Holiday Break

It's nice to be on holidays, even if I am not actually on leave. I'm only getting the public holidays this year, but because I work M to W, and the way the public holidays fall this year, it only means I work 3 days. So, I am not, actually, taking any annual leave.

Do you know how much annual leave I have accrued, a huge number of days, as I haven't, actually, taken leave since we went to Japan in 2019. Oh, I've taken a few days over Xmas each year, but they don't amount to many, but I haven't taken any big blocks of leave.

Sam is on holidays, saying he is never going back to work. He wanted to go away overseas, but I just wasn't feeling it. How could I go away and leave my bullies?

Of course, it is now Sunday, so we are halfway through the Xmas break. And it's New Year's Eve, and we're just having a quiet one at home. What's a good New Year's Eve movie to watch?

While Buddy and Bruno have never really been affected by the fire works, on New Years Eve, Otto is really sensitive to noise so we'll have to see how he goes with the fire works tonight.

We're off cleaning and painting today, as soon as we get our shit together. The sun is shining, it's a perfect day. We'll take the dogs for a run around the park in Brunswick. And then Sam is going to sugar soap some walls, and I'm going to stain some panelling which had to be replaced when a heater was changed. 

So, Happy New Year everyone.

Then they cuddle up together. I love seeing them together. I love watching their closeness, it is really cool to see. The two of them are just developing that, as Otto grows up

 

It is the first time we have fed Bruno and Otto together. Usually we feed Bruno inside and Otto outside. But they really are quite relaxed with each other, so they can eat together

 

Stupid Speed Limits

Driving across the northern suburbs to clean up Sam's rental property, and to get the new wooden Venetians Blinds for our bedroom, which didn't fit, then to buy another set, which were too short, and to throw our hands up in despair at our stupidity, fuck me, how many different speed limits are there?

The multitude of speed limits now in Melbourne on any stretch of road to the extent that you are a fucking genius if at any point in your trip you, actually, know what the speed limit is at any given time.

60 speed limits have become 50, 40, 30 speed limits across the city. My theory is that governments want to drive us mad, I can't think of any other reason for these stupid speed limits. That, I assume, would give govts more power over us, you know if we go collectively mad, we'll look to the govt all gaga for them to look after us. Why else is this rampant stupidity happening?

And almost in direct relationship to speed limits decreasing, the road deaths are increasing. Our speed limits are now at an all time low, while our fatalities are at record highs.

Surely, the only conclusion one can come to is that lower speed limits are a failure.

Good work pollies, no seriously good work guys, all you have really managed to do is piss us all off.

Anyway, we're off to the rental property to vacuum and clean. A handsome guy in track pants came yesterday to pick up the mattress. Nice face, lovely smile, and a hairy lower back. 

We will be picking up our 3rd set of Venetian blinds for our room, hopefully returning the second set to the shop. The fact that we couldn't get them back in the packaging exactly right may go against us. Oh well, ho hum, what can you do. (update, no the packaging not being right didn't stop the return. yay!)

What Have We Been Doing.

Charlie was meeting his mum and her new partner in Singapore leaving today, but JetStar cancelled the flight early this morning. He now gets a flight 31st for which he has had to pay an extra $300 with another airline. JetStar ca't get him a flight. Why would anyone book JetStar?

We're clearing out all the stuff from Sam's rental by putting it for free on Market Place. It is all the stuff we were going to take to the tip, put out in the hard rubbish, donate to The Salvos, get rid of it somehow.

We sold a bed, but they didn't want the mattress. We have someone coming for the mattress this afternoon. Someone came and picked up the old desk, students who were walking it half way across the suburb. Oh, remember your uni days? Except, I lived at home and drove an MG when I went to uni. The car didn't help me pick up girls, as I already had a girlfriend. Oh, yes, they were the days.

There are 3 huge TVs the tenants left behind, we are trying to get people to come and take them away. We'll see how that goes.

While we were in the mood, we are getting some new wooden Venetian blinds for our bedroom.

I Had To Work Today

I had to work, the only day this week. I had to get 3 days work done in one day, which I did. I can always work harder, I know that.

It hardly seemed to matter, working from home and all.

One day a week, it has a nice ring to it. The Beatles should write a song about it.

And a Wednesday too, that is optimal.

Frasier 2023

I've been, well, binge watching Frasier 2023, and can we talk about his son Freddy. What a handsome guy.

There are some scenes where he is filmed straight on sitting down, and it is really distracting running my eyes along the stitching of his jeans, if you know what I mean.

I used to watch the original series of Frasier, and while I probably wouldn't have claimed it was my favourite TV show, I can still remember cry laughing at some of the episodes.

Happy Xmas

I haven’t received a Xmas present in years, nor have I given one. I’m not sure what that says about me, good or bad. Sam and I don't do presents. And neither do my family any longer. We all got together Xmas Eve for Xmas lunch.

 

In A Series Of Short Essays, Writers Consider What Happiness Means To Them Now, After The Reckoning Of The Past Few Years

I wonder what happiness means to me, briefly? I can’t decide. 

Do any of us know?

I don't think it is the big things, they just happen and then we are hoping for the next big thing.

I think it is the small things.

Bruno pulling my left leg with his fat paw so he can lie down between my legs on the carpet under the coffee table. And Milo coming and lying against my right thigh at the same time, despite the fact he knows the bulldogs will bounce him if they see him there. The little guy (Otto) snoring like a bulldog on the couch. Two cups of coffee. And some Vegemite toast. And my back not hurting while I sit there, on the floor at the coffee table. All the while Sam showing me interesting TikTok clips. As the sun shines outside. Well, that’s what happiness means to me this morning. 

Stumbling across by chance that Cyndi Lauper CD Memphis Blues, which Luke borrowed years ago for the drive home promising on his mother’s grave that he would return it, for $1 in the Salvos just by chance.

The sunshine on my face.

Xmas lunch at my sister’s place in the country with the family. We all take our dogs.

Looking across the coffee table at Sam and having him look up and say, “What?”

Going places by public transport.

Reading over a story I have just written and thinking, not bad.

Raindrops wiped cleanly off my windscreen with my intermittent wipers.

Pulling the bed clothes over myself and thinking I have 8 hours before the day starts.

The perfume of lemon scented Pelargonium on my fingers.

Freshly cooked banana cake straight from the oven.

Two Days Before Xmas

All I have to do is make lasagne for Xmas Day, for David, who is coming to spend the day with us before he leaves for overseas Boxing Day, and I am done. I made the meat sauce this morning.

I have to take the home made Portuguese tarts and champagne to my sister's place to morrow, the tarts are in the freezer, the champagne is in the fridge.

I just have to put Sam, Bruno and Otto in the car and get to the country some time tomorrow morning, that should be easy enough. Otto gets to meet all the kelpies for the first time, that should be overwhelming for him.

I have to make the lasagne, which I am going to make tonight, for Monday. Lasagne is always tastier re-heated.

And everything is done.

I just have to get to the supermarket before 11pm, I just checked the times online, to get parmesan cheese which I forgot this morning. Easy peasy.

Sam is treating me, Bruno, Otto and any neighbours close by to his new speakers, which he bought himself as an early Xmas present. He is very impressed with his purchase.

We don't buy presents any more, so I don't have to do any of that nonsense. Not sure what that says about me, not buying any presents for anyone at Xmas?

21st Century Twats

Xi Jinping is a cunt

Xi Jinping is a cunt

Xi Jinping is a cunt, cunt, cunt,

Xi Jinping is a cunt

Putin is an evil cunt

Putin is an evil cunt

Putin is an evil cunt, cunt, cunt

Putin is an evil cunt.

Kim Jong Un is a fat cunt

Kim Jong Un is a fat cunt

Kim Jong Un is a fat, fat, cunt

Kim Jong Un is a fat cunt.

Donald Trump is a populist, authoritarian, narcissist, lying, obese, piece of orange shit set on destroying America to prop up his fragile child’s ego.

Americans may well be the stupidest race on the planet, as they look as though they may just vote Trump back into office to fuck them all over again.

And this time, it will be without lube.

Failure of Cop28 on fossil fuel phase-out is ‘devastating’, say scientists

Climate experts say lack of unambiguous statement is ‘tragedy for the planet and our future’

Damian Carrington Environment editor

@dpcarrington

The Guardian, Fri 15 Dec 2023 04.00 AEDT

The failure of Cop28 to call for a phase-out of fossil fuels is “devastating” and “dangerous” given the urgent need for action to tackle the climate crisis, scientists have said.

One called it a “tragedy for the planet and our future” while another said it was the “dream outcome” for the fossil fuel industry.

The UN climate summit ended on Wednesday with a compromise deal that called for a “transition away” from fossil fuels. The stronger term “phase-out” had been backed by 130 of the 198 countries negotiating in Dubai but was blocked by petrostates including Saudi Arabia.

The deal was hailed as historic as it was the first citing of fossil fuels, the root cause of the climate crisis, in 30 years of climate negotiations. But scientists said the agreement contained many loopholes and did not match the severity of the climate emergency.

“The lack of an agreement to phase out fossil fuels was devastating,” said Prof Michael Mann, a climatologist and geophysicist at the University of Pennsylvania in the US. “To ‘transition away from fossil fuels’ was weak tea at best. It’s like promising your doctor that you will ‘transition away from doughnuts’ after being diagnosed with diabetes.”

Dr Magdalena Skipper, the editor in chief of the science journal Nature, said: “The science is clear – fossil fuels must go. World leaders will fail their people and the planet unless they accept this reality.”

An editorial in Nature said the failure over the phase-out was “more than a missed opportunity”, it was “dangerous” and ran “counter to the core goals laid down in the 2015 Paris climate agreement” of limiting global heating to 1.5C (2.7F) above preindustrial levels.

“The climate doesn’t care who emits greenhouse gases,” the editorial continued. “There is only one viable path forward, and that is for everybody to phase out almost all fossil fuels as quickly as possible.”

Sir David King, the chair of the Climate Crisis Advisory Group and a former UK chief scientific adviser, said: “The wording of the deal is feeble. Ensuring 1.5C remains viable will require total commitment to a range of far-reaching measures, including full fossil fuel phase-out.”

There was a chasm between the stark statement of the emissions cuts needed and the action proposed to deliver those reductions, he said: “The Cop28 text recognises there is a need for ‘deep, rapid and sustained reductions in greenhouse gas emissions’ to stay in line with 1.5C. But then it lists a whole bunch of efforts that don’t have a chance of achieving that.”

The scientists said the loopholes included the call to “accelerate” carbon capture and storage to trap emissions from burning fossil fuels, an option that can play a minor role at best.

Dr Friederike Otto, a climatologist at Imperial College London, said: “Until fossil fuels are phased out, the world will continue to become a more dangerous, more expensive and more uncertain place to live. With every vague verb, every empty promise in the final text, millions more people will enter the frontline of climate change and many will die.”

Prof Martin Siegert, a polar scientist and deputy vice-chancellor at the University of Exeter, said: “The science is perfectly clear. Cop28, by not making a clear declaration to stop fossil fuel burning is a tragedy for the planet and our future. The world is heating faster and more powerfully than the Cop response to deal with it.”

Prof Mike Berners-Lee, an expert on carbon footprinting at Lancaster University, said: “Cop28 is the fossil fuel industry’s dream outcome, because it looks like progress, but it isn’t.”

Dr Elena Cantarello, a senior lecturer in sustainability science at Bournemouth University, UK, said: “It is hugely disappointing to see how a very small number of countries have been able to put short-term national interests ahead of the future of people and nature.”

Dr James Dyke, an associate professor in earth system dynamics at the University of Exeter, said: “Cop28 needed to deliver an unambiguous statement. While the agreement’s call for the need to transition away from fossil fuels is welcome, it has numerous caveats and loopholes that risks rendering it meaningless.

“That this deal has been hailed as a landmark is more a measure of previous failures than any step change when it comes to the increasingly urgent need to rapidly stop burning coal, oil and gas.”

The scientists comments echoed those of Anne Rasmussen, the lead negotiator for the Alliance of Small Island States group, whose speech at the closing of Cop28 won a standing ovation from delegates: “It is not enough for us to reference the science and then make agreements that ignore what the science is telling us we need to do.”

Climate science was at the heart of a row that dominated the first week of the summit after the Guardian revealed comments by the Cop28 president, Sultan Al Jaber, in which he said: “There is no science out there, or no scenario out there, that says that the phase-out of fossil fuel is what’s going to achieve 1.5C.” Al Jaber later said: “I have said over and over the phase-down and the phase-out of fossil fuel is inevitable. In fact, it is essential.”

Dr Lisa Schipper, a professor of development geography at the University of Bonn in Germany, said: “The early statement by the Cop president about the lack of science behind phasing out fossil fuels sent shockwaves to scientists, especially those who had contributed to the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change’s [most recent report], since the science in the report is so clear that fossil fuels need to be phased out to prevent a point of no return.”

Mann said Cop rules needed to be reformed, for example by allowing super-majorities to vote through decisions over the objections of holdout petrostates and by barring oil executives such as Al Jaber, who runs the United Arab Emirate’s state oil company, from presiding over future summits.

“Mend it, don’t end it,” Mann said. “Cops are our only multilateral framework for negotiating global climate policies. But the failure of Cop28 to achieve any meaningful progress at a time when our window of opportunity to limit warming below catastrophic levels is closing, is a source of great concern.”

Gay Porn

I've got a huge DVD collection of gay porn, which I want to get rid of?

How do you throw away a couple of hundred gay DVDs?

I mean, I can't exactly fill my bin to the top with gay DVDs. Can I? What would the garbage guys think about that? Or is that just internalised homophobia? It's hard to know?

I could throw a few away a week, but how long would that take?

Funny thing is, because I've wanted to throw them away all in one go, over and done with, clear them out, and have felt unable to do that, so I haven't done anything about them, at all. I could probably have, actually, disposed of them one by one by now, I guess.

We're a weird bunch, hey?

Perhaps, I should drop them off at the Salvos. Oh, I only say that because it makes me chuckle. Of course, I'm not going to do that. I don't even want my garbage men to see them.

Yeah, I know, first world problems. What do you do with your old porn, hey?

If that's all you've got to worry about in life, son, you are doin' okay.

Yeah, I know. It still doesn't solve the problem though.

Saturday Night

I looked it up, ruby grapefruits and how they came about, when I was reading back over my blog trying to come up with a new post, it has been 3 days and I'm just not feeling it for some reason.

The young guys who rent next door are generally really quiet, I never really hear them, hardly ever. Except late at night, oh, I mean it isn't so late tonight, 10.45pm, when they have girls around. If they are being loud and excited I will always hear girls voices from over the fence. The chicks get the boys loud and animated.

I lie here late at night on my couch, that is often when I write, as Sam has always been one to go to bed early, 10.30pm'ish. He's definitely an 8 hours a night sleep kind of guy. And I like the peace and quiet to write.

But then the music goes on next door and the boys start talking loud, and the girls voices get louder and louder and I think oh come on girls just fuck them already so I can have some peace and quiet in which to write.

I looked up, how we got ruby grapefruits. The Red Rio was a mutant form of grapefruit from which the ruby grapefruit was developed. Good old Red Rio, as ruby grapefruits are definitely a favourite. You can eat them like oranges. You can't eat yellow grapefruit like oranges.

I write my journal. I write blog posts. Next door is quiet again.

11.15pm. Otto sits up in his crate, he’s been asleep for a while, so I go over and open the door and proceed to take him out to the back yard for a piss. But he has other ideas and he runs around the coffee table and jumps up on the big couch, which he can still only just manage, and it is adorable, and promptly makes himself comfortable next to me. He snores and farts and I write.

My Headphones, My Headphones

I head into town and pay my car rego, club plates I have to do it in person.

I come home and renegotiate my car insurance, on which I got a better deal. If you just keep paying it now a days you get screwed over for being loyal to the insurance company, that's how those things work now a days.

I head to the post office in the afternoon. It was a nice day. I pull out my phone to listen to music, on the way, but I had forgotten my headphones. I am holding my phone in my hand just looking at it as I continue to walk. Grrr. The definition of regret that I was more than halfway to the shops. I laugh to myself, seriously, no, not that person. Am I that person, I think? It is warm day, and I think what the hell.

I see Tony Armstrong is standing outside the bar on the corner of  Smith Street amongst a group of drinkers outside the bar.

Not long after, I am standing in the long post office queue. There must be 10 or 15 people in front of me. What do I expect a Friday afternoon, I have to accept, just before Xmas, again, I ask myself? I start to regret forgetting my headphones. People, people, people, as David would say. My headphones are like my shield of steel.

On the way back, I’m having a good look at Tony Armstrong holding court in the middle of the group of people, you know to see if he is as good looking as I think he is, in the flesh, and just as I’m thinking, oh yes, I’d suck your dick, I mean, that’s the measure, isn’t it, of attractiveness? The moustache would have to go, of course, but… he looks across at me, holds my gaze and smiles and does a thumbs up, right as I had that thought. Was I looking at him too intently? I guessed I must have been? Is he a fucking mind reader, I asked myself? I mean I was just some random walking past, just a nobody in the passing parade, nothing to do with him. WTH?

I come home and take Bruno and Otto for their walk.

A couple pass me with a baby in a pusher, just as we get going. The wife has a mohawk’ish style hair, not strictly a mohawk, all pink and white, which was more her jumper than her hair, when I take a second look. The husband had on blue shorts with a big, beefy arse, and a T-shirt that says, best slice in the world, or words to that effect, and I think to myself I can certainly see that

Bruno takes off across the commission flats as I try to write it in my journal, suddenly jerking me sideways, it’s as if he knows when my attention is elsewhere on my journal, for instance. And Otto shits and Mark calls at the same time as I am pulling the green bag open to pick up Otto’s shit. “Ah!”

Mark calls back and I chat to him as we walk down Brunswick Street. We cross the road to the shady side of the street > Johnson Street, I wave to our puppy trainer as we pass by > Bruno picks up a tennis ball at the beginning of our street and then Otto is after the tennis ball from Bruno all the way home, so that keeps the two of them moving.

And then we’re home.

I write a story called, I Slept With The Captain of the Footy Team for the rest of the afternoon, in a sparsely punctuated, stream of consciousness, kind of style.

Muggy Hump Day – We All Need A Bit Of The Ruby To Stomach The Bitter

It's hot, muggy, the air is thick.

I'm pretty sure my t-shirt was beginning to stick to me this morning, as the day got going.

It rained last night. It poured unexpectedly, even catching out the bureau of Meteorology, not that that is too difficult, I hear you all carol together. Coming down on my new glass panel, not 24 hours, but 12 hours after the silicone had been applied. Silicone usually needs 24 hours to cure, but it got 12 hours, but the day had been hot, 33 degrees. So, cross your fingers?

We tried to take the bulldogs for a walk, but the sun burned.

Anyway, that rain ratcheted up the humidity somewhat, lovely. And it is hanging around. We're not a city traditionally used to high humidity, but climate change changed all that. We are feeling the effects of climate change. It is baffling why that simple fact doesn't inspire the world to do something about it?

I often wonder what all the anti-climate change people think is going to happen? There is no secret escape plan that is only known to them. Nobody is getting out of this. Their grandkids are going to burn just like the rest of us under the ever increasing, unrelenting heat. Surely, they are not so delusional that they think their money is going to somehow insulate them from the looming disaster.

I read somewhere that people who make vast sums of money, huge fortunes, billions of dollars often have personality traits more closely akin to psychopaths, which enables them to do so. It explains a lot. I guess there has to be a certain amount of detachment when you (metaphorically) knife all those people to get to the top.

I eat ruby grapefruits late morning. I love that bitter grapefruit taste, made palatable with the addition of ruby. I wonder what the ruby is? I should look it up. I should know, I guess.

It is a metaphor for life, really... is it a metaphor? Oh, whatever you want to call it. We all need a bit of the ruby to stomach the bitter.

The bulldogs are playing dead dogs in the lounge room, sprawled out across the carpet.

I'm just contemplating what work I have to do for the rest of the day?

Plenty, really?

Sam comes down to start making lunch. He holds a bowl of mushrooms up to the sun and chants. Apparently, exposure to the sun super charges the good things in mushrooms, it has just been discovered.

Sam smiles at me as he chants.

New Glass

I finally got my glass atrium roof panel replaced.

It broke years ago and I'm really not sure why now, but it never occurred to me to get it fixed on house insurance. And when I did think to get it fixed on house insurance, I'd changed house insurance companies several times and then it just didn't seem ethical to charge it to an insurance company, three insurance companies, maybe more, passed the insurance company I was insured with when it broke. Oh yes, I know, stupid me. Most people wouldn't give a shit. Stupid me.

It broke when Fergus tried to make some adjustment to the window box on the window sill above and it tumbled off.

How many years ago did Fergus die? More than I care to remember. Many years ago. Lovely Fergus, the first of my great best friends to die.

Anyway, last year I decided to get it fixed. So I got some quotes and they were astronomical. $4000. (Jasus! I just want some glass, I don't want your first born son) The big glass companies claiming safety measures being the reason for their eye watering quotes. $4500. (What? I don't want to buy your fucking company) And I started regretting changing insurance companies. Not screwing the insurance company...

Anyway, in the end, the cheapest quote was $1300, but by the time I got to that I was exhausted by the process, and I kind of faltered and didn't proceed.

Fast forward to recently, I emailed the $1300 saying I wanted to go ahead with it, but I got no reply.

Damn it!

Then I saw a glass van outside in the street one night and I went out and asked the tradie guy in the driver's seat if he wanted to come in a give a quote. "No, mate, call the office and make an appointment."

I was a bit miffed over that. Really? How hard would it have been?

Very recently, there was a handsome dark-haired, olive skinned guy fixing a a broken window on a shop around here and I asked him.

(Yeah, sure, I wanted to see him in his undies)

I had photos to show him. He said the $1,300 quote was clearly a mistake and said I would struggle to get it fixed for any thing near that price. He could do it that afternoon for $2,300. Says yes, sign up now, and he'd set the wheels in motion.

"You will never get it fixed that cheaply, they clearly made a mistake with their quote."

Hm, I see, a little too slick, Mario, I'll let your hot arse know if I want to go ahead once I've given it some thought.

Once, his handsome face would have got me to sign up, well, maybe, but not anymore. I guess that is called growing up.

Then Kim came around. He suggested the same glass people as the guy sitting out the front in his car that night who didn't want to come in and have a look, so I called them up. They said they'd come to quote in a couple of days.

They quoted $1300. I gave them the go ahead.

They arrived today at 8.30am to fix it. Bruno and Otto ran to the front door to greet them, before I could stop them. When I opened the door, the big strapping tradie took off for the front gate at the sight of them. "Sorry, mate," said muscles. "I'm scared of dogs."

Oh, really, I didn't even bother saying they won't hurt you. So Bruno got locked away upstairs and he was none too pleased about it. Otto got locked in his crate, from where he was heard to complain a couple of times.

And the new glass was installed after all these years. So its done. Something crossed off the 10+ year list. Lovely.

Dogs At The Door

We get deliveries every day. What with all of us living here, parcels come to the door on the hour every hour, some days.

I often answer the door and receive the packages, as my home office is close to the front door.

And more often than not, as I am receiving the goods, Bruno will wander up behind me to check out what is happening.

Do you know how many delivery guys are frightened of dogs? I'd say at least half of them, if not more.

I have very little sympathy for them.

"Oh, he won't hurt you I say," always kind of offhand.

And some of them will start backing away, and some of them run, which makes me smile, on the inside where they can't see it.

But some of them have to get my signature and name, and they have no choice to stay. 

I don't let Bruno get to them, I push him back. But, boy do some of them squirm.

It makes me chuckle. Again, on the inside, I keep a straight face with them.

Otto is in his crate when they come now a days, but pretty soon they are going to have two of them to contend with. It should be hilarious.

Of course, some of them pat them and play with them.

Some of them are really into them, which, of course is, actually, more work for me, with them leaping about and having a lovely time.

LG Vacuum Disaster

We had a hand held Dyson vacuum which was great. It got a bit old and the battery power was very limited, and it would run out of power before I'd finished the vacuuming. It was the only problem that vacuum had. Otherwise, it was great.

So, eventually, we went to the shop to buy a new Dyson vacuum with longer battery life. 

In the shop we somehow bought a LG vacuum rather than a new Dyson, I can't remember now exactly why. It had an extended battery life, as well as having two batteries.

That was a very big mistake. BIG MISTAKE!

The LG hand held vacuum quite simply is a piece of crap. It really is so bad, it is difficult to see how it was ever fit for purpose.

In the very beginning, it kept turning itself off, so we sent it back under warranty, and, even that, LG couldn't get right. It took forever, the warranty work never seemed to get done, then when it finally was returned to us, they said they couldn't find anything wrong with it and they charged us $70 service fee.

Admittedly, it never suddenly switched itself off again once we got it back, so, effectively, LG made us pay for the repair under warranty. Great warranty.

It has this stupid turbo button, which you are supposed to push if you want the thing to suck harder. (don't we always want our vacuums to suck harder?) That function is difficult to switch on and once you have switched it on, it keeps disengaging very easily.

It has a very narrow opening in the body of the machine from the hose/tube part that keeps blocking up, making it almost impossible to vacuum a room without multiple trips to the bin to unclog it.

It really is a terrible machine.

Why, oh why, did we not buy a new Dyson, which we are going to have to do now, as vacuuming is too difficult with the LG.

My final thoughts, do not buy a LG vacuum, buy a Dyson.

Rainy Saturday

It's a rainy day, there is nothing else to do but pull a blanket over me on the couch and watch a movie.

I watched Klute, when Jane Fonda and Donald Sutherland were young.

That's it. That is what I did. Nice too, I quite like days like that, as few and far between as they are.

It never stopped raining.

We did venture out in the early evening, on the brink of all the tourists descending on Smith Street turning it into its nasty, yob-central, Saturday night guise. We walked under the shop awnings to Aldi and bought all members of the household food. We scuttled back home, just as the rapidly-getting-drunk louts started yahooing, and the flocks of chicks started staggering in on the stratospheric heels and short skins cut up to their snatches.

The world dripped, every plant, tree, bush you brushed passed smeared you with moisture. The crazy paving was slippery, and we all had to be careful out in the back yard. The footpaths and roads were wet. Bruno insisted on taking a dump out in the elements and all I could do was stand by getting wet.

Walking The Dogs Early

I take the dogs for a walk early, as the forecast temperature for today is 34 degrees. I can't walk the bulldogs after 30 degrees.

It starts to spit rain just as soon as we leave and I think WTF?

It is overcast and grey as we start out, but the clouds clear up and the sun is heating up by the time we trot up to our front gate again.

I water all my plants in anticipation for the 34 degrees. And what we get is a muggy hot day with lots of wind.

I take water from the pond and add liquid fertiliser and water conditioner to the mix, then I add fresh water to the pond. With one of the fills, one of my rubber plants falls into the pond, and I lean down to scoop it out, but unfortunately, I rest my other hand on the two piece Chinese Lantern for support, you know the ones inside of which you put the candle, which promptly comes apart and I go head first into the pond, only just stopping myself from going under, by pushing my right hand out in front of me, but I can’t get out with the rubber plant still in my left hand, I require some help. I call out to Sam. “Help! I need some help!” 

I know, pathetic.

It was funny after, once I was back on my feet.

The plumber promised yesterday he’d be here today at 1pm, to fix the broken tap. As I said yesterday, we bought a new tap, but we couldn’t manage to get the old tap off the sink no matter how we tried to. 

Sam messages the plumber at 2pm to see where his plumbers are.

He messages back, 'We are caught up on our current job, any chance of rescheduling it to Monday.'

No. Stuff that. We message him back, “Any chance of getting it done today, as I have someone using the room.”

The plumber messages back that he’d have someone here in 10 minutes. One of his guys was going to pick something up and we were on his way. That's how you do it, I say to Sam. Bloody miracle that worked, I think. 

And a cute blond plumber arrives, all smiles and bright eyes and he fixes the tap.

I lie on the couch watching YouTube, after that. One about a 1931 Model A Ford Coupe. Another about a 1938 Ford Convertible. You get the picture.

And Then These Things Happened

On my way to get the tap, I am turning into Mollison Street from Nicholson Street and the woman in front of me in a Mercedes turns right and stops in the middle of the road as soon as she has turned, just like that, no warning. She says hello to some people on the street who she clearly knows. 

I toot her and she drives off. 

The guys on the street say, “Settle down buddy.”

I say out my window, “Well, get out of the fucking way, then.”

The idiot in the Mercedes turns right in the next street, as she makes her right hand turn slowly, she looks out her window and says, “Wanker.” 

I personally think this is what the constant lies and personal attacks of conservative politics has given us, actions that have no consequence. She was clearly in the wrong, she should have been apologising. But no, just attack, who cares what the truth is, as it doesn’t matter.

At exactly the same time I say out my open window, “God you are useless.”

I think my insult trumped her insult by a mile.

I get the tap. I know which one I want.

I can’t find my parking ticket, when it was time to leave the centre. I was positive I put it in my wallet, I can almost remember the actions of doing it. But I can’t find it. I search the car but have no luck.

The signage ominously says you have to pay $40 for lost ticket. I have never lost a parking ticket before. Grrr! I don't want to pay $40, that makes the tap that much more expensive.

I have to push a button on the payment machine. The nice lady’s voice asks me what time I got there, she asks me what shop I shopped in. She prints me a ticket through the machine. I don’t have to pay anything.

No matter how we try, we cannot get the old tap off the sink, Sam and I. Mostly Sam. We have to call a plumber in the end.

It defined the whole day. Stupid tap.

We took the dogs for a walk. The sun shone.

I spoke to David. He was about to get on a plane to Melbourne. You can't keep him away.

I spoke to Jill. We talked about Henry Kissinger. She had been reading up on why he was badly thought of. And I had studied up on him at some point in the distant past.

Our normal plumber (Not cute Josh, but strapping Michael) never called back.

I called 3 plumbers to get quotes to fix the tap. All three promised me someone would call to give me a quote. Only one did.

Our usual plumber eventually called and was cheaper by $50, and could do it at 1pm tomorrow, so we went with him.

There is Always Something

Oh, there is always something, now isn't there.

I woke at 7am. Sam was already up. I put on my dressing gown, then being on my own I just lay down again.

I woke again at 8.30am. Lovely.

I headed downstairs, feeling refreshed, was standing in the kitchen just contemplating what I would do with my day, when our friend who is staying came into the kitchen. "Do you know how to turn the water off in my bathroom, as the handle to the tap broke and the water is just continuously running."

Sigh.

Of course, it's not his fault the tap broke.

Turn the water off.

There goes my lazy day... like I never have enough of those.

The hunt for a new tap begins.

Grrr!

Always something.

I wondered what it would be like to sell up and buy a camper van and travel Australia? Well, perhaps not sell up, just close the place down and go travelling.

I only say camper van because of Bruno and Otto, otherwise it would be a one way ticket to Greece, or Vietnam, or some place.

It must be nice to free in that sense. I've met a couple of people overseas in years gone by who just spent their time travelling from one place to another and they loved it.

Anyway, I'm off to the plumbing supplies.

The plant I had to repot at 6am yesterday

 

Xmas Party

We make Ceviche lime cured tuna with a Gazpacho salad. We make tacos with a salsa Verdi sauce and pulled pork. We make donuts.

I drink red wine all afternoon, which was a mistake. I felt like shit all night. I don't know why I even drank it, i hardly ever do. Jason Jones was sitting next to me, he kept filling up my glass.

My recorder for my Kriss Kringle present was considered inspired. Everyone thought so, even the big pooh bah. The colleague for whom I bought it, played it like he always played it. 

Team Xmas Party

5am. I get up and go to pee and even turn the water on for the shower when I realise there is nothing in it for me to get to the office really early, we have that stupid work function in the afternoon, leaving early isn’t in the picture, so I turn off the shower and get back into bed.

I set the alarm for 6.30am, just in case.

I get up at 5.45am, when a truck with a reversing beeper backs in the street, and backs in the street, and backs in the street, what the fuck is going on? Not that I’d really gone back to sleep, no, just dozing really. What the fuck are they delivering this time of morning, I think? Beep, beep, beep. Beep, beep, beep.

I take Otto out for a wee. The air is fresh, it looks like it is going to be a nice day. He looks up at me with his sweet face when he done. I put him in his crate downstairs.

I put coffee on. I put toast on. I head upstairs for my laptop.

6.15am. I go and get my work laptop and my satchel from the study, just to start getting my shit together, and on the way back into the lounge, the handle of my satchel catches a plant and it crashes to the floor. “Fuck!”

My mind flashes to the everything-happens-for-a-reason-brigade. And the reason would be, I think, as I go look for the pan and broom?

I find another pot and replant the plant.

I make Vegemite toast.

6.20am. Otto and I are sitting on the couch together. He cuddles up next to my left leg.

The reset alarm goes off at 6.30, (I'd forgotten to switch it off on my phone) both Otto and I jump. That makes me laugh, us jumping, almost exactly the same. I would have left by now on a usual office morning.

I have to get there earlyish, to put my Kriss Kringle present in the pile. I don't want anyone to see me bring it in. I’m still not sure if it is a worthwhile present, Sam is always so noncommittal on such things. It's a recorder, the guy I'm buying it for is musical, he plays instruments, its a big part of him. I thought a recorder was cute, now I am not so sure.

It really is lovely being up this early, especially on a summery day. The sun is shining. It’s a bit humid, even now, thank you climate change, but nice none the less.

I drink my coffee. I have a fan blowing cool air towards me. It’s a shame I have to go to the office at all. Really.

Why do we even celebrate Xmas with our work colleagues? Seriously, such a waste of time. I’m bored at the idea already and I haven’t even got off my couch. It’s an all afternoon affair. 

I sit and stare off into space. Otto snores on the couch next to me. The gentle whir of the electric fan lulls me away... I think about what a cliche Xmas is. It is just leftover from the 1950s, or some such time, that we all forgot to stop celebrating. We should all celebrate the new year instead, it makes much more sense.

I hear next doors roller door go up and down, it pulls me back into the world. They must have left for work. I guess I should pull my shit together and drag my sorry arse out the door.

I must practise my pleased and grateful face for when I open my Kriss Kringle present. As Groucho Marx said, if you can fake sincerity, you’ve got it made.

Summer Is Here

I'm not in the office today. I'm in the office tomorrow, some Kris Kringle and Xmas team building bullshit to attend.

It was hot today, 31, 32 degrees. We've gone from constant rain for a week, to summer, just like that. The sun shone down. 

We walked the dogs in the afternoon, it was borderline too hot for them. It was big pink tongues and panting by the time we got home.

It's a shower before bed, despite already having had a shower today, kind of day. Even though I like the heat, I could just as easily live in a cold climate. I guess I live in the second coldest part of Australia. There is that.

I guess, I do. I can't imagine living up north. Just too hot.

Kebabs For Lunch

We ate kebabs for lunch. Deconstructed. I haven't eaten kebabs for ages. Yum. I miss them.

The tzatziki, the salsa, the bread to dip into each, the beef, the chicken, the salad, the rice, cooked just so, yum, yum, yum.

The sun shine, the breeze blew, we sat outside on tables on the street.

Nice.

We spent the day cleaning up Sam's rental, well, surveying the damage, of which there isn't so much, just shit left behind we now have to get rid of. Clean the carpet. There's some painting that will need to be done. The usual stuff.

Saturday

It is still fucking raining.

Is that a week? Has it been raining for more than a week?

All plans are put on hold, this may just be a day on the couch.

I make a list of the ‘go to’ songs that I listen to on a regular basis on YouTube when the world becomes just too terrible, if you know what I mean, because that is what you do when you are stuck inside on a wet day. Those songs that are just perfection that help steer me to the place where the world is a great place.

Patti LaBelle singing 4 songs at Live Aid. The greatest vocal performance ever recorded.

Liza Minnelli singing New York New York in that red pants suit. Just wow!

Adam Lambert singing Believe Kennedy Centre Awards for Cher. Absolute perfection.

Steve Tyler singing a Beatles tribute, Kennedy Centre Honours for Paul McCartney. Steve Tyler is a super star.

Aretha Franklin’s Natural Woman Kennedy Centre Awards for Carol King. The Queen of Soul.

Tina Turner, Simply the Best, the one where she walks into the theatre from the street. Tina was simply the best.

Noah Reid, The Best. Just gorgeous, just like him.

(I'm sure there are some I am forgetting. I'll add them when I think of them)

Nancy Wilson "Face It, Girl It's Over" on The Ed Sullivan Show.

Nancy Wilson live – Guess Who I Saw Today, 1994

Elaine Stitch, at 85 doing I'm Still Here, Sondheim's 80th Birthday Concert Avery Fisher Hall within Lincoln Center in New York City on March 15 and 16 in 2010

And then, there was a contestant on some singing show, just because he’s super cute, and has a really good, great voice, Noah Thomson singing Stay.

Oh, I just looked him up, he won American Idol 2022. Great voice.

Friday

6:20 am. Sam and I get up at the same time. We both pissed forever. Sam takes Otto downstairs.

I take the large plastic chicken container of rubbish out to the bin on the corner of our street, it is my fuck you to our council. Oh yes, I know, stupid really, but it was all chicken bones leftover from our roast chicken dinner.

I continue ripping the old posters off the power pole on the corner, which I started yesterday, when I went over to the bakery early to get bread. With all this rain, the posters stuck on top of the last one,  stuck on top of the last one, stuck on top of the last one, stuck on top of the last one, have started to disintegrate, and the layers and layers of damp paper, and circles of sticky tape that have lost all of their integrity, have become unstuck and they are flapping about in the wind like many tiny wind socks, or a drag queens fringed frock in a twirl, making sounds like the card stuck to a spoke bike wheel. The things we do, hey? But it just looks...

I can't help myself, David would say it is the Virgo in me. (He's been very quiet lately, he's either working, or having a break down. I should check)

There are quite a few people wandering about, at that hour of the morning – a couple of couples with dogs, a woman power dressed, probably going to the office, a woman in shorty shorts jogging, delivery guys for the shops, a power walker in black active wear pants.

When I return to the house, Otto sits and waits, while I make coffee, then we both sit on the couch together.

6.45am. Bruno arrives downstairs, he gets up on the couch with Otto and I, he is now using my left hand as a head rest. The big boof head.

I drink my coffee and read the news.

Shane MacGowan, Pogues songwriter and Irish music legend, dies aged 65. He sure had a head on him, I think. I sip my coffee. I put some Pogues music on. Er, okay, I think.

Trump attacks wife of New York judge after gag order reinstated by court. When will that overbearing, lying sack of shit just go away, I think. I sip my coffee.

The whole Israel/Hamas thing continues. I think the Israeli cease fire is over. Yadder, yadder, yadder, I think. I sip my coffee.

Brittany Higgins on the witness stand of Bruce Lehrmann’s, the fat ugly thing with bitch tits, defamation court case. Bruce, not Brittany. I sip my coffee again.

Bruno and Otto sleep side by side on the couch, just like Buddy and Bruno used to do...

7.30am. I make Vegemite toast and more coffee.

Bruno and Otto hang around the couch with no particular direction, you know, once I'd disturbed them getting up and preparing food, but finally both cuddle up next to me.

10 am. I have a shower.

10:25 am. I take the dogs for a walk. Otto gets his paw caught under the front door as I open it, in his enthusiasm to get going, straight off the bat. Yelp! Good start, I think.

It’s overcast, but warm, and breezy.

Bruno is slow right from the get go. Otto is keen and walks ahead.

We do the usual big block.

We say hello to Mrs Tilly, standing at her gate, (in our street) looking sad that she doesn’t have a dog of her own any more. She’s not sad though, she’s got quite a sharp sense of humour. She gives Bruno some food.

11:11am. We are standing outside the old hall. . (Oh, you know, I always like to make note of where I am at 11.11, it is my reference to the new age cosmic bullshit)

Bruno is so stop start, he was driving me mental. We crossed the road at the house where my old mate Tristan’s grandma lives, and I was telling Bruno off, and when I looked up Tristan’s grandma was standing at her door. (in our street)

“We’re having a little trouble,” I said. I was embarrassed.

“Oh well, it’s been a difficult morning for everyone,” she says. She laughs. “With this humidity.”

I don't see Tristan any longer, but I see his grandmother often. 

I wonder if I am just a cranky cunt, now a days?

11:25 am. We’re home.

Sam went to Coles. When he came back, he has a white envelope in his hand. “I think someone has left these in the letterbox at the wrong address.”

We ate red curry for lunch.

As we ate lunch, Sam reads an email from name (& name) that they have vacated his rental property on 26th November, and he realises what was in the before mentioned white envelope left in our letter box.

They owed thousands in back rent, since covid, and recently, Sam told them that he wanted it, or they’d have to move out, not that he gave them any deadline to move out. And so, they have moved out. Disappointed that Sam chose cash over compassion, regarding a substantial debt of rent they have owed him for going on 4 years, completely disregarding the fact that Sam has given them substantially reduced rent since they both lost their jobs long before covid to help them out... but it was never getting resolved.

“Look at the bright side, at least they are gone.”

1.20pm. I leave for Smith Street, to pay some bills and to have a sniff around The Salvos, you know, before the Xmas shoppers get in there. Oh, why not. I can do anything I like on my day off, and of all the things I have to do, I chose this. 

(Actually, I think it is just the roof man I have to get now, as I organised for the glass panel in the roof to be fixed. I guess, when it stops raining.)

1.27pm. I’m in the post office on Smith Street and the great unwashed have gathered in front of me in great numbers and the going is slow. My theory is always do this sort of thing in the morning, but it had slipped my mind until a short time ago. Genius, I think, I tap my foot.

Oh well. It’s hot in the post office.

1.32pm. And I’m next to be served.

There is undoubtedly some slapper with a passport application, there always is.

I buy a collection of 5 Mae West movies in St Kevin’s Recycle for $1. Five for $1? They are terrible old things and probably only worth $1, if that. They really are just a freak show curiosity element. (I wonder what Mae may have thought of that description?)

I buy Pet shop Boys, Very and, Further Listening 1992-1994

1.57pm. I walk to The Salvos. It has stopped raining momentarily. In fact, the sun is hot, well, hotish. (hot for the UK, getting hot for Aus)

There are all the Herbie Movies and Winnie the Pooh movies, I grab them, but I put them back before I leave. I’d grab them, but the problem I have is storage, or the lack thereof.

I get Missy Higgins singles, three of them. But, the cute, checkout boy, dark hair, olive skin, tattoos, said no to my suggestion of paying a dollar for them.

“No, it is just one standard charge for singles, albums, they are all the same price.” He says it like a newbie who doesn’t know the nuances of retail as yet, just the rules he has been told. 

He is adorable, though. It’s distracting. 

I hold his gaze and wonder if I should challenge him, but I am really imagining his dick in my hand. “Okay,” I say. The guy a few weeks ago gave me one for $1, I think. I go and put them back on the shelf and leave.

As I walk up Smith Street, I think to myself, I’ll try again to get them for $1 next time, from a different volunteer. I don’t really care, though, I don’t need them. Whatever.

I get Bruno some baby wipes in Woollies.

1:40 pm. I buy a caramel ice cream at Messina. It starts dripping almost immediately. It is nice, but I shouldn’t have, my blood sugar being what it is. I must remember that.

1:52 pm. I’m home. I have to wash my hands straight away.

I kiss Bruno and apologise to him for being grumpy with him on our morning walk.

I upload the Mae West movies. They are double sided and, of course, have no titles so I am uploading blind. Or do they have no titles.

3.47pm. There is a disturbance in the lane. A voice calling out in pain, loudly, probably drugged of drunk, banging on our roller door, repeatedly, moaning and groaning.

It sets Bruno off on a barking spree that seems to last all night.

I call the police. They arrive pretty soon.

4.10pm. Whoever it is, is still up against our roller door bouncing it in and out.

It is still overcast and grey and muggy.

I’m sitting outside on the wicker chairs, listening. Ollie is trolling for pats. While I listen. While our roller door does it vertical trampoline thing. Why can’t the coppers get him off the roller door.

When the banging on the roller door stopped, I went and watered the balcony plants and saw the police with the guy, and he didn’t look like a toothless loser at all. He was almost handsome, brown skin, Indian, Shri Lankan. I wondered if he is one of the long term refugees finally let out of detention? (Detention started by conservative Australian politicians not because it was good for Australia, but because it worked for them to get re-elected.)

Sometime later, Bruno still barking in security dog mode, I take him out to the front gate, which sometimes cures him of his barking, and I saw the policeman was back in plain clothes talking to the guy, who was still hanging around, apparently. The big strapping, bald copper. He must have been seeing to this guy in his own time. That seemed kind of nice, like he really was in 'it' to help people. Kind of restores your belief in human nature, somewhat.

We ate creamy chicken pasta for dinner.

We watched Gardening Australia. It was the Indonesian Special.

We watched Erotic Stories. Ep 01 Philia couples sex toys with Catherine McClements. Ep 02 The Deluge, the lesbian one with Kate Box and Danielle Cormack. I’d read reviews that these stories weren’t so good, but they were good, engaging, a small slice of life. I read Benjamin Law had something to do with them. I’ve liked stuff Benjamin Law did.

10pm. Bruno and Sam went to bed.

Otto comes to in his crate not long after, and I take him out for a wee and a poo. Then he sleeps on the couch next to me. He’s getting very, um, at home, shall we say, sleeping on the couch. The perfect miniature bulldog, even if he certainly isn’t as small as he used to be. He hangs his tongue out his mouth as he sleeps, just like Buddy used to do.

I re-write my journal. I have to be diligent with my dictated journal, as there are plenty of mistakes the voice dictation makes. I have to go through it, as often it just doesn’t translate properly from spoken word to the page.

Milo comes in at 10.25pm, insisting on attention, rubbing his head against me, and when I don’t stop typing to pat him, he turns around and repeatedly hits me with his tail. Cats?

I found that Dusty Springfield released a posthumous album in 2015? Faithful. I must tell Mark, as he loves her.

I cleaned the kitchen, with music on my headphones, dancing around the kitchen as I clean. Dancing in the kitchen at midnight like nobody is watching, as my little dog snores on the couch.

11.46pm. I took Otto for his final wee before bed. It is still fucking raining.

Thursday

10.10am. I go and have a shower. It’s still a bit humid, and a shower with lots of water is the perfect antidote. It makes you feel like god is doing his work. Oh, I just say things like that to make myself laugh. I genuinely feel sorry for people who believe in all the delusional god shit.

10:41 am. I head into the city to get my Kris Kringle present, it is the one thing I have to do today, as I have to produce it next Tuesday. A recorder for [colleagues name]. He’s quite a musician, away from work, and it is supposed to go with his musical back ground. Oh, I don’t know if it is a good present, but it beats chocolates, or wine. Maybe, he’ll play it, maybe he won’t. I don't know.

It’s overcast and grey. There’s a cool breeze blowing. Even if it is just a little bit humid still, the air is pretty fresh.

A guy in a big ute turns right into George Street.  I’m crossing George Street, he doesn’t give away to me, so I tell him off. 

“Hey, give way to pedestrians.”

He stops, and winds down his window.

“Learn your road rules,” I say to his face.

 He absolutely blows a fuse, fucking angry and tries to blame me looking at my phone and my headphones. Great what-about-isim, I think. 

What the? “My headphones aren’t on,” I say.

He opens his door in some kind of threatening gesture.

“Seriously?” Back on your meds, buddy. “Cars give way to pedestrians,” I say.

The whites of his eyes are shedding blood vessels as I look at him.

Big, dark grey ute, and I think it had Wildtrak written on it, but I could be wrong. Did it have the big FORD grill? He was a real ugly bastard. Angry. Bulbous eyes, red eye lids, pale skin.

I was paring my headphones to my phone, and no music was playing, but that is not the point, it doesn’t matter what I am doing when he has to give way to me.

There is that deflection that people do. I blame it on conservative politics, it is what conservative politics does, you are accusing me of what? Look, look over there at that.

I’m listening to Patti LaBelle songs she recorded in 2010 and 2020s, as I continue to walk up Gertrude Street.

10:57am. I’m heading into Little Collins Street, just past The Princess. A guy dropped a joint in the gutter next to me, he’d perhaps had one puff, maybe two puffs, and walked around the corner to The Princess. I could smell it. I picked up and smoked it, I am not ashamed to say, mostly in the lane way that now goes in through the back of the old Metro.

I go to Mitty’s to do my TattsLotto. The old girl behind the counter is really cool, we have a laugh. I do my weekly tickets and get my $250 cash from last Saturday’s win.

11:03am. Standing at Exhibition Street corner, nicely stoned. Whoosh.

The brain tumour building has been demolished, I see, as I walk down Bourke Street to Swanston Street.

11:11am. I’m sitting in the Burke Street Mall, I’ve sat on one of those silver seats, whoosh, wee, whoosh (my dictation has deserted me right in an hour of need) ah, now let me see, what’s all that I have dictated mean. I correct what I have recorded and then record some more, Woohoo my dictation is back in the room. Don’t know what happened there, was it me? Chuckle.

The second David Jones shop is having a complete refurbishment. And something is happening to the buildings next door as well, I see as I wander down the Bourke Street Mall.

I turn left into Elizabeth Street.

When you are stoned, you just obey all the road laws and all the traffic lights and you can’t go wrong.

11.20am. I cross Elizabeth Street at Little Bourke Street, a homeless aboriginal guy gets up from the seat, does something at the bin, I don’t really notice what, then stepped back in front of me as if I wasn’t there at all. I step around him. “Sorry,” I say.

11.25am. I’m in Coleman’s Music in Elizabeth Street. They only have a plastic recorder, so he suggests a music shop in Clarendon Street may have a wooden one.

11.27am. I am catching a tram at Collins and Elizabeth Street to 339 Clarendon Street South Melbourne. It’s kind of nice to get around your own city by public transport. If I was driving, I would never just, drive to South Melbourne now, if I couldn’t get what I wanted in the CBD, I would just drive home.

I so wanna call Sam to tell him I am stoned, but it would be cooler not to.

Standing on the tram stop, I just realised, I can dictate into my phone because many people talking to their phones, that’s what phones are for, and no one will even know that I’m recording my journal, standing on the Elizabeth super stop in Collins Street.

There are no trams in sight, dammit it.

11.39am. The handle of my carry bag touches the bare leg of the handsome Middle East looking guy, in shorts travelling next to me on the tram. I gather it up but somehow manage to brush his bare leg a second time. I scrunch my carry bag right up so it won’t happen again. He has his lunch in a double decker glass lunch box with cut up fruit. And some sort of sausages/meat and rice meal in the other half. Nike runners that look like tennis shoes with no socks. And a canvas puffer jacket. Black shorts.

11:48am. I’m walking up, Clarendon Street. And it dawned on me that I never feel freedom, naturally, any more. Freedom, I just realised that I never feel it. I never feel free. There is always something. Coming to Clarendon Street on a whim is freeing, just heading off on your own with no car, or bike, of whatever appliance to help you. Or is it just the pot? I chuckle to myself.

Midday, I’ve bought the recorder. I could only get a plastic one, pity about that. Everyone is walking their dog in Clarendon Street.

12:10 pm. There’s a beautiful preppy guy sitting at a table on Clarendon Street, some loud, traffic noise happens, and he looks up with his hands in his lustrous wavy hair. Big, beautiful eyes.

I go to Sacred Heart OpShop, The Red Cross OpShop, Cash Converters and The Salvos OpShop. I get Collected, greatest hits of Massive Attack.

12.29am. I see a tram back at the intersection behind me, as I come out of (189) The Salvos. I have to run down Clarendon Street some way as there just isn’t a tram stop anywhere in sight. (Oh yes, the privatisation of the tram network wouldn’t result in tram stops being removed, there you have the basic dishonesty of privatisation in a nutshell) I get to City Road, but the lights let the tram through, but not pedestrians. There is no way I am going to catch it now, I think. I can see it picking up the new passengers and any moment heading off towards the city, while I wait at the red man at the crossing.

“Come on! Come on! Come on!”

I wonder how often the trams come down Clarendon Street.

But… the tram waits for me, is it at City Road? Maybe? He waits way longer than any other tram would ever wait. The tram stop is on the other side of the intersection way past where I am standing at the traffic lights, but I see the doors aren’t closing. The red man turns green. The tram doors still aren’t closing. I start to move quickly across the intersection, the doors still aren’t closing, I look over my right shoulder, and there is a break in the traffic coming up behind me, and the doors still aren’t closing, I start to run, and the doors still aren’t closing, I start to sprint, the doors still aren’t closing, I wave thank you to the driver, I jump on the tram.

He must have seen me running down Clarendon Street from The Salvos. I pull my hoodie off and stuff it in my black recycled carry bag. I always carry a black one, one of those lime green ones is just too tacky.

Spencer Street > Bourke Street > Spring Street > Gisborne Street > St Vincent’s Plaza. My head is still spinning a little, nicely so, as I wander across the multiple tram tracks to the north side of Victoria Parade.

12:50 pm. I’m walking up Young Street, I want more pot. I should call Guido. It sounds like a nice idea, but I’d only get piggy and smoke too much, regret it, and lose 3 days. Pity. I wish I was 30 again and I’d just buy it and enjoy it without talking myself out of it. Who said maturing was good?

I pull my Hoodie out of my carry bag over my shoulder, as the wind picks up, and it looks like it’s got little buds stuck all over it. Momentarily, think it’s the Christmas miracle.

I guessed it was broccoli. 

12.57pm. home.

I ate ravioli with a tomato/salsa sauce. Sam had it ready when I got home.

I save the one song I don’t have from Collected, Massive Attack's greatest hits, the single from that album.

 

Non Stop Rain

6:35 am. I’m at the back with Otto standing in the rain while he has a wee.

I make coffee.

I sign in to work.

It's been raining for days, gently raining, no big storms, but constant, barely stopping, rain. I mean, it is Spring after all, when all the rain usually falls.

I'd just heard the weather forecasters say we were having the driest November on record, or some claim like that, and the rain started to fall.

Ha ha, those weather reporters. 😬

It really hasn't stopped for day, since the weekend. It's been constant, tinkle, tinkle, tinkle.

Everything is beginning to feel damp. I'm not complaining, just saying.

It makes it difficult to house train a puppy, getting up in the middle of the night is one thing, but having to constantly stand in the rain while I wait for him to pee, is another.

I don't enjoy getting back into bed with wet hair. Who does? Oh, some people don't care.

We drove to Essendon in the rain and the traffic, that makes you hate driving, to buy a new sound bar that Sam had bought as apart of some Black Friday discount bullshit that seems to be going for weeks rather than a day, namely, er, Friday. (The awful marketing people must have got hold of it. Why, um, just have Black Friday on one day? Why not a week, a month, of Black Friday?)

(Again, I never make the print bigger, Blogger does it randomly, so often in appropriate places)

I was supposed to be working, last day of the week and all to get things done. We were gone for a couple of hours, 2.30 to 4.30pm. I worked until 6pm, switching off when the misery hour news came on. So, they got their monies worth, me signing in early and all. So, you know, you have to love working from home, hey?

The soundbar sounds good. Sam bought his fingers to his mouth and the made star bursts with them, so I guess he is pleased with it. It is some good brand, apparently, one I'd never heard of, so that's nice, I guess.

Oh yes, more bulldog photos, sorry. I'm not really sorry. I just think they are adorable. Look at the two of them in this photo. Sure, they are paying attention because it is food time, yes, of course.

I really miss Buddy, but having this little scamp makes up for a lot.

I just love seeing the two of them together.

Back To Apple Music

We swapped back from Spotify to Apple Music. Our sojourn in Spotify is over. And I'm pleased about that. Apple Music is so much easier to use than Spotify. Oh, so much easier.

Friends swear by Spotify, but I just reckon that's because they've never had Apple Music.

I guess I am used to Apple music, that is true

I'm currently listening to Van Morrison's latest.

Pedestrians Have Right of Way Over Cars

I take the bulldogs for a walk. It is a nice day. We get going early, you know, it's before 10am. The sun is shining. Two dogs, two leads, easier than you’d think. They walk well together.

We pass all the punters sitting at the out-door tables. I wonder when they are going to dismantle these mini whatever-they-call-them, structures with tables occupying what used to be car parks, a hangover from covid. Parklets. They call them parklets. When are we going to stop giving public land, that is meant for everyone to use, to private businesses from which to make a private profit?

I start to cross G2 Street, the two dogs on my right hand side, at the same time a white van heading east on G1 Street turns into G2 Street from my left.

We step in front of the white van, as it is the pedestrian’s right of way. Cars give way to pedestrians.

The van isn’t stopping, it just keeps coming.

I take a few more steps, expecting it to stop any moment.

The van still isn’t stopping.

I can see the driver isn’t even looking. He is looking at the shop on the corner, to his left.

I expect him to look any minute, but he doesn’t. 

I pull the bulldogs to me.

The van driver still isn’t looking where he is going, and he keeps coming.

When the right hand front corner of his van is about to hit me in the chest, I call out. “Hey, hey. Give way to pedestrian’s you idiot.” He doesn’t appear to look even then. I bruise my finger slapping the windscreen of his van and then the side of it. “Learn your road rules,” I call after him as he continues down G2 Street. 

He doesn’t react, the progression of his van appears not to change because of me, neither me slapping his windscreen, or the side of his van, we are irrelevant to his use of the road.

That is very strange, I think. Suddenly, someone is slapping your car, you would just automatically stop. Not this guy.

He puts his left blinker on and proceeds to turn into a car park 100 metres (oh, I don't know how far it is, 10 car lengths) down G2 Street. I think he is just continuing with his day, I don’t think he is stopping because of me.

Should I run down and bang on his window? “What the hell were you thinking back there?” Nah, I think. Idiots are idiots.

What would the punters at the outdoor café tables behind me have heard? Me suddenly yelling out. A loud voice, suddenly breaking the peace and quiet. I guess they all looked up, looked around, you know, a bit of drama. Where is that coming from? 

"Did you see that, the guy with the dogs almost got hit by that while van."

"It can happen so quickly."

"He's lucky, he should buy a lottery ticket." (It wasn't that close, I am not stupid enough to get hit by an incompetent driver, I can assure you.)

"I'm too scared to cross in front of cars, for that very reason."

I just kept walking. I didn’t look back.

Perhaps, I should have gone and said something to the driver? Oh why, you can't fix stupid, let's face it.

Burning Down The House

Sam and I watch the news. Another house has burned down from an e-bike catching alight when it was charging. This family had only just bought the bike the day before.

These bikes seem to be burning down a house every week. 

It would be so awful, I think. Oh, could you imagine. A nightmare. Your life would just end for a time. You'd go into stasis. Suddenly homeless.

I casually say to Sam once the news report is over. "Do we have anything with a lithium battery that we should be concerned about?"

"Charlie's bike," Sam replies.

"Charlie's bike?" I question.

"Yes," said Sam.

Charlie's bike that he locks up to the front balcony uprights out the front. Charlie's bike that is secured to 150 year old wood work. That bike?

"I've told him not to leave it on charge over night when we are all asleep?"

"And what did he say?"

"He agreed," said Sam. "What do you think he'd say?"

I wonder how easily he could forget? I think, even if we were all home, being a terrace house, the first we would know that the bike had caught alight would probably be when the flames from the front of the house were billowing smoke inside.

"How often does it need to be charged?" I asked.

"Ask him," said Sam, seemingly irritably.

Oh, I thought, Sam had come to the end of the discussion, even if I hadn't.

So, I stewed on this over night and for most of the day. Charlie wasn't home, so I was just left to stew.

Even if we were all home, which is the recommended way to charge an e bike, as I have already said, we wouldn't know until the front of the house was well alight, the bike being secured to a multi-storey wooden balcony, which would just go up like matches.

Charlie can take the bike around the back, where there is power and charge it away from the house. Surely, that isn't too much to ask? Surely that isn't an unreasonable request? A house literally burns to the ground every week from an e-bike charging mishap. Was I being too dramatic?

Anyway, I couldn't get it out of my head. I'd just have to tell Charlie my decision, and he is just going to have to like it, or not, but he's going to have to comply. I'm going to put my foot down. This is not something to piss about with.

I couldn't really concentrate on anything else.

Anyway, Charlie came home late in the afternoon. Sam was cooking turnip cakes for a snack.

"Do you want some turnips cakes?" Sam asks.

Grunt, from Charlie, which means no.

"Remember, not to leave your bike on charging overnight," says Sam. I think he said it for my benefit. You know, he was doing his bit. Whatever, it gave me an 'in.' And an 'in' is all I need.

"I think you are going to have to take the bike around the back to charge it," I say.

"It's okay, as long as you keep an eye on it," says Sam.

"No, it's not," I say. "If it caught a light we would have no chance of putting it out."

Charlie looks at me.

"A house burns to the ground every week," I say to Charlie. "There was another one just yesterday. It is just too dangerous."

Charlie doesn't say anything, but Charlie is a man of very few words, so that is not unusual.

"There is a roller door opener in the cupboard there," I say. "There is power out the back at the roller door. You could charge it there away from the house."

I get up and show Charlie where the spare roller door opener is, I'm determined to make him realise I am serious. He follows me to see where the spare roller door opener is.

"How often do you need to charge your bike?"

"Once every two weeks," says Charlie.

"Okay," I say. "You can charge it out the back, but you can continue keeping where you do now when it is not charging. Just don't charge it against the house."

Charlie looks at me. He should be a professional poker player, he gives absolutely nothing away. I have no idea if he hates me, or if he thinks it is fair enough. 

I really need him to agree.

"Okay?" I say.

"Okay," he says.

And why am I stressing over this, I hear you ask? I must want Charlie to like me more than I had given it credit, I guess. That seems stupid really, he’s Sam’s relative, not mine, and I guess he’ll be gone in a year and half, once his uni is finished, never to see me again. I guess, it doesn’t really matter if he likes me, or not.

So why? Just trying to keep the peace. Maybe?

Shane says I am not good with confrontation, and it’s things like this that make me wonder if that it true, but it’s not. But then who does like confrontation?