after dark.

I did my laps today. That’s every day for me this week. I’m back on track. Good for me.

A Walk In The Park

It is Sunday and I head out into the cold, and recently wet, for my hours exercise, early before the tourists turn up, lockdown, or not.

The first thing I see is a sexy boy in blue short, shorts, a green t-shirt and a cap walking across the museum plaza. Nice legs, nice arse I think as I pick up my pace.

There are dark, rain soaked colours in the park. There are not many people in the park just the way I like it.

There are a couple of athletic wog boys in track pants throwing a frisbee as I head up the hill on the north side.

People exercising in puffer jackets makes no sense, I think, as a chick comes towards me with corded earphones staring down at her phone.

I’m walking across the plaza on the Rathdowne Street side, when a fat chick in nude coloured tights and a dark coloured top who genuinely looks like she has left the house forgetting to put on her pants. I am somewhat alarmed when I first spot her, as she really looks naked from the waste down. I wonder if that is the reaction she was going for?

Walking across the museum plaza, the sun comes out. A woman walking a golden retriever and a woman walking a small black terrier head towards me.

Magpies call by the tennis courts. There is something wonderful about the magpie’s song.

Then Stephen Fry comes walking towards me with a small bat-eared dog and I do a double take. He is wearing ill-fitting grey trousers, a blue crumpled suit coat and a green shirt.

The hot wog boys have been replaced by a couple of hot Asian boys throwing a frisbee in exactly the same place up by the caretaker’s cottage, my second time around. They are wiry and agile and spend a lot of their time flying through the air.

The sun comes out as I walk along Rathdowne Street warming my face.

The Asian lady with the golden retriever from the other day is in exactly the same place by the Rubik’s cube. It is a weird deja vu.

There is a guy training a black Lab seeing eye dog.

There is a woman with a chihuahua. I want to run over and jump on it, but, of course, I don’t. How could anyone like those fowl little dogs?

Stephen Fry appears again walking in the completely different direction to what he was walking the first time, as though he was a part of the ministry of funny walks.

The cute fresh-faced blonde boy with long hair from yesterday jogs across the museum plaza by Rathdowne Street.

An Asian couple run a baby Malamute across the museum plaza. It leaps about as if it wants to say hello to everyone it sees.

A guy on a bike with a noticeable wet arse rides up to the cross road. He gets off his bike, pulling wet denim from his arse crack, his jocks are clearly up his hole, as he is digging around up there for a while. He pushes his bike through the gardens, very PC of him, I think. I never understand why people can’t ride their bikes through the gardens because, let’s face it, everyone does anyway.

Still more idiots exercising in puffer jackets. Seriously? These people should be studied and we may just find out why people are vaccine hesitant and why people believe in conspiracy theories. I’m going for global warming induce brain rot.

There is a mother and daughter walking a grey and white chihuahua as I head down to Rathdowne and Victoria cnr. I growl at it, and true to form the nasty excuse for a living creature growls back.

There is an Asian man with a cavalier walking in front of me, and a red-haired woman with a big dog holding her dogs pooh bag like it is a precious thing walking towards me.

An obese Asian chick is waddling in my direction, with some noticeable difficulty, as if she is on a doctored ordered diet plan, and this was its first day.

I think Noel Gallagher comes walking towards me as the sun comes as I am about to leave the park, but I think better of it, Noel Gallagher would never be the cause of the sun coming out.

I leave the park.