Sunset

 

I raced up to my attic bedroom to take shots as soon as I saw the sky blush pink. 

The sunset was a cracker. So gorgeous. I love a great sunset, it makes my heart sing with wonder.

Charlie

Sam said to me that I need to talk to Charlie more. 

"Talk more?" I said. "Talk at all."

"Exactly, said Sam. "Talk to him. You don't speak to him."

"It is really hard when he..."

"Just try," said Sam.

Yes, well, I thought. It is true. I haven't been engaging him. So, this morning I said, "Good morning Charlie," as he wafted passed like the embodiment of silence, and he smiled and said good morning. And then he even asked me a question. And it felt like progress of sorts.

Scanning Done

The scanning of the photos has finally finished.

Oh, stupid me, I was more than halfway through scanning them when I realised I could use the photo restoration button, which just transformed the scanned images, so, of course, I had to do them all again.

Sam was speechless at this development.

Charlie In The Shower

Charlie literally spends an hour in the shower. Sam timed it (Just because Sam happened to have a meeting start as Charlie went to the shower [another of the perils/benefits of working from home] and the meeting last 1 hour and Charlie was still in the bathroom)

And I know I am the quick shower guy, I am just in and out. But, I think I remember as a kid, I used to spend forever in the shower. I used to just stand under the water motionless just feeling the water on my skin, the warm fluid massaging my pores, just thinking about life, truthfully just thinking about nothing, staring at my feet, the floor, motionless. I’d do the cradle the baby, catching the water until my arms were full and then letting it splash to the floor. Then I’d be back to the stillness, the warmth, the gentle shiver done my spine at the ‘aloneness,’ as the time ticked away seemingly unnoticed. Not caring. Only ever really feeling anything outside of myself if the hot water ran cold.

In a way, it is nice to be reminded of such times. In a way.

Charlie Arrives

Sam's nephew arrived. Now, I'd always heard he was quiet, a man of few words, which kind of suggested I might like him even before I'd even met him as my appreciation of people so often is in direct relation to how little (dumb shit) they say.

But then, in total contradiction to this, you've got to at least say one interesting thing to get on my radar.

Now there is quiet, and there is quiet, and then there is Charlie. Quiet? Man of few words? He doesn't speak at all. Seriously, he doesn't talk. 

He has headphones permanently inserted in his ears (he told Sam he listened to podcasts) and his phone permanently in his hand. 

I said to Sam, "Let's hope he isn't listening to Jihad radicalisation." You know, they say it is the quiet ones. Sam looked at me with big eyes. "We could be on the 6pm news saying we had no idea," I said. And I heard Sam ask Charlie several times what he was listening to on his headphones. Apparently, he is listening to European soccer commentary. (Sam and I just looked quizzical at this piece of information)

Not only doesn't he speak, he is really quiet. I mean freakishly quiet. Suddenly he is in the room, or next to you, just like that.

Out to Lunch

I scan photos all morning. You know it is my favourite thing to do. Sam just looks at me incredulously. “You are doing this why?” he has asked on more than one occasion.

Then we went and did his favourite thing, shopping.

12.30pm. We parked in Nicholson Street, lunch was first. I am hobbling down the street. I can’t walk properly due to my sore heel. My left heel has been getting slowly more and more sore over the last few weeks and now it is causing me to hobble. I’m kind of surprised by it. Suddenly walking is a trial.

My ex boyfriend Mark said it was plantar fasciitis. He sent me some stuff on it and it sounded like it. Anyway, it is painful and causing me to have, dare I say it, mobility problems, like an old person. (I’m not looking forward to getting old, not at all. I am barely attached to this life as it is, it won’t take too many disabilities for me to want to check out. Get intolerably grumpy at the very least)

We went to Pacific House for lunch. I hobbled down Victoria Street.

Pacific House was busy. Haven’t any of these dweebs heard of Covid, I think? Sam points to us when I mention it.

My meal was disappointing, dry rice with roast pork and roast duck and nothing to wet the rice. Just essentially dry rice. (One thing I like when I am depressed about having a sore foot is food) not at all like their usual fare. Bad choice on my part. I leave with a sad face.

We walk, I hobble, back up Victoria Street. Sam goes to the butcher.

The sun is shining.

Then he goes to plastic surgery to buy fruit & vegetables. (The woman behind the counter looks like she has had too much work done and, of course, that is how I referred to her, which lead to Sam referring to her that way)

I’m standing outside with the warm sun on my face. Watching the demented man piss about with apples. I don’t know what he is doing, but essentially fussing over this one apple that he has. He is putting it down on the footpath at the base of the shop window and walking away. Then returning, picking it up as though he is saying my precious, my precious. Then repeating the process.

Then we hobble to The Hive shopping centre, arcade really. A disparate group of shops.

I try to walk properly, but it hurts too much. Sam gives my sore foot no credence.

a small side table, shelf, or niche in a church for holding the elements of the Eucharist before they are consecrated.

"a credence table"

Sam suggests the shops I could cover. I mention my sore foot yet again and he looks exasperated. I find a seat. Sam does the shops.

“Go, go, go,” says Sam as he walks away.

There is a fat guy aggressively selling The Royal Flying Doctors in the arcade. He goes after everyone who walks passed. He has a line to get everyone’s attention. 

“Ah, there he is.”

“Did you get dressed up just for me?”

“Hey brother?”

“Hey legend?”

Sam comes down the escalator. He skilfully avoids the arcade spruiker. He heads to Saigon Village for more fruit & veg. (I start to grumble)

I sat on my seat watching the world pass by. Of course, my favourite thing to do in life. (second only to doing nothing at all)

We’re home not long after.

I’m back to scanning photos when I get home. Sam disapproves, of course, but he seems to disapprove of just about everything that isn’t on the Sam to do list. I joke it is menopause. He jokes it is me.

Cleaning Up

With Sam’s nephew Charlie's immanent arrival, we have been cleaning up the house. You know how spare rooms become places to store stuff – get filled with crap – well, our spare rooms are no exception, Charlie's room being the main storage unit.

So, I got up in the attic so we could clean out some of the shit up there, which should have been cleaned out years ago, so we could store some of the new stuff which we will clean out in the next five years, or so.

All my old treasures. I culled and cleaned and cut many boxes down to a few. Jesus, I even threw out all of my old VHS tapes. (I actually do still have a VHS player, which I never use, attached to the bedroom TV) That was a wrench! Ha ha. Not really. Seinfeld, Roseanne, AbFab and all those TV shows that are now streamed, or I have on my own private movie channel. Even a few of my old Bette Davis tapes, which I now have on other medium.

I found amongst the boxes, my old boyfriends 5 photo albums, which have been there for how long? Well, they are big and heavy and taking up lots of space in various boxes. I am sure if I told Mark they were here he'd say he wanted them and then they would just sit there for another twenty years because how do you get big, heavy photo albums to NSW easily?

So, I decided I was just going to put them all in the bin and say nothing. Yes, that is what I am going to do, throw them away. Mark wouldn’t even remember where the hell they are?

Well, in good conscience I decided that I couldn't do that. They are full of my step daughter and my (dead) stepson as children. And full of friends and people I know. And besides I like old photos. I have a natural affinity towards them. (I should have been a photographer restorer as a profession. I could easily have been a digital image expert)

So, what to do?

And to Sam's disbelief – not really a sentimental bone in that one's body – I decided that I would scan them. That's more than Mark would do for me, I know that, but that is beside the point.

So, off I went.

The Pony

I was in a meeting recently and it was announced, well, mentioned, well, referred to that that my least favourite HR person was leaving immanently on parental leave. (In August)

I call her The Pony. She always wears her hair sado masochistically pulled back into a severe ponytail, and I could always tell how much of a pain in the arse she was about to be, as she walked towards me, by the intensity of the swing of the pony tail as she approached.

Firstly, I was surprised, she was pregnant at all. I have been in meetings with her, but they have been zoom meetings for the last year, of course, and they are only from the waist up. And I was surprised as she must be over 40 and I presumed, without giving it too much thought, that she was a professional pain in the arse, working woman who'd forgone children for a career. I sneakily looked up her age, she is 39. I guess the reproductive bell is clanking loudly in her ears.

When I had terrible thoughts about what she could give birth to, a Labrador, or what could happen when she gave birth, sundry tearing, I thought maybe it is time I got a new job? Or, at least, a new hobby. Stop thinking.

I decided the best thing I could think was that she goes on parental leave and never comes back. End of thoughts.

Literally in Front of Me

I was taking Buddy for a walk when I walked pass a tram stop.

“I’m literally right in front of you,” said the fat chick talking on her phone standing at the tram stop all on her own.

I wondered momentarily if she was talking to me? Then I just thought she was day dreaming about a Victoria Sponge and she’d simply forgotten to take the phone down from her ear after the last phone called she’d made.

It Makes As Much Sense As The Other Story

Oh, sorry, I couldn't help myself. It was a t-shirt that I miss read, actually. It made me laugh. Then my mistake made me laugh more.

Well, it makes as much sense as the other story, I thought.

Let's look at the time line/details/claims.

The earth is 4.6 billion years old, give or take the lazy half billion years.

The first life on earth were microbes 3.7 billion years ago.

The dinosaurs lived for approx. 200 million years, something like 200 million years ago.

Humans have lived for the last 200 thousand years.

So, what are the claims?

God created the world.

He created man in his own image.

He sent his only son to earth to, now this is the bit that makes the least sense of all, to have him killed for what? Um? Forgive us for our sins? (What is this crap?) Why didn't he just forgive us? [the way we reproduce our species was the biggest sin of all to one of the avenues of thought? I'm looking at you catholics... Huh? I'm still not sure if I understand that one fully?]

Anyway. What? He created the world and then, apart from the microbes and the dinosaurs, he held off for 4.5 billion, 800 million years before he got to his own image... what?

Now, if you believe all of that, I have some beach front property in the Simpson Desert you may well be interested in buying? It comes with a nice flock of goats.

Since man is unlikely to be here much longer than 200,000 years, the way we are going, and since microbes were around for 1 billion years and dinosaurs 200 million years, it seems logical to extrapolate that god is either a microbe, or a dinosaur... if you believe the made in his image bullshit stuff.

Jacinda Ardern Has A Point

 

An utter lack of compassion was the stock and trade of the previous conservative Morrison Liberal Govt and if you think that is how governments should treat their citizens then, sure, go a head and vote for the Liberals, but if you don't think that is how we should be treated don't vote for them.

You see, I think the role of government is to make life better for its people, all of its people. 

I don't believe it is the role of govt to screw over its people, in fact, screw over the whole country in its quest to service the needs of its financial donors.

Boris' Holidays

Boris is going on holidays, 6 weeks off to visit her mother back in the home country. However, she can only go if I agree to cover certain critical roles. When she first suggested it back in 2019 when she was first planning the trip, before the pandemic hit, I agreed that I would. “Sure, no problem.”

But, you know, life has happened since then, and the buzz of me being a new kid has certainly worn off, and a certain amount of jadedness has settled in, certainly around the edges. There have been a few instances where I have got the blame for stuff and while I have been exonerated on nearly all accounts, well, I’m sure it has gone a long way to me feeling as though I am not thought of as highly as I once was.

Boris wants to further her career, and gets bonus’ as a manager. I just want the quiet life and don’t get bonus’ as I am not a manager. My 3 day a week job just keeps my bank account topped up so I don’t ever have to think about it. Boris wants the responsibility, I don’t. I have learned working in the corporate world, unless you are a ‘yes’ man and willing to tow the line to the nth degree, if you keep your head above the parapet for too long the most likely outcome is that you will get it kicked in.

So, when Boris asked me if I’d fill in this time, I responded with, 

“I don’t feel as though I am thought of highly in the company, and that doing more hours in that environment I don’t feel is in my best interests any longer, so I would have to decline.” Or something like that.

Boris called me right up, telling me that I wasn’t thought of badly in the company and that she didn’t want me to feel that way. And somehow, I had an attack of the team players (Jesus Fuck!) and somehow at the end of that conversation I'd agreed to do a very limited role, two functions only, so she could go away on holidays. 

And I have been kicking myself ever since. I don’t want to do it! But, I like Boris and I didn’t want to be the reason she couldn’t go on holidays, which is totally ridiculous, now that I think about it, as they could have got a temp from anywhere to do the job, (they could have done whatever, really, what do I care) stupid me. I am cross with myself for caving in.

It means that I have to work 5 days. It means I have to return to the office, for at least part of the time. And I have to be responsible to everyone during that time. I don’t want to do it. I am an idiot.

So, you can well understand how I felt when Boris sent me a list of all of the functions in her role that I would have to cover. 

Ah, no, I thought. (actually, my reaction was much, much stronger than that, however) I emailed her back saying, “I thought I only agreed to do [function A] and [function B]?”

She conceded that was what we agreed. And has made arrangements for those functions to be completed by other people. (or is in the process of)

I have held that position firmly since. (Because I am sorry I agreed to any of this stupid me)

Perhaps, I am just a whiner? No. This is the only place I spew all this stuff out. I do tell some close friend’s snippets of this, I’m not really good at small talk, but most I just keep it to myself, other than here. 

I watch people and their small talk and I see that most people just tell the same details over and over again, in social settings. I find once I have told it once, I am just boring myself if I repeat it to the next person. Small talk is done best by people who find themselves endlessly fascinating. My friend David is a master at it.

Melbourne at Night

Walking home from the excellent The Picture of Dorian Gray tonight.

The main actor, the only actor was fantastic. They had screens and did all sorts of trick photography so the one actor could play 4 characters often interacting with each other in the same scenes. (I’m still not entirely sure how they did some of them?) So, it was essentially a one woman show through the entire play often playing multiple characters. How she remembered all her lines I will never know.

Sleep, What I Used To Do Best

I used to be a good sleeper, it used to be the thing I did best, I used to say as my line at dinner parties when everyone else made their case for a bottle of wine, or a bag of pot, before they could achieve nod. If I wasn't asleep after 5 minutes of laying my head on the pillow, I would start to hear alarm bells, albeit silent ones in my head.

And while I still don't really have a lot to complain about, insomniacs, I'm guessing, would only wish to have my problems, I'm not as good as I used to be. Oh, I’m still asleep within 5 minutes of going to bed, but now I wake up early, often

It is the weight of life that is disrupting my sleep patterns, I’m sure.

Here I am up at 4am, sitting on the floor in front of the open fire I have just lit, which is just beginning to warm my right arm, like a sunrise. Much to the delight of Milo my cat. (no pesky bulldogs to deal with. Well, just the young bulldog being the problem to be precise) You're up! You're up! I can almost hear Milo say. Pat me. Pat me. Pat me.

I got up at 3am for a piss. Sam did too. The silent shuffle to the bathroom, and the silent shuffle back to bed. (Ralph and Fred the sheep dogs, except without the greeting)

Then I lay in bed writing stuff in my head, which was nice. But then I wanted to write it down before I forget? Stop it! Now, about the things I have to do in the morning. Shut up brain. Call the heating man first up. Shut up. Think nice thoughts? I wonder how big Liam’s dick really is? He is a big lad, it only stands to reason?... no, don’t think about that. Think poetry. What was that poem I was writing… Oh, no, back to wanting to write it down! What rhymes with, what was that word?... Shut up! And that is a great name for that piece that I wrote. Get up, write it down. Shut up! Shut up! Should I look at the time again? Oh, go to sleep. Toss and Turn. Grrr. It is no use. I'm awake now. damn it. Grrr. I toss and turn for a moment later.

And it is my day off today, tomorrow, (I never quite think it is the next day until the sun comes up), whatever, so what does it matter really, what time I get up?

I reach out and pull my watch from its charging station. I put it on my writs nimbly without needing to see.

I could light the fire (even if it isn't as cold as the last few days) and lie in front of it with the big pillow pulling a blanket over me and listen to some music.

I slip out from under the doona in the dark. I pull on my track pants, I feel around on the floorboards for my fluffy explorer socks. I find one and slide it over my left foot. I eventually find the other and slide it over my right foot. I get to my feet and slide my feet with small steps over to the bedroom chair where I discarded my t-shirt, thermal top and hoodie last night, I slide them all on in one movement. My eyes are becoming more accustom to the dark and I step towards the desk and my laptop and head phones, I was using in bed last night before we turned out the lights. I take small steps in the dark, like the bound feet of an ancient Japanese woman, to the door. I reach out to my bedside table and pull my phone from its charging station. I grab my glasses. I click the door open quietly, I slip through and close the door behind me again as quietly as I can.

The house is in darkness. I check carefully to make sure Milo isn’t lying on the step on the turn in the staircase as he likes to do. I don’t know how many times I have been in danger of plummeting down the stairs having to avoid Milo at the very last minute. Cats?

Am I hungry? Don't even think about it.

I go and dig peanut butter out of the jar with a knife. 

I make coffee.

Rainbow

 

It's been cold, but the sun has come out momentarily

We've still got to walk the dogs, well, you know, if it was me, we'd be home on the couch taking turns licking the peanut butter from the knife, Buddy, Bruno and me, but Sam is a stickler for dog walks every day, come sunshine or the cold. And, actually, Buddy and Bruno don't care - well, Bruno doesn't care as long as he doesn't get his paws wet - about the cold. They are English Bulldogs after all.

Baby Faced Liam

Then the heating company sent baby faced Liam. Everything about him was big. Big feet. Big legs. Big thighs. Big arse. Big hands. Tall, of course, with this child's face.

(Ah, to be 18, or 19, again, and have all those people, yet to come, who are going to gag sucking on your big dick. You have such a short time to entrance the world and be entranced by it that you should do everything with everybody, before you settle down and be contented with your lot)

He got the heating going again, with a good showing of arse crack in the process. (white jocks, fine spread of hair in the small of his back. He hadn't been out in the sun recently, that much was clear)

He seemed unsure about himself, uncertain of his place in the world, not long out of the den. Just a pup.

Sam wasn't impressed that they'd sent the junior.

Liam got the system up and running. He said it was all fine. He showed us what to do if the problem happened again.

Sam wanted him to do more checking, and he kind of made a vague acknowledgement of this, you know, played along. But ultimately, he left, missing the real problem with the system altogether. And Sam was to be proven right. The system stopped working again, just after all the tradies headed home, and the temperature outside dropped to single digits.

 

No Heat For You

It's a long weekend, enjoy. 

The central heating brings up an error code on the control panel and shuts itself off. Of course it does, its winter.

We'd just had the service guy here. A couple of panels weren't working in the front bedroom which Sam's nephew Charlie will have when he gets here. He's coming from a hot climate to a cold climate so we had to make sure the heating was working for him. We don't won't to kill him, straight off, Sam's sister wouldn't be too pleased about that. He's her baby, to be sure, one of two. (not sure if Harry will follow suit in a few years' time. Who knows? Let's hope it goes well with Charlie, as there is no plan B to this? No escape route, to speak of)

And the service guy got the floor heating working again. The back part of the house is on a slab and that is heated. It hadn't worked since they replaced the whole system a few years back. Call it my slackness, call it my stinginess, whatever. Sam and I don't feel the cold and slab heating, while it is nice, it really benefits the gas company more than it benefits us. Still, a warm floor is luxury and it was nice to have it back again - right when the gas prices go through the roof, yes, of course.

It turned out the heating company - the same one I am still using, have only ever used - simply forgot to switch the floor back on after they replaced the boiler. So, the service guy had gone over the whole system, after that, just a week ago.

They Are Lovely

We took Buddy and Bruno for a walk to the park in the afternoon. 

A group of ladies are walking just in front of us as we approach our front gate, the older one asks if Buddy is old, or if he is just slow.

“Well,” I say. “I guess it’s a bit of both. He’s nearly 12 years old.”

“Oh,” she says. “So, he’s middle-aged.” She smiles, self-deprecatingly.

“Well,” I say. “That, actually, makes him nearly 84 years old.”

“I hear 80 is the new 60 she says. “Oh you have two.” She sees Max standing on the front Veranda.

“Yes, we do. We have two,” I say.

“They are enchanting,” she says. 

She smiles. She hurries away, walking backwards, almost, “They are lovely,” to catch up to her friends who keep walking. “You are lucky to have such companions.”

Get Out Your Steno Pad

Stupid really, but it made me laugh at an opportune moment. Funny how things come along just when you are taking life, perhaps, just a bit too seriously.

It's Cold

It was cold and it was Saturday. I lit a fire and we stayed in all day in our pyjamas, well, track pants and hoodies and these ridiculous fur lined explorer socks, I kid you not, that Sam bough recently.

We watched all three Lord of The Rings movies. Sam loves them. I like them.

Sam cooked sausages and I made mashed potato for lunch. He cooked roast chicken and roast potatoes for dinner.

We were snuggled up on couches with bulldogs all day. They know how to relax the two bulldogs guilt free, we could all learn something.

No guilt was felt by one and all, all day, I can assure you.

And the day slipped away, just like that, just how a Saturday should.

Hypocrisy

One of my pet hates is driver's that don't give way to pedestrians. Driver’s don’t seem to realise that pedestrians have right of way at an intersection.

Victorian rules for drivers- When turning at any intersection (except at a roundabout), you must give way to any pedestrians crossing the road you are entering.

Driver’s lose their shit at pedestrians walking on the red man, but will drive through red lights with impunity.

Peanut Butter

The jar of peanut butter has an allergy warning on the label, Contains Peanuts.

I shit you not.

It really is a case of legislating for the stupidest amongst us.

Actually, it is probably the exact opposite of that, really. It is legislating for the smartest amongst us. It is rules to stop the parasitic lawyers amongst us exploiting every loophole they can to screw society out of every last dollar that they can extract to go towards their new S class Mercedes, or their beach house down the coast.

Someone is in the Backyard

I have a second car that lives in my back yard which I keep covered with a car cover.

It has had the same car cover for quite a few years, a nondescript grey one, which has been over the car for a while longer than it really should have.

I have tried to buy a new cover at various times but the auto accessory shops only ever seem to stock large car covers, guessing that has something to to with people driving larger cars, I guess 4WDs.

In fact, the existing car cover is too big as I had the same problem when I bought it. It drags on the ground and the bottom section of it gets covered in dirt when it rains and it gets pissed on by Buddy and Bruno regularly.

I've been to a number of shops, and it always seems to be the same story. "I'm sorry, we seem to be out of stock of the smaller car covers."

Of course, Sam found one online immediately upon looking and it was delivered 2 days after he ordered it. (funny how physical shops continually complain about online sellers)

The new cover is predominantly black, but it has red and blue accents on the corners.

I don't know how many times the red and blue have caught in my peripheral vision looking like the sleeves on a sports jacket, or a ski jacket, (considering our weather of late) making me think momentarily, I'm not ashamed to say with a start, that there is someone in the back yard. There have been a number of times where I've done a double take.

Funny the way your mind works.

The Voice

We watched the Voice grand finale. (I don’t know when it was actually screened, thanks to digital TV) Cute Lachie won.

I almost find The Voice unwatchable due to Sonia Kruger being so awful. Is there anyone worse on Australian TV than Sonia Kruger? A block of wood in an age inappropriate dress.

Home Alone

Sam went into the office today. You know, despite him being my very favourite human, number 1 amongst 7.8 billion of the fuckers, it is nice to have some alone time.

It is the quiet, actually more than the quiet, it is the stillness of body and thought that I miss, and which I love so much.

I naturally enjoy being on my own, I’ve always been like that. I’ve never understood people who can’t be on their own. It is a natural recharge of your cells, having some alone time. Not that I have lately, but I can spend extended periods of time on my own.

Of course, the first thing I did was slip over to the bakery and get a coffee scroll. Shh. And make some coffee.

Buddy

My dog Buddy

Sniffs at some debris left on the footpath.

An old boom box, do you remember them?

I wonder where it had been, as

it is now just a shell, as

Buddy pisses on it and walks away.

Alex

Writing about Alex a few days ago got me thinking about him again.

I wonder what it would be like to be a year 12 kid today? I’m guessing things are radically different to when I was in year 12, with acceptance and all. (Well, I’m talking about my private school in the eastern suburbs. I hope it is more than that)

I don’t suppose it is as free as we all hope it will be one day, but...

Can two boys come out as boy friends in year 12? 

Imagine?

Would Alex and I if it were today? Maybe, is about the best I could say, obviously.

Alex with his floppy dark blond hair that fell down just over his eyes ever so slightly, and his killer smile, just ever so rising up on one side, that always made him look cheeky when he grinned. His school pants that fitted him so well, and how easily they came undone every afternoon up the Kew Municipal offices, or the sports store room, or down the bush walking room. His muscular back, his narrow waist, his round arse. 

How he'd hug me tight, before we parted and headed home. How he’d hold my hand, just momentarily as we made our exit from where ever we were. And how our fingers would slip from each other’s fingers, as we stepped into the open. And how he’d butch it up out in public, always kind of ironically, always with that cheeky smile. How he’d always look back with a nod, often bringing his hand up to his forehead, followed by a subtle wink. And a smile. Ah, Alex.

He got married and had 3 sons who he sent to our old school.

He dropped dead from a heart attack on the final green playing charity golf for heart disease, just over 10 years after we left school.

I wonder how much his heart did, indeed, ache over the years? Living that life? Because, I reckon he was as gay as any gay guy I have ever known?

Crazy American Gun laws

Americans don't care about their kids, what other conclusion can one come to?

Okay, to be fair, let's say, Americans care more about their guns than their kids.

It is really any better, now is it?

Don Jnr

Have I ever told you my dirty secret?

I've always thought Don Jnr is cute.

Yeah, I would.

There, I've said it.

I think it's because he reminds me of a boy I went to school with Wes Johnston. I used to pant after him, to be sure. I mean, we were all guys and I was one of them, so I didn't let it show, you know like? Oh, I don't know what it would have been like. I don't know if we had any concept of being girlie? I guess we did.

I wouldn’t exactly call Wes a crush, as such, but a (future gay) boy gets to notice the good looking boys and communal change rooms for sport get you kind of noticing the other (cute) boys when you get to see them all in their jocks.

Besides, I was with Alex by year 11 & 12, Vice Captain of the school, and I think Vice Captain of the football team, so, you know, I wasn't really panting after anyone, Alex kept my hands full. (We did it with each other practically every day, Alex and I)

But, there was Wes. Don't get me wrong, I'm not really sure Wes knew I existed, let alone anything else, but there he was every day, as handsome as you like.

Well, I think Jnr looks a bit like Wes.

Wes had great hair, and a great smile, and those school pants across that arse, I can still picture them.

Not that I would have traded Alex. Nah, I wouldn't have. 

Winter Is Here

First day of winter and it is freezing and so far it has rained all day.

You know, when I say it is freezing, it is low of 6 degrees and a high of 11 degrees, Celsius. So, you know, it's not Siberia.

But the rain just has not stopped. (tell it to the people of Lismore, I hear you say)

Half the year disappears.

I always think the first half of the year is the happy half, and the second half is more serious, getting down to the grind half. I guess that may have something to do with summer and winter.

The first half disappears so quickly.