Monday, September 26, 2022

 


It's weird the sites that are being recommended to me. I think it is from me giving my opinion on sites with which I genuinely disagree. I don't think the algorithms are smart enough to detect POV, all they measure is engagement.

I never respond to anyone who mighty respond to what I write, I take Queen Elizabeth the Queen Mother's advice, Never explain, never complain. I just give my opinion and I'm done. You never want to stay too long in enemy territory.

Of course, I see all of their responses, misspelt and badly written.

Sunday, September 25, 2022

A Day In The Country


 

We headed up to the hills, out into the Dandenongs for the day. We did a 3 kilometre walk in nature, me, Sam and Bruno. Just a gentle Sunday walk. It was nice. It was really busy. Where it was once our quiet, tranquil place to walk in the hills, it has now becomes really popular and much more crowded with people. We've never had to fight for a car park before. People ruin everything, now don't they.


Saturday, September 24, 2022

A Little Green Porsche

 


How's this little beauty in a clothes warehouse near home. There was a classic Camaro, a black 911 and a Ferrari, in red, of course, but this was my choice a highly modified 356.

We walked Bruno. The sun shone. We bought gelato. I asked for one scoop, I got much more, not that I am complaining. We met a friend when we were nearly home, who looked at Bruno after which she casually asked where Buddy was with a smile. She teared up when we told her. Everybody loved Bud. We had to comfort her, as she comforted us. 

Sad Face. I miss him, the way he'd gently lay his head on my thigh, the way he'd crawl into my lap when I'm sitting on the floor at the coffee table, the way he'd tap me with his paw if he wanted my attention, oh, so many ways. I feel like there is a physical piece of me missing, not sure if that makes any sense?


Friday, September 23, 2022

Bruno

We have a friend with a couple of French Bulldogs that have always been kind of aggressive and have bitten, or attempted to bite, Buddy and Bruno on many occasions.

I call them Jekyll & Hyde.

Buddy was the master of turning away always with the oh-for-goodness-sake look on his face. He could manage to turn his whole body away from them and just walk away. (I so miss Bud)

Bruno is pretty laid back more, or less, like Buddy.

We have met up with the French Bull dogs twice since Buddy died, and on both occasions Bruno has turned into the Tasmanian Devil, growling and trying to get to the two of them as if to say, "I hate you guys! I hate you guys!" Turning into a bundle of anger at my feet. 

It is really strange and so out of character for Bruno. 

Of course, for years we have all just ignored the French Bulldogs aggression. I worry that Bruno might now be thought of as the aggressive one.

It's an odd change. I don't know if Bruno feels more vulnerable now that Bud is gone? I don't know.

He only does it with the two French Bulldogs, but then, the two French Bulldogs are the only ones that have treated him with aggression.


Thursday, September 22, 2022

End of The Day

Later in the day...

We got a good park, 4 hours whats more on Beaconsfield Parade. We walked along the foreshore, with all the other people waking along the foreshore. The sun shone, the sky was blue. It wasn't, actually, that hot, 20 degrees, but warm enough when you were in the sun, but the day sparkled none the less. Ah Spring

There was lots of people with dogs, no other English Bulldogs, however, plenty of Frenchies. (none of which Bruno had a problem with, just his normal happy disposition, it is only Jekyll & Hyde that gets him going)

Ah, the bike riders, yelling and cursing and ringing their bells at people wandering onto the bike track, next to the walking track, the only thing the bike riders never seem to think to do is slow down.

We ate dumplings in Fitzroy Street. The adjacent table had a very smiley Rottweiler. Two hot boys were his handlers for the day.

We walked back along the sand, with our shoes off and in our hands. The ball obsessed Bruno found a ball as soon as we hit the beach, so he was very happy all the way back to the car, as we continually threw the ball up ahead for him. The magic of the sea enveloped us with the blue stretching out to the horizon, the fine white sand glinted in the afternoon sun, like crystals. Oh crystals is such a tired analogy, the sun glinted under the sun's rays

We were home late afternoon.


 



Off To The Beach

National day of mourning, hey? Good onya, Liz, you were a good stick.

And then what? The day before the Grand Final public holiday on Friday.

Two public holidays in a row. I don't work Thursdays and Fridays anyway so it doesn't make much a of difference to my life.

But Sam has the two days off, of course.

We can't just sit here on our arses, though, time to get out and enjoy the world.

The sun is shining, the sky is blue, it is a beautiful day. We're off to St Kilda Beach to run on the sand with Bruno. Dogs are allowed off lead on all the beaches until Sept 30th, best we get going.

Must be time for a spot of lunch too, of course.


Wednesday, September 21, 2022

What Was I thinking?

We had some last minute changes that had to be done. Unforeseen. Sure, they were big dollars. So, I got to and made the changes first thing.

I sent them off to one of the desk jockeys higher up the food chain to me with an explanatory not in email form of what I had done.

The last line I wrote was, "other than that [the qualifier in the previous sentence] everything should be good" then I just couldn't help myself and I put, "cross your fingers, smiley face emoji."

Chief Financial Accountants do not have a sense of humour, I know that, really, I do, what was I thinking? Sheesh!

Back came a questioning email, along the lines, either it was all now correct, or did I need some more time to go through it all again to double check?

No dickwad, it is called humour. I know it was early in the day, but seriously learn a joke, watch something funny, lighten up. *



* actually, that didn't happen at all, not letting the truth get in the way of a good story and all that. I imagined it to be true, and it is true of the awful black law firm for which I used to work and the she-bitch psychopath chief financial accountant who used to, and from all accounts still does, haunt that firm like a poltergeist, or some tormented demon.

Truthfully, the guys I work with now find my funny asides endearing.


Tuesday, September 20, 2022

You Can't Make Me

They want us back in the office, Boris told me the other day.

"They want to go back to how it was before the pandemic," said Boris.

We want to go back that far, I think? 

"Really?"

"Yes."

But, what about the discoveries we have made? What about the preferable way to work that we have learned? They want to wipe that away? Seriously? That was significant.

But I don't want to go back to the office, I have been given a whole new way to work and I love it. I don't want to go back. I never want to go back. It is a waste of time.

I get up at 6am, just because I do now a days, have a shower, iron a shirt (is that the most boring, fucking thing in the world, I ask you?), eat my breakfast, walk to the office, - I can not fathom the people who live an hour, or more, commute wanting to head back to the office - and I am in the office by about 7.30am. By the time I stop crying (well, I will be if this is my future), and get coffee, it is 7.45... I can do a huge amount of work in that time at home.

I don't care you are providing breakfast and coffee, big deal. I can make my own at home at my leisure whenever I feel like it.

No. That is a firm no from me.

(Of course, I am getting an arse like the fat girl next door from the lack of exercise, but surely I'll be able to counteract that at some point in the future with a pill, or something) *


So, I'm ignoring it, for long as I can. What can they do? I'm not a manager, I'm not in charge of anybody, what does it matter where I work? Shake of the head. No.

I wonder how long I can get away with it? (I'm planning to get away with it indefinitely)

Sam is going to visit his family for most of October, and I'm planning a boys smoking month, so I don't want to be back in the office for that.

And, apparently, I have to look after Charlie, so I can't possibly go back to the office because of that, I'll have dependants. I'll practically be a working mother. And it is so difficult, they grow up so fast. Yeah, sure he's 19 and at uni but they still need guidance at any age.

No, I am just not going back. I ask you again, what can they do? In this era of staff shortages?

I had a cooked lunch at 1pm. I had a shower at 1.30pm, just to brighten up the afternoon, I can't do any of that in the office.



* of course Travis lives next door now, and seriously, if I had an arse like his, I'd be a happy man.


Monday, September 19, 2022




Wealthy superannuation companies want workers back in their offices so they can maintain their profit margins. They don't care about workers. Yet again, big business is attempting to screw workers over.

Sunday, September 18, 2022

How To Ruin A Good Sunday

Oh, I'd forgotten what a palaver getting a new phone, actually, is. All that stuff that needs to be installed and updated. Grrr.

How to ruin a good Sunday.

(Ha ha, I am being some what disingenuous, can you tell, as I have my very own resident computer programmer in Sam to take care of all the hard questions)

Still. 

"Now I have to do what?"

"Didn't I just do that?"

"Don't look at me like that and just answer the question?"

"Oh, haven't I already done that?"

"Yes, yes, you were right."

"Again, I have to do that again?"

"Oh, can't you do that."

"Yes, I understand you can't do my facial recognition for me."

"Oh, come on, don't be like that."

"No, I don't think I am stupid."

"Oh, isn't it done yet?"


Saturday, September 17, 2022

New Phone Day

It's new iPhone day today. iPhone 14. Yay. Love a new iPhone day. Sam gets the new phone, because he loves technology, and I don't really give a toss, and I get Sam's old phone, iPhone 11.

He skipped 13 and 14 which is really unusual for him, and maybe my influence. Or was it because the changes were so minimal, maybe. But maybe it was me. "Seriously, you don't need to be quite such a slave to this stuff."

But, then contradictorily, I'm getting a new phone. Yay! (We are nothing is we aren't contradictory, us humans) Well, I can be excited about getting a new phone guilt free, because it is second hand it isn't, actually, using up any of the worlds resources, and it isn't, actually, contributing to the destruction of the planet, as it did all of that when Sam bought it, and I get it completely free of all of that, because it is just a transfer. 

Do you like that?

Ha ha, I do.


I sit on the floor at my coffee table and eat my vegemite toast and drink my coffee (we all sit on the floor around my coffee table, it's a big coffee table) and Bruno curls up between my legs and sleeps. I'm pretty sure he does it for the warmth, bulldogs love a bit of warmth. It is something he has been doing more so since Buddy died. But, you know, Bruno weighs 27 kilos, so he's not exactly a chihuahua. It gets to feeling like, what I think it must feel like, those people who have their hips in plaster, you know, with the bar from one knee to another. He just grunts contentedly if I try to reposition him.


Friday, September 16, 2022

The Royals... I Prefer Chocolate, if I Had To Choose

I don't mind the Royal Family. I'd say I quite like them, but that would make me sound something more than ambivalent. And while I wouldn't exactly say I am ambivalent, I find them quite interesting, I read about them, I take an interest in what they are doing, I wouldn't exactly call myself a fan, what is that expression everyone likes to use now a days, per se.

I found myself feeling a little sad about the Queen dying, which surprised me a little. Well, it was universally agreed that she was a good egg - is that in maintaining the elitist status quo, where nothing really changes for anyone less than blessed by birth, nyr, I'm guessing that is a conversation for another day.

I don't really think anything about the Australian system being changed, as I don't think it would, actually, change anything, well, nothing worthwhile exactly. You know, worst case scenario, we could end up with a political system like America, and, surely, nobody wants that.

Having said all of that, and, I guess, rather contradictorily, I find it hard to listen to people who mount arguments in favour of the Royal Family. I can't take people seriously who give those arguments. Their passion seems misplaced, even kind of weird. They seem to be strange conservative types, and we all know conservative types are pretty much against any kind of change at all.

Really, if any argument should be given it should be for us being a republic. It is obvious that's what we should do, if we were going to do anything.

Having said that, I don't care if we ever change. I don't. I'm happy for the system to stay the same.

I guess what I am saying is that both positions can coexist.

We should be a republic, but I don't care if it never happens.


Thursday, September 15, 2022

Out Walking

Bruno and I head out for a walk. It is a grey day, threatening to rain throughout the whole walk, although it never did.

Just me and Bruno, just the two of us.

I'm listening to Janis Joplin. I've been listening to all her albums right through the last few days, and I finish Kozmic Blues and start with Pearl.

The punters are lining up outside the cafes two and three deep and we have to push through. My friend Jill loves to send me articles on how Fitzroy is trendy, the latest how Gertrude Street has been voted the 2nd coolest street in the world, of some such shit. It is a joy to be so popular, I think, as I push through the tourists standing gormlessly about.

We head into the grey Carlton Gardens below the grey sky and Janis sings Cry Baby. It seems kind of fitting.

The park is melancholy under the heavy grey sky. I try to take some moody photos but Bruno is not cooperating and he continually pulls me away as I line up the shot.

We pass a woman walking a staffy.

We head passed the tennis courts and the pop, pop, pop of the ball being hit, and we head down to the corner to get pooh bags. Bruno, of course, wants to go over to the courts to find tennis balls, his favourite thing, but with a little persuasion he sees it my way and trots along next to me.

We head up to the Rubick’s Cube and get 10 more pooh bags from the dispenser there. We're getting low and the rolls were full.

The woman and the staffy reappear heading towards us again. She is not keen for her staffy to say hello to Bruno and she pulls him away as we meet.

We walk back through the piazza between the museum and the Exhibition Buildings.

I try to walk diagonally across the square in front of a prep school group all dressed the same who were filing in five parallel lines in single file to their buses. We were just slipping across in front of them when Bruno stops as we got to the last line instead of continuing to walk and that line of children were on us quickly. And moments later we had the handsome teacher and many small hands patting Bruno.

“What a gorgeous creature,” says the handsome young teacher. “He must be popular around these parts.”

“Yes, he is,” I say.

“I bet,” says the handsome teacher.

Bruno laps up all the attention. I wish I'd had a camera. Well, of course I do have a camera, but it is all too quick for that.

We turn for home.


Wednesday, September 14, 2022

Mandarins

Mandarins are my thing, I love them. I eat them all the time. They are the perfect thing to eat. I eat so many of them, there is a high chance I might turn into one, one day. I could think of worse things. Oh, except for the short life span, of course. There is that.

Every day, is Mandarin Day, as far as I'm concerned. I think it is my favourite flavour.

Let’s hope I don’t turn orange, as that hasn’t worked for anyone recently, now has it. Ha ha.

Sam's house has a mandarin tree in the front yard, which is prolific with mandarins. Sam rents the house out to friends. They used to offer us bags of mandarins when it was mandarin season, but then they lost their jobs and they started not to pay their rent and the relationship soured somewhat and they don't offer us mandarins any longer. 😦

I was all for kicking them out and installing mandarin friendly tenants, ha ha, which is funny, as it is usually Sam making such suggestions with me saying, "You can't do that."


Tuesday, September 13, 2022

Crying

You know, I don't mind crying, I am not ashamed of it. There is the logistical problem of crying and talking at the same time, of course, but other than that, I never try to stop it, and I really don't care in front of whom I cry, generally. It is good to let it out. And, I always feel better afterwards, well, generally I do.

But, probably not with your boss, it is an awkward relationship into which to introduce crying, certainly not on too many occasions, that would be sure.

A melancholy cry can almost be a pleasure.

I've cried a lot over Buddy. So much so, I have a cyst on my eye lid - corner of my eye - which I am having removed next month, which has never irritated me, but it has over the last few days.

When I was looking after my mum when she was failing, I used to cry at the traffic lights driving home. Sometimes I'd look sideways to see someone looking at me. Oh, what must they have thought.

Mark is a big crier and cries more than me. Sam cries less than me, but he has cried a lot in the last few days.

I find men crying adorable, to tell you the truth.


Monday, September 12, 2022

Oh, Monday

Bruno was really sad and really not himself until Sunday, and then today he came good, like he'd moved on, and he was back to his old self. Animals are funny.

Where today I just lost it with Boris, my boss. 

I got Buddy when he was 1 year old. On Sunday night I messaged his original owner to tell him Buddy had died. Yesterday, I was just reading his lovely response when Boris called me to let me know about a continuing problem with HR, which I had fixed, which was really their problem in the first place, kind of, and I... just... let loose down the phone about what I thought about the problem. And once my profanity laden tirade "Let HR call me and I'll fucken tell them what for, I'm not putting up with any of their shit today," had dissolved into sobbing tears about Buddy - seriously, she lost it - Boris replied, quietly, "Please don't answer the phone today."

You know, I hope it doesn't ever sound like I complain about Boris, I think sometimes it might, but the bottom line is Boris is one of the good ones and I wouldn't swap her for anyone.

David laughed when I told him later. "Please don't answer the phone today, that is hysterical."

"I know."

"Well good for her," said David. "As I know what you are like, oh so even tempered until you are not, and then... well, good for her for understanding."

"Oh, I let it all out."

"I've seen it," said David. "Could you have bought uglier flowers." (I was pissed off once when David and I lived together. I came into the house furious, David was with a girlfriend, there were purple orchids on the kitchen bench. I said, "Could you have bought uglier flowers." David's friend had bought the flowers for him. She dissolved into tears and fled the house)

"I felt better... after." I laughed. "But maybe I won't choose my boss next time."

David laughed again.


Sunday, September 11, 2022


 Buddy & Bruno at the front door


Another Day

In my grief I forgot to water my maiden hair ferns and two of them shrivelled up to a shadow of their former selves.

Not a sentence you’d expect to hear from a straight boy, I’m guessing.


I don't need to tell you how badly Queen Elizabeth took Buddy's death.😏



 Buddy & Bruno waiting for food


Saturday, September 10, 2022

Feeling Sad

We're very sad. Grief is hard.

Bruno is very quiet. I catch him gazing into Buddy's lounge room bed several times, and from different angles. I've watched him out in the back yard as though he is looking for something. He has always had Buddy in his life from 10 weeks old. He and Buddy were mates from the moment they met. Bruno is very quiet, he is not his normal self at all.



Friday, September 09, 2022




 One of the last photos of Buddy taken about a month ago.


Thursday, September 08, 2022

Buddy 17.12.2010 to 07.09.2022

Buddy’s condition deteriorated rapidly these last few days, despite our best efforts and all the modern medicine in the world. He changed from being our big snuffly wuffly guy to something that mindlessly wandered the house seemingly not being able to stop, except for moments where he just clearly exhausted himself and we got some precious moments of respite. But then he'd start again, mindlessly wandering, rapidly with less and less ability to do so, but still trying to.

So, yesterday at around 5pm Bud was put to sleep.

We’re really sad. We want more time with him, it just wasn’t long enough. I just always believed without question he would make it to his 12th birthday. We can’t quite believe he is gone. It is very quiet in the house without him. 

Bruno is very quiet.

It was heart breaking all over again as Bruno went on his own to his singular food bowl and ate on his own this morning. His first morning without Buddy. I don’t know what he thinks? He has always had Buddy. They were mates from day 1.

Bruno walked on his own out to the garden after he ate. No more single file two bulldog arses waddling outside together, their morning routine every morning after eating. Just Bruno on his own.

The house is very quiet. Bruno is much quieter than Buddy. Buddy was the snuffly wuffly noisy one. It feels like life will never be the same without him, and it won’t. He was lovely, despite his grumpiness, despite his hangups. He loved people, he loved saying hello to everyone as we went for a walk. He’d wander up to people and look up at them waiting for them to pat him. And they did pat him. People were enchanted by his off-lead demeanour. People loved him because he genuinely loved people.


Wednesday, September 07, 2022

Buddy

Buddy has had 4 seizures in the last month. Three of the seizures he recovered from completely. The last seizure did damage, permanent damage. And now my sweet Buddy boy is struggling. 

In fact, he is not going to survive.

My sweet Bud, has gone from powering along in old age to a shadow of his former self, just like that. Bam! He's not going to make it much longer, it is very sad.

Sam and I have cried a lot about him.

Now, he's just got just a few days, most likely. He's not responding to any of the treatment, in fact he is steadily getting worse.

Lovely Buddy.


Tuesday, September 06, 2022

People Are Strange

People are strange. I was on the right hand side of the footpath with shopping bags over each shoulder outside the house next to the house next to mine, because I was just about to go in my gate, I was looking down at my phone and when I looked up, because I sensed someone was in my proximity, a woman walking towards me on the same side of the footpath, had squashed herself up against the front wall of the house next door, with a nervous smile on her face, rather than walk around me. She looked deranged. It was all I could do to stop myself laughing at her. I didn't. I just smiled as I kept walking.


Monday, September 05, 2022

Extra Bag of Food

I’m standing in the queue for pork rolls. I order 4 crispy pork rolls and the nice lady behind the counter smiles with her eyes and puts an extra bag of something, which turns out to be spring rolls, into my bag. Funny, I thought, it doesn’t really make sense. It should be the person who only orders one pork roll, (not sure how you identify the person going without in this situation) not the person who orders 4 pork rolls, to whom she should have given extra food. But, I guess, that is the way of life, the people with abundance, so often, get more, and the people with less, so often don’t. 


Sunday, September 04, 2022

Sign In, then Sign in Again, repeat

OMG! Applications that I have to continue to sign into, drive me absolutely fucking nuts. Do you know how many times a day I have to sign into all the applications I use? It is mindless repetition.

I've even asked IT about it and they have just passed the buck. I’ve asked big arsed Osmosis Smith, my IT guy – how I’d like to take handfuls of his big chunky arse and squeeze – and he has given me an obvious pass the buck answer, which was really disappointing from my own dedicated IT guy. 

“It is all to do with the settings on your computer,” said Big Butt Guy Osmosis Smith.

I didn’t buy it for a minute, then I referred to my own helpdesk, Sam, and he told me Osmosis was talking bullshit, it is all to do with the applications. But as I haven’t gone back to him, I guess he pulled it off.

Oh yes, I know, privacy and safety are a major concern, but when I am working from home and I’m the only person who is in my study, it makes it particularly painful.


Saturday, September 03, 2022

Leaving a Restaurant

I’ve always had boyfriends who want to leave a restaurant as soon as the meal is finished. It is a common character trait of all my boyfriends. If you have finished eating, get up and leave, no sitting about. I don’t really know why? Mark was the first, he’d just get up and start walking to the front desk, seemingly oblivious. I found it a bit weird in the very beginning, but now, I wouldn’t have it any other way. Its good, it gets the night over and done. No messing about.

Of course, none of them were great coffee drinkers when they first met me, but it was quite different at the end, of course. My coffee habit infected them all. Although, having said that, we still left the restaurant, as soon as the meal was done.


Friday, September 02, 2022

Parental Leave

I’m amazed at all these lawyers going off on Parental Leave, at the moment. These are educated women who, I can only assume, clearly don’t care about subjecting their children to an awful life, from all accounts, certainly in the second half of their lives when our inaction on climate really comes back to bite us all on the arse.

I’m not sure I’d be having children, if I were them, knowing what we know. (and I don’t think we are going to change it in time)

Really, the basic problem with the world is, you can call it climate change, you can call it what you like, but basically, there are just too many of us. And what are rich Western countries doing, paying women to have children. It really makes no sense.

Do these woman (and their partners, of course) just not care? Do they not believe climate change is real? They are university educated women, presumably couples? So, I guess the need for a kid is greater than the kid’s ultimate happiness, really survival. 

What else can you think, I ask you?


Thursday, September 01, 2022

Cafe Woman

It was a Thursday. I got to the cafe just before 10am for a late breakfast and a coffee and to do some writing on my laptop. 

It was a quiet morning, genteel, still, not many people around, the kind of Fitzroy morning before the tourists turned up and spoiled it.

10am. A clearly hassled woman with a large pram and a kid came clanking through the cafe door. She sat at a table away from me.

No sooner had she sat down that her kid started to cry. And cry. And cry. And cry.

Half an hour later, I considered leaving myself, but I was enjoying the coffee and really wondered why I had to?

I kept expecting her to take the child away, but she didn’t.

Not long after 10.30am. It was clear she wasn’t going to do the decent thing and I decided all bets were off, as they say. And now it was me, or her.

As luck would have it, not long after I caught her eye. And it was time for words rather than action. “Do you think you could take that home?” Smile, be it nervous.

Her eyes 👀 grew abnormally large and her face flushed red. “Well!” (I could hear the winds of Kilimanjaro rush on the w) She got to her feet.

Oh, here we go!

“Thank you so much for being SO supportive!”

I wasn’t sure why I had to be supportive.

“That! You just don’t understand!”  She started throwing things in the pram.

I understand your sprog is splitting my ear drums, relentlessly.

“You just don’t understand how hard it is!”

No, I don’t have children. I chose not to have children. Even if I weren’t, I still wouldn’t.

“It’s people like you who make life difficult.” She pointed the pram at the counter.

I think you have that the wrong way around.

“I really… I just can’t understand.” She handed cash to the person behind the counter. “It is so hard being… and then people like you…” she struggled with the door. “Thank you so so much.” She shoved the pram through the door. “For ruining what time I…” the door closed and there was silence. Lovely, silent silence.

Well, that went well.

I said nothing through the whole exit.

I looked around the café after she had gone. The only other person had headphones on and was staring at his laptop.

I ordered another coffee.

I sipped my hot coffee and thought maybe I would leave if that ever happened again.


I sometimes think about that woman and wonder how she is going? I wonder how that kid turned out with such a strung out mother?

Funny the things you think of sometimes.


Tuesday, August 30, 2022

FishGuts

But you should know not to get me started on HR. 

Then there is FishGuts in Sydney, who buggers stuff up, so many things she does she gets wrong.

For a woman who is paid 200K a year, to be so inaccurate, I can see no other way that she keeps her job other than she is sucking the boss' dick. (It is hardly a put down, I'd suck his dick too)

I hear a collective inhale. Oh come on, you can't say that, it is 2022. (Oh, I think I can, because I am gay and I'm not putting her down in some sort of sexist way to make myself look better like some hetro boy might. [I'd say the same thing about a guy] I'm just speaking the truth, with a little gay embellishment)

She just gets stuff wrong. So often. How does she keep her job, I ask you? (or does she save the mistakes just for me?)

Grrrr! Annoying. She is a senior manager. I'm sure she must get everyone to do her work for her. I'm not sure how she'd survive otherwise.

I push back, though, I don't care. (she's not my boss) So much so that she even thanked me for doing something for her recently.

"Thanks, I appreciate it," she said. It sounded really weird. I don't need to be thanked for doing my job. (well, her job)

But, then I realised just lately I have pushed back against a number of things she has asked me to do.

I guess it was recognition, of sorts, for the things I do do for her. If only she could do them for herself.

The next day...

There was more stuff she got me to do, which pissed me off and I did it through gritted teeth – just because it easier in the long run than taking on a fight with a senior manager, she has a director on her side and she is not afraid of running to him crying like a little bitch. I do too, of course. In the past it has been her Director of HR against my Director of Finance duking it out over fights I have picked with her. Anyway, again, she thanked me afterwards.

"I really appreciate your help. And I am sorry for doing that to you."

Seriously? You are ruining a good bitch I have about you on my blog that I'm about to publish. What are you doing, all this nicey pie shit for, you are doing my head in.

Truthfully, I think it is because previously I have let my anger show in the tone of my emails, you know, banging off a reply. Now I wait half an hour before I respond. Set my Apple watch timer. (no, I don’t really do that. Figuratively, perhaps) Go make a coffee, or do something else. Come back to it.

'Now, let me explain why we are not doing what you asked.'


Monday, August 29, 2022

Oh HR! Exhale

The Miserable Blonde from HR goes on and on and on and on… and on in that superior than thou way that so many HR people have – when they are popped out of the great big HR mould – and now I find myself doing things, and saying things, really just to annoy her. Yeah, I know, childish. Shake of the head. I just sent her an email specifically to annoy her this morning. (Oh, it's Monday, that’s my excuse)

Yeah, I know. (nervous smile) I need a good slap, really I do. Two wrongs, and all that...

But really, she is so rude and demanding that I just can't help it. (somebody stop me) I know I shouldn't, but I just can't help myself. (It makes me giggle, albeit briefly on a Monday morning)

I don't like her. (can you guess?) I'm pretty sure she doesn't like me. (I don’t need to many guesses) So, it just lends itself to me being unhelpful.

Oh, there is nothing rude on my part. I never give her anything to complain to someone higher about, I’m not that stupid. Just stuff that is supposed to needle her. Polite, but unhelpful. Things with a barb that just gets under the first layer of her skin.

I know. What am I like? People have real hardship, and I’m just whining like a little bitch. She could be nicer, though. Drop the attitude. She’d find that I was nicer too.


Sunday, August 28, 2022

Too Full To Even Fart

We went out for lunch with my fat friend Jill and we ate Greek food; lamb and chips and souvlaki and soft shell crab wraps and flat bread and dips and olives and tomatoes and fetta cheese. 

And then we went and bought apple crumble cake and lemon & lime cheese cake, and banana and caramel cream pie. 

We ate them with tea and coffee for afternoon tea while we watched Ricky Gervaise's new Special which really just wasn't funny. It is really problematic when you use minorities as the punchline to get paid a huge amount by Netflix.

And now I feel like I am so fat and I am slightly nauseous. I can’t move and I can’t write any more. Oh moan.

I'm now lying on the couch with a pillow with the back of my hand over my forehead. Oh the pain.

This is how I used to feel as a kid when my eyes were much bigger than my stomach and I ate far too many fish & chips. I don't know why it was fish & chips but it so often was.

I haven't felt like this for year.


Saturday, August 27, 2022

Friday, August 26, 2022

Leaking Good Intensions

I’m sure all this rain is good for someone, but I have a leaking roof and I just seem to have been rendered incapable of organising to get it fixed.

A few years ago, I had another leak and I got one guy to come and fix it, and it made no difference. Then I organised for a second guy to come, and he, actually, made it worse.

Sam got up there with a hose and sprayed water around and we worked out what was wrong and we fixed it ourselves.

I’d give this one a go myself, but it is on the second floor and it’s guttering, I think, so it is really close to the edge of a long drop down, and I am scared of heights. (I’m sure I never was as a kid, it is something I have acquired as an adult. I guess, it comes from learning how precarious life really is) Which is annoying, but what can you do?

Now, all I seem to do is dither, finding people on line, but then not acting as I assume, unless proven otherwise, that they will be crap. Then I get anxious about the damage to the house. And it becomes a circular thing. It sounds pathetic, I know, that’s because it is.

How do you find an honest, capable, tradesman to fix your roof?


Thursday, August 25, 2022

Lovelorn

I was walking up Brunswick Street yesterday with Bruno (well, you can't spend your whole day behind your laptop collecting vintage B&W images avoiding all your responsibilities in life) when I heard panting and snuffling and maybe some scratching behind me, and I turned around to see a girl with, what I would call, a Miniature Pincer, in a pink tutu, desperately pulling on her lead towards us. 

“Pricilla is desperate to say hello to your boy,” said the girl holding the lead. “I think she’s in love.” 

At which point Bruno stepped towards Pricilla gave her a the most fleeting sniff, and charged off in the opposite direction. 

Pricilla, literally, looked at her owner, looked in the direction in which Bruno was rapidly disappearing, and looked back at her owner. 

“Nah, I think he’s done babe,” said the girl. “Just like a man.”

Both Pricilla and her owner honestly looked disappointed. Bruno couldn’t have given a shit.

I didn’t really know what to say, but it didn’t matter as Bruno tugged on the lead and spun me around, and Pricilla and her owner walked off losers in love.


Wednesday, August 24, 2022

Tuesday, August 23, 2022

Tuesday

Er! Tuesday.

Nothing to do. No, nothing. I can’t even find stuff to do, as I have done all the things I had been putting off. Everything is done. I have no idea what Boris does when she is here, not that I am doing her job, of course, but nobody is asking me for anything in her absence. I thought I’d be bothered by all the punters, constantly, but no, not since TheMidget.

I’m glad I am working from home, though, as I am just pissing around on my own laptop. Writing my blog. Looking at Bruce Weber images, keeping one eye on my emails.

David distracted me up for a minute.

Mid morning, David called. He woke up to itching in his groin, he panicked thinking, OMG! This is the pox! It must monkey pox. Oh God! How did I get monkey pox? He quickly sent off photos to the doctor. 

“Look, look, between the 3rd fat roll and the 4th fat roll, can you see it?" I said. "Poor bastard.”

David laughed. “I think he gets more than well compensated for all the disgusting things he has to look at.”

“Could you imagine, gay men coming in all day every day with puss dripping out of any/every orifice.”

His doctor responded. “No luv, that looks like jock itch, go to the chemist and get canestin cream.” 

“It’s as banal as Tinea in the groin,” David said.

"Thrush, luv, your cunt's got thrush."

He is now lathered in cream. “I may have put a little much on, it is a disaster down there.”

He has now cancelled everything, his work in Brisbane this week, the wedding in Melbourne this weekend, and the Spice Girls Tribute concert with his mate Andrew on Friday night.

He’s called the dog walker to walk CharChi.

He has crawled into bed to watch Friends, Sex and the City, and Elvis.

He’s going to order pizza.

“I’m exhausted,” he said. “But I guess travelling for 3 ½ months is exhausting.”

“Yes, it is,” I said.


Still, what do I care, the sun is shining and the sky is blue.

My lunch has been made for me.

And I have a bulldog snoring at my feet.



Monday, August 22, 2022

Monday

Work, Monday, what can I say?

I worked all day, really, just email after email from the Brains Trust of HR. Weirdly a lot of emails from them.

We ate BBQ pork, snow peas and rice for lunch.

I worked steadily all afternoon, just getting through the detritus from HR. I think they are secretly in love with me. All this communication.

I can't think of what else it could be? Ha ha.

It was just a Monday.

It rained.

I played Bob Dylan.


Sunday, August 21, 2022

A Day In The Life

The sun is shining, a lovely sunny, winter Sunday. We take Charlie out for lunch.

“Why?” I ask.

“Because we should,” says Sam. “We hardly take him anywhere.”

That is true, but Charlie never seems that interested. “Sure. Okay,” I say.

We park in Park Street. I park in 3 car spots before I am done. Sam snorts derisively and he and Charlie wander away. The first park is 2 hours, then I see across the road it’s a 4 hour park. Then, as I get out of the car, I see there is a shaded spot closer to the corner, when what Sam said sinks in, that it is Sunday and restrictions don’t apply.

Restrictions don’t apply…

1.30pm. We’re at [Thai Restaurant] for lunch. Pink soup? It is my favourite, fermented tofu with sea food and noodles.

“No, we don’t do that anymore.”

“Oh well, let’s go,” I say. The pink soup was the only reason I wanted to come here.

Sam chuckles nervously. “What else would you like?”

We have a green papaya salad and Thai sausage as entrees. Sam and I eat rice dishes, mine has pork belly. Charlie ate Pad Thai. Charlie is kind of fussy about what he eats. He’s keener to eat what he is used to, more so than trying new things.

2.25pm. I take up my seat in The Hive at the tables in the concourse, while Sam shops, with Charlie tagging along. Oh, yes, I could go to the shops too, but all I really do is tag along mindlessly. Sam is the shopper, so I sit at the tables and write my journal. (Occasionally, not since Charlie has been around, I sneak a jam donut from the BreadTop’esque bakery on the concourse)

The tables are full today. There is a lot of chattering going on around me. Still, it is good to see people are still wearing their masks.

A homeless woman is asking for change as soon as I sit down. I hear myself sigh loudly at the magnitude of her problem.

The fat aboriginal girl whose pants are always falling off is chased out of Aldi by Aldi security muttering something undiscernible. I see her around a lot. Surely someone could take better care of her and her obvious mental health issues, I think.

Two gay guys in matching small black shorts and puffer jackets wander through, both with the same set of gymed legs, and I forget about the Aboriginal Girl instantly, then they wander back.

A woman comes to the Aldi door with her shaggy Oodle and uses Aldi’s hand sanitiser, she even has the audacity to hand the lead to the security guard so she could sanitise both hands, he seems to comply without a word of dissent.  Then she heads back outside, her fat dog waddling along behind her. She props at the doorway of the centre and the dog props in the middle of the actual doorway lead outstretched, not a care.

Sam and Charlie drop off full shopping bags and head off again with empty ones, hardly saying a word. It’s all cold efficiency when Sam gets shopping.

An African woman, in all that garb, walks through with her four kids in tow all wearing [name of soccer club] jumpers. She is instructing them about something in a very loud voice. It is a sudden intrusion, makes me look up.

A guy sits at the table across the concourse in tight, pale grey track pants, he looks all bumpy. You’ve got to love tight pale pants.

Two couples meet in the middle of the concourse, like long lost friends. They exclaim hello and hug and act like they are surprised to see one another here.

Another African mother, in all that garb, walks through with her five children, one in a pusher. So many children, I think.

An adorable Asian couple wander passed in active wear. The boys have great legs and a tight arse.

The guy in the pale track pants girlfriend/wife comes back and they leave together.

A girl wanders passed in skin tight coral coloured track pants laughing uproariously to something someone has said to her on her phone.

A fat chick and what looks like her fat son, both with masks on, walk through quickly to the bakery, both seemingly leading with their faces, as though there is an emergency sugar rush to be had.

A woman comes and collects her husband sitting at the table next to me.

I look around and it looks like all the people at all the tables are husbands sitting while their wives shop. I wonder does that make me a cliché? I decide not to put too much thought into that.

Music plays over the speakers. I notice it for the first time.

A tall handsome guy in short black shorts, a hoodie, and a backpack motors through as though he has some where to be urgently. He’s heading away from me so I watched the material up the crack in his arse move from side to side.

Another handsome guy in short black shorts with great legs and a t-shirt walks through quickly. He’s heading towards me so I watch his cock bounce around under the black material of his shorts.

A boy starts tapping nervously on the table top next to me, he stops when I turn and look at him, then he seems to almost tap dance in slow motion across the concourse, looking off in the distance as if he is waiting for someone who is never arriving. His foot work is impressive if that is what he is in fact doing. He does it so nonchalantly

2.57pm. Sam and Charlie are walking towards me.

“Let’s go,” says Sam. He grabs the bags and walks off towards the car. He doesn’t mess around. Did he snap his fingers, he may have? Ha ha. That is Sam and I, efficiency meets the dreamer and somehow it works. Charlie grabs the rest of the bags, and by the time I get to my feet, they and the bags are halfway to the exit.

Halfway To The Exit, good name for a memoir.

3.07pm. We’re home. IT isn’t very far.

“Let’s go,” says Sam.

“What?” I respond.

“It is always about these guys.”

I was already on the couch mentally, I had my shoes off and everything. “But… what?” I looked at the couch. I looked at Sam.

So, apparently, no rest for the wicked, as they say. Ha ha, I laugh at myself. Sitting around while other people shop. My head spun, as I my thoughts did a 180.

3.19pm. We walk the bulldogs to Carlton Gardens.

A group of girls pass us in [name of] Street. One of them looks at Buddy and then says to her friends, “He’s having a hard time.”

I find that infuriating. No, he’s not having a hard time of it. And the rumours spread about bulldogs

We see what may have been an Austin 7 (not sure) parked in Gertrude Street. It is adorable, whatever it is.



Buddy stops in the middle of a group of people and gets that ‘okay, pat me attitude,’ as he looks up at them. They point at me and tell him where I am.

“No, he is angling for a pat,” I say. “He knows where I am."

They laugh and all four of them pat him. I can almost see Bud smile.

The wind picks up and it is quite cold. Brrrr. I wish I’d bought a coat.

We head into the Carlton Gardens. The stupid ugly new Sheraton Towers now dominates the skyline. Grrr. The slow and continuing destruction of Melbourne. I shake my head.

We walk down the main road that cuts through the middle of the gardens to the water bowl on the other side, so the boys can have a drink. They push each other out of the way to get a drink.

The sun is shining down on Rathdowne Street, one of the few places that it is, and it is a nice moment of respite from the cold.

I pull my hoodie hood over my head for the walk back. Buddy and I toddle back in the direction of home. Bruno and Sam walk ahead.


Saturday, August 20, 2022

Sunny Winter Saturday

We put David in an Uber pointed towards the airport, late morning.

We walked the bulldogs to Brunswick Street and sat in the sun and ate Mexican food for lunch, on the tiny table on the narrow footpath with ever second passer by asking, "Can I pat your dogs?"

That was pretty much the day.


Friday, August 19, 2022

David

David has come to stay for a couple of nights, on his way home from Frankfurt to Byron Bay via his sister in Sydney and Melbourne for his Monkey Pox vaccination.

He still has his doctor in Melbourne despite having moved up north for a couple of years now. Well, let’s face it, it must be hard to find doctors who will prescribe the volume of scripts for the number of benzos that are required to sustain her on a daily basis.

We went out with the boys the first night. Fonda. Smith Street. David loves it, despite me telling him it is McDonalds, because he likes the margaritas. He has turned into a piss pot. “Well, I have to have something to wash the pills drugs down with.”

The second night we watched Friends, because that’s David’s thumb in the mouth, that’s his security blanket, that’s his happy place, until late, because David loves Friends, and he loves watching it with me. (He probably loves watching it with a multitude of people so I don’t know why I am feeling so special. Ha ha. We watched season 5)

In the morning, he was keen to get vaccinated. I laughed. “Oh, it would really amuse me if you ended up with pussy boils all over your face,” I said. “You’d have to send me a photo.”

“You take that back,” said David. “Don’t you go casting any spells on me you witch.”

“Oh, come on, apparently it is very painful, you can tell me how much it hurts.”

“Stop that.”

“Apparently, it is spreading amongst gay guys.”

“Germany is rife with it, France and the UK aren’t far behind.”

“On the heels of the pandemic.”

“Why do you think I’m here,” says David. “I stopped having sex overseas, it’s been since May…”

“Wasn’t there something about AIDS coming from monkeys?”

“Yes, some theory, in the beginning.”

“Do you think someone fucked a monkey… again?”

“I don’t think it works that way.”

“I’m sure there would be gay guys with monkey fetishes.”

“Oh, stop it,” says David.

“Not that far removed from bears.”

“I hung out with them on the cruise.”

“Monkeys?”

“Bears,” says David.

“Gay guys will fuck anything.”

“Apparently, not me on the cruise.”

“Ha ha.”

“You say it like it’s a bad thing.”

“Not just gay guys. Guys in general....”

“No judgement.”

“None meant.”

“It is how the world turns.”

“It’s how you got your too few boyfriends after all.”

“Everything was fine until the lights came on.”

“No good comes of shining light into dark places.”

“Ain’t that the truth.”

David and his boyfriends. Everything is fine until the boyfriend commits an unforgivable act, in David’s eyes, which sets him off acting like a child.

“Do you ever think I’ll meet Mr Right.” (he asks me that ever time I see him)

“No, darling.”

“Oh, don’t sugar coat it for me, will you.”

“Well, at your age, it is highly unlikely.”

“To draw breath?”

“You can’t have both.”

“Both?”

“Boyfriends and breath.”

“Where is he? I’ve been looking for him since I was 16 and I’m exhausted. My hair hurts.”

I laugh.

The coffee machine whirls non stop as David fits in his 3 double espressos to get him going in the day.

He tells me there wasn’t a day on his 13 weeks overseas that he didn’t drink alcohol. He is also spraying a Nicorette mouth spray despite not having smoked for years.

“Did you watch any more Friends, after I went to bed last night?”

“No, we went to bed too.”

“And I slept all the way through.”

“But you are famous for sleeping for 15 hours. 20 hours.”

“Not with jet lag, but the melatonin worked a treat.”

“Darling, you sleep without melatonin.”

“No, darling, not when my circadian rhythms are all out of whack.”

“Out of whack?”

“Now look, ta da, she’s back.” He has his arms out to his sides and he does a sort of shimmy. “And ready to go.”

“Go get jabbed.”

“It’s the only time I prefer a little prick.”


Thursday, August 18, 2022

Anthony Died

I hadn't spoked to Loli for quite a while, so it was nice to hear from her. I forget what we talked about to start with, as pretty soon into the conversation she asked,

"So how is it about Anthony dying?"

"I'm sorry," I said. "Anthony?"

"Your... Anthony," she said.

"What do you mean he died?"

"Jules told me when he called the other day," said Loli. “You didn’t know?”

I was in shock, I am sure. "When did he die?"

"Recently. I don't really know the details, as I said Jules mentioned it during a call the other day. Apparently, Matt told him."


Anthony was the first boyfriend I had when I first came out onto the gay scene. He was the first boyfriend I got to hold hands with out in public, well, gay public, at a club, on the scene. We were young and handsome and cute together and we got to lead each other by hand out drinking at pubs. It was a first for me. I assume it was a first for him. He was the first guy I liked when I came out. I still remember sneaking looks at him and we sat and drank our beers and observed the people around us. It was exciting, exciting new times.

I was in my first house, having moved out of home, and he was the reason I came out to my housemates. He was lovely.

But, as a boyfriend, he proved to be elusive and hard to pin down. And eventually he never seemed to be available when I wanted him to be around and I came to accept the idea that I had to give up on the idea of he and I, eventually. There was some pain in that letting go. The idea of what could have been had to go.

And we lost contact. 

I met Mark after that, and life moved on

When I went out with Mark, Mark reintroduced Anthony and I, after a chance meeting.

And Anthony became one of my circle of friends. He was a part of our partying days, dance parties, drugs, all of us having far too much fun.

Anthony always got me. I never had to explain anything to him, he just understood. We’d laugh so much together. We had the same dark sense of humour. He and Tom (both dead now) were my two great friends. Everybody loved Anthony for his smart, cool, witty ways. He rolled great joints, he and Fergus (also dead) And no one made bigger lines of speed than Anthony.

“Isn’t that a bit much?”

“No, get it into you,” Anthony would say.

And then when we’d all survived our partying days, Anthony began to display mental health issues and he disappeared and we lost contact again.

Fast forward some years, and one day I got a hand written note delivered in my letterbox. I was very pleased to hear from him.

Then he came to visit, a bloated wreck of his former self. (I was shocked)

When he withdrew from all of us, he decided to change his life and he went back to uni. Unfortunately, he took out a 150 thousand loan against his mortgage free house (sadly in the fog of mental health decline) and, apparently, pretty soon after that he began to display signs of serious mental health issues. To cut this bit short, he dropped out of uni, defaulted on his loan and lost his house. He spent a considerable time in mental health facility.

When he came out, or was released, he had no choice but to go and live with his mother.

He was disappointed with his life, he’d lost everything, and he started drinking.

He started to suffer from pancreatitis and spent several periods in the Maroondah hospital because of it, during which time I visited him. I don’t think ever really accepting that his drinking was to blame.

One day, after I had questioned him about how much he drank, he replied, “I never have anything before lunch, um?” He smiled something reminiscent of that cheeky smile to which I was first attracted. “Well, certainly never before morning tea.”

“Every day?”

He laughed. “Most days.”

“Every day.”

He smiled nervously.


I thought we had some special connection, despite it all? Always. He and I. Lovers. Then friends. Always on the same page. Always knowing what the other was about. But, apparently not, we didn’t.


I called Jules. “I thought I was the last person to know,” Jules said. “I thought you’d have all know long before I heard.”

“No, I didn’t know.”

“I’m surprised,” said Jules. “I never thought you wouldn’t know."

“No.”

“You’ll have to call Matt, he was the one who told me.”


I called Matt. Apparently, he’d seen someone mention Anthony’s death on Facebook, even if he couldn’t really remember who.

“It was cancer,” said Matt. 

I assumed, pancreatic cancer.

"He'd turned into such a nasty drunk at the end that I stopped communicating with him," I said.

"Yeah, you're not the only one to say that," said Matt.

"I mean really awful stuff. Just abusive."

"He'd given up drinking at the end." Matt told me that Anthony had been calling people up trying to make amends for his past behaviour, I think that is what hurt. “He was trying to make amends for his bad behaviour.”

I heard myself mumble, "He never called me."

I wasn't worth a fucking phone call?

Clearly, I was wrong about our relationship.


I've thought about it, and unless a letter was delivered to me by one of his sisters stating he couldn't face me, then this can't be fixed. There is a part of me, not a main part, not a significant part, but a part deep down which is hurt and can't be placated.


David will give me all sorts of reasons, (he is arriving immanently) but it can't be fixed now, no, it's brutal, sure. Death is brutal. There is no going back for explanations. I wasn't one of the people Anthony cared enough about to give a call to at the end, that is just the cold hard truth I am left with.


Tuesday, August 16, 2022

Monday, August 15, 2022

Guys in White Y Fronts

I see they are talking about tearing down the docks in Victoria Harbour. Stupid really. They can't leave things alone. Of course, it is property developers donating to politicians that are continually destroying our city. Sad really.

Jesus, the fun we had down there. Nothing like it now. Those big, loud, packed, sweaty, everyone in together, never any trouble, thumping dance parties. The music, the energy, the camaraderie. The lights, the glitter, heat.

I remember standing on those docks looking out over the water with the city’s lights reflected, off our faces. Hugging, chatting, the declarations of love. Ah, good times.

Oh, that year Andy and I, who looked alike, went dressed as school boys. We told the punters we were brothers who do it to each other. Then we’d pash each other. I tell you, that got the punters going, seriously, the school boy, brother thing, they were hot for us. I have never had so many disgusting propositions. Andy and I didn’t feel safe. Oh, we laughed.

Ah the dancing. The highs. The fun. The abandon. The throwing off of inhibitions for everyone there.

I miss handling guys in white Y fronts, or tiny shorts, or so very little. All those dancing boys together, friends in groups, and suddenly there’d be a new face in your orbit. Smiling, loving life, connecting.

Some random guy squirming in your arms, suddenly, with wanton eyes. The stickiness of his bare skin. The curves of him filling out that soft white cotton, tightly hugging him. Smiles. Captured, happily so. Promises made just by him not trying to escape your grip.

And you knew your night, morning was going to be fun, both of you becoming recreational vehicles.

I miss those days.

Feel the curve of his hot arse, knowing...

The long walk back to the car park as the sun was coming up. All those contorted faces in the half day light.

Ah, the memories came flooding back as Lord Mayor Sally Capp justified the destruction of the docks. So short sighted, I thought. So, what will we end up with, some structure with no history, not patina, no connection to what was there. Bland, 2000’s architecture, just like all the other 2000’s architecture that won’t age well and won’t be memorable.


Thursday, August 11, 2022

Under The Pump Indeed

I knew this arrangement with Boris being OS would have its issues. You know, doing the two things we had discussed, that is what I have agreed to. 

“I won’t be able to return home to Shitslavia,” bat of the eye lids, “if you don’t agree.” 

Don’t bat your eyelids at me, save it for the straight boys. That doesn’t work on me. If you really want to win me over, get your brother to do a slow reveal, or something. ha ha. (That doesn’t really make any sense, but I am sure you get what I mean)

But, apparently it did. Grrr. I did agree to do a couple more things than we first agreed, minor things, but more things none the less.

But, I have not agreed to do Boris’ job for her while she is away. I certainly do not want to work that hard.

It was agreed with CFO that Boris would take her laptop with her, to cover what I wasn’t willing to do. (Nyr! She should have organised this properly in the first place)

Oh yes, I know what you are all saying. Be a team player, Christian. Make yourself available. Be helpful. And to you I say, When was the last time you people worked in the corporate world? Huh?


TheMidget (Financial Accounting Manager, I had to look that up) keeps emailing me to ask Boris things, so I email Boris and then she answers me and I answer TheMidget.

The thing is I am only emailing Boris on her work email. TheMidget knows that. Oh yes, it is a minor issue, certainly first world problems. But I don’t want to do Boris’ job, I made that very clear from the start. To all of them. I’d say something but TheMidget has become quite uppity, as my mum may have said, of late. So, I continue this ridiculous email trail in silence.


I worked today, Thursday. I said I shouldn't as I really had nothing to do, but they seem to want me to. “Got to keep on top of things,” they said. Sam told me I should. "Fuck it." (I have been a bad influence on him) “Milk them for everything.” So, I did.

But I really did have nothing to do. I had everything done. (What does Boris do for her 150K, I ask myself?)

I have a photographer Bruce Weber who I like, so I spent the day saving his photos. I’m very keen on his shit.


Boris and TheMidget went backwards and forwards via me, all day, but finally worked out they could email direct. Genius’.

TheMidget wanted something, which Boris was sure our boss, CFO, said not to worry about. 

But TheMidget was persistent.

TheMidget eventually emailed, "If Christian is under the pump, then I guess we can let it go this month."

Under the pump? Under the pump? I thought. Two nude models kissing on a banana lounge in Florida. Save.


Tuesday, August 09, 2022

My Mum

I think of my mother every time I throw away a butter wrapper, she used to save them to line her cake tins. Banana Bread, Apple Cake, Pear and Apple sponge.

She only had butter for cooking, we got margarine for our food, bread, whatever, as she was one to embrace margarine for health reasons.

A woman who never bought cling film in her life. "I cook everything fresh, why do I need it?"

She would always have a roll of grease proof paper though, something in which to wrap cake for our lunches, which she made for us every day.

She cooked us all breakfast every morning and made lunches for us, which would be in 4 brown paper bags for each of us, 3 kids and dad.

She worked full time, all of her girlfriends worked full time. They all had 3, or 4, kids. (Not 2, not 1)

She was friends with the same group of women for 60 years with whom she went to teacher's college. 60 years these women were in each other's lives.

I asked her once, "All of your friends, Aunty May, Aunty Pam, Aunty Brenda, Aunty Doffa, Aunty Eleanor, Aunty Joan, Aunty Isobel they all had 3, or 4 kids."

"Yes, except for Aunty Brenda who had Jennifer and Neil. And Aunty May didn't have any kids, but she dedicated her life to the kindergarten holiday home."

"And you all worked full time?"

"Oh, yes, for the most part."

"Well, kids and day care and returning to work?"

"I took 5 years off and had 3 children."

"So, I was 1 year old when you went back to work?"

"Yes."

"Who looked after me?"

"Aunty Ida. Then I took you to work. Then you went to kinder just up the road, and you'd walk home and entertain yourself. Your sister would be home from school. You entertained each other."

"So, you didn't need time for yourself, to work out who you were, or to find yourself?"

"No, darling, we'd already found ourselves. We loved our jobs and our kids and our husbands."  

"In that order?"

"No, not in that order."

"We just thought our kids were marvellous. We thought our lives were great."

"Do you think it is different now?"

"I don't know, darling. I can only talk for my time."

"No children on drugs?"

"I've nearly finished mixing the cake. Put that butter wrapper in the loaf tin. Quick sticks."

"Like this?"

"Yes, like that. And put the second one the other way."

"Like that?"

"Yes, honey, just like that."

"Done."

"We all just loved every one of you," mum said. "And all our kids turned out okay."

"All of them?"

"Yes," she said. "Hand me the tin, the cake is ready to go in."


I stood with the butter wrapper in my hand and gazed out into the garden. My mum, she was always busy, she was always doing something. Not a gene I inherited. I laughed to myself. I tossed the butter wrapper in the bin.


Saturday, August 06, 2022

Friday, August 05, 2022

Five Days A Week

I've been sucked into working 5 days this week, fucking Boris. Oh yes, you go overseas and have a nice time, Botswana, no, that’s not right? It begins with B and I can never think of it. Yeah good onya.

I mean, I wouldn't have anything to complain about if I'd said, yes, I will fill in for you, but I didn't. I actually said no straight up. “No thank you.”

And yet, here I am.

"Christian will do it, he knows how to do my job," I can just hear them. What is the implication, I'm too spineless to stand up for myself?

And yet, here I am? 😬

It is like the week that never ends, working 5 days. I understand why the population is so pissed off if this is what they go through all week. I'm exhausted. 

(companies are making record profits and they can’t pass any of that onto the workers in higher wages of shorter hours, it’s a crime)

And now I have resorted to eating Cheezels in the kitchen because I have done all my work and I am bored, which is really stupid, because if I was home having my day off I wouldn't be bored and I wouldn't be bored eating. I mean, it is all the same with working from home, except for the perception of what I should be doing, am doing.

What does Boris do all day? I've done all the stuff she left for me to do, above and beyond what I agreed to. And here I am with nothing to do at lunch time?

Oh well 😬

Bud and Bruno cuddle up with me, and a bag of Cheezles, on the couch in front of the teev watching my car renovation YouTube channels before we stop for lunch.

I go get Japanese for Sam, Charlie and me.

Sam heads back upstairs for his day of meetings, Charlie heads to his room.

Then it is back to YouTube for me, Buddy and Bruno. And a nice warm blanket pulled over the 3 of us. Well, no, pulled over me, but I do love the picture of me and the bulldogs wrapped up in a blanket together.

Happy Friday.

I intermittently check my emails during the afternoon, I think I got two, and non urgent at that.