The Reserve Bank

People are blaming the Reserve bank for higher interest rates, but that is kind of getting ahead of the story.

We are experiencing inflation because business can't keep supply up to the demand in the economy. That is because of the pandemic lockdown finishing, I am guessing, where we all saved our money instead of spending it, and now we want to spend it. There are also supply chain issues as well, due to various issues.

It is the inability of business to keep up with our demand which is the problem, which in a sense means we all have plenty of money to spend, but there aren't goods and services to satisfy our demand. 

So, the Reserve Bank needs to reduce that demand so it matches supply, so then inflation reduces, because you can't have prices spiralling out of control unchecked.

The Reserve Bank is, actually, the solution, not the problem.

You can blame the business world, more so than the Reserve Bank, but I don't hear people blaming the business world.

Thursday

My weekend started. Lovely. Of course, that is a normal week for me. Its work life balance, what can I say? Except, that I think I have work life balance under control. 

I paid some bills. I visited the post office, you know, old school. I don't really think my bills have gone up significantly. I'm not sure what all the talk is about? Maybe it is as much something for the nightly news to speak about, as it is for people who have over stretched their finances? I don't know. I'm just happy mine don't seem to be blowing out.

I bought some DVDs - The Big Sleep, Robert Mitchum, My Brother Jack, Tigerland, Taps, Ciao, and The Band Played On. A couple of boys films, a couple of gay ones, a classic and an Aussie drama. Its opshopping, and I love opshopping. Always have, don't know why, really, but there you go. I have always had an infinity for second hand things. Stuff that people have loved before me. And old things - clothes, cars, architecture, films, antiques. I always have. I'm not sure what that says about me? David would probably yap on about past lives, or some other BS.

I took Bruno for an hours walk. The sun shone. I put my headphones on. I find it therapeutic, you know, shut the world out. It's always good to shut the people out. I can smile at people, but I don't have to, actually, engage with them with headphones on. Of course, it doesn't stop people talking to me, which can be problematic. Bruno sets the pace, I do what he does. Usually it is Sam and I taking Bruno for a walk, remembering we had two dogs until quite recently, so it is kind of habit. But it is nice just me and my dog. I like it.

Then I lay on the couch for the rest of the day and watched YouTube. First up, I watched stuff about American politics, which as a nation we seem to have become addicted, but then I decided that I really didn't care what was happening with American's sad politics. So I watched a guy who cleans up people's yards for free, which was positive, and kind, and so much more uplifting than US politics. And I watched YouTube car restoration shows too.

So lazy, but also so nice to be stretched out on the couch. I'd recommend it to anyone. Relax, we should all learn how to relax more.

I forgot the dripping shower that I told Sam I would fix, oh well. 😬

And that's all. That was my day, that's all I've got to tell you.

Josh Fixes My Roof

I've been having trouble with my roof, since I got the flashing done. There has been a constant drip right next to my office that there never was before the flashing was replaced. Drip, drip, drip once the rain starts falling. Grrrr! And, I have to tell you, that sort of noise is one of my pet hates...

Also, the leaking in the toilet that they water proofed is still leaking in heavy rain.

So, I called up Josh. I called up Josh? I make it sound so simple, but the truth is that I agonised over it for days. I am good in a confrontation, dispute, whatever you want to call it, right there on the spot, with no time to think about it, I am excellent with such things. However, if you give me any time to think about it, I procrastinate like a bitch, think about every possible scenario, think about it some more, quite possible lose some sleep over it. How do I prove what is wrong when it’s just that it never happened before he fixed the roof. What if he comes over and it doesn’t do it? What if he says no, he won’t fix it because it doesn’t sound like something he caused? What if? What if? What if?

And it wasn't until today, when it rained all morning and the drip was Drip, DRIP, DRIPPING, that I picked up my phone and called.

So, Josh was nice about it, as I explained what I thought was the problem. He'll send someone around next week to look at it, he said. 

So, he's not coming himself, for me to perve on his cute arse and thick thighs in his shorts and day dream about what I'd like to do to him. You know, get him on his knees, with his shorts and jocks around his thighs... um... er... pity.

"You didn't get the job done right, did you Josh?"

"No." I slap his arse. "Ah," he calls out.

"You are a bad boy, aren't you Josh!"

"Yes." Slap. "Ah."

"Are you going to continue to be a bad boy?"

"Yes." Slap. "Ah"

"No, Josh not now." Slap.

"Ah! I'm sorry." Slap. "Ah." Slap.

"You're not going to be a bad boy again, are you Josh?"

"No." Slap. "Ah."

"You are going to fix my... roof, aren't you Josh?"

"Yes." Slap. "Oh yeah."

"You are not going to make this mistake again, are you Josh?"

"No." Slap. "Ah, yeah!"

"Do you have anything else to say for yourself, Josh?"

"Please slap me again."

"Again, what?"

"Again, sir." Slap. "Ah."

Slap "Oh, thank you sir."

Slap. "Yes. Yes."

Slap. "Oh yes. thank you sir."

Slap. Slap. Slap.

"Oh my god, oh, oh OH!"

“Anything else to say?”

“Yes, please, slap me harder.’

“Slap me harder, what?”

“Sir, slap me harder, sir.”

Slap, slap, slap.

"Oh, OH, Ah Ah AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" He gasps for breath.

He’s even more handsome... He rolls over onto his back, and brings his knees up. He screws up his face like he is in pain, pain that he is enjoying pain that is excruciatingly good. He throws his head back. His body jerks. His body jerks again, and again. His whole body spasms with electric shocks. He groans, and groans and groans again. Then he is still.

"Good boy, Josh,” I say. “Good boy."

Josh is still panting and breathing hard.

Ha ha, so I guess you can assume correctly that I think Josh is as cute as the proverbial...

Dark hair, boyish face, hairy chest, tight waist, beefy arse, thick thighs, cute smile, just slightly below my height, so just perfect to be bent over.

But he’s not coming, in my thoughts, or in person, he is sending, who I can now assume, is his right hand man, Beau. Beau, the long tall streak of Aussie bloke. Beau who got up there and did all the work the last time... and who complained about Josh not telling him exactly how hard the job was going to be?

So, do I think Beau is going to come with his big extension ladder next week ready to get up to my highest roof to trim the flashing so it doesn’t drip in the rain like this is waterboarding at Guantanamo Bay every time it rains? Mmmmm? I wonder?

So, I immediately start worrying about next week and what Beau is going to do to fix my woes.

I’ve got to say, I think we get more anxious as life goes on, not less. I never used to worry about anything once, now I stress out about the smallest thing.

David Called

David called. “Darling, would you say I have an incredible body?”

“I do believe that is how some people have referred to it,” I say. “But they normally add ‘proportions’ to the end of that sentence.”

“Oh, I know, it is sad.”

“What can I say?”

“Another one who has ballooooned, darling.”

“Yes, well, we’re getting old old old old old.”

“I get on my back with my legs in the air and take photos just to see what they are seeing.”

I laugh. “Dear god (do you like how I use that expression ironically?) I hope you attach trigger warnings to those photos when you are done?”

“Nobody is going to want to fuck grannies’ pussy, darling.”

“Oh, that is wrong on so many levels.”

“It’s just that I got a shock when I looked in the mirror this morning.”

“I’ve told you not to look in the mirror, not now.”

“The trouble is my mirror goes from floor to ceiling.”

“And coast to coast, no doubt,” I say.

We both laugh.

“Anyway, I have to get to and finish my new brochure,” David says. “Kill me now.” (He hates, what he calls, admin work)

“The sycophants won’t sign up on their own,” I say.

David laughs. “Actually, they will.”

“Anyway, I have to get back to work too,” I say.

“Yes, I know, I can hear it in the tone in your voice.”

“It’s only three days a week.”

“Licking salt…”

“Licking the salt from the salt mine walls.”

“I have no idea why you are still working,” says David. “Crunching numbers for other people?”

"Making money for rich old men who probably have more than they will ever need."

"Yes, making money for the rich?"

“Oh, you know,” I say. I wish I was brave enough just to throw it all in and spend my days writing, fuck the consequences, I think.

“I have no idea why I am still working so hard, to tell you the truth,” says David. Because he loves the sycophant’s adulation. I don’t say it, but he’d probably agree.

“Someone has to attend to the spiritual needs of the bereft and the needy?” Someone has to prepare the coolaid.

“So, what is your excuse?” asks David.

“It keeps my bank balance topped up and I don’t have to spend any savings.”

“Oh, savings smavings,” sounding exasperated, “Who are you saving for?”

“Me… I guess.”

“You could be sitting around writing stories and doing puzzles, like me,” he laughs. “And enjoying your life,” he says. “When are you going to write? Huh? When? If not now.”

“Life, huh?”

“Oh yes, life.”

“You can’t get out of its way long enough to do the things you really enjoy.”

“But you can…”

“Blanch,” I say.

“You can. You just have to do it.”

“I guess.”

“Life won’t do itself.”

“Think it, do it.”

“Think it, do it.”

George and The Gay Guys He Works With

My straight mate George says he can’t stop flirting with the two gay guys at work. Big strapping, handsome Greek George, not that I look at him that way, but I can see it, I'm not dead inside.

“I hope they know you are just messing around.”

“Oh sure, they know I’m married.”

“But do they know you are married and just messing around.”

“Yeah… sure they do.”

“Do they?”

"Yes."

"George?"

"Oh, give me a break."

George says he gets his flirty hit, you know, he gets admired, and it is safe, he can never get into trouble, as he is not going to do anything.

"Are you sure," I asked him again.

There is a lot to admire about George, he goes to the gym, and he swims, so he is pretty well put together. You know, that is if you don’t know him as a mate. But, even I can't forget those red speedos at the pool that day, and I have no interest in George, he's like a brother. (Even if I do have filthy brother fantasies when I watch porn, but they are just taboo fantasies, they just simply don't translate to real life. They don't. I can't think of my brother... oh, no, that is just ick)

He's funny and he's smart and we've known each other for the longest time.

“But that doesn’t mean the gay guys at work don’t see you sexually”

“Nah, they know.”

“I hope you are right about that.”

"I am, relax."

I hope he is right. I mean, no one wants HR involved in anything, lets face it, they are not called human remains universally for nothing. It isn't just me.

"And how does this admiration society manifest itself?"

"Oh, they..." 

"Do they look at you with big, dough eyes and call you sir?"

"What? They run around doing things for me, get me things, you know. Stuff I don't want to do."

"Oh George." The only son of a Greek family full of daughters. Don’t you think he was treated like a prince. "I feel like I have failed you, getting you ready for the real world."

George wraps my up in his big arms and kisses the side of my head. "If it weren't for you, I'd probably treat them very differently."

"Yeah... well... I know you mean that in a really positive way, but I'm not sure..."

"Oh, relax will you. Everything is cool," says George. "I love you buddy." He squeezes me in his arms.

"Oh, you big lump."

It was just this kind of day.

We went out for lunch, we ate Mexican. Bruno came, of course, he lay on the footpath next to our table and people continually stopped and patted him, as they so often do.

Sunday. The best day of the week, hey? We should bottle Sundays and sell it as happy pills for the stressed out in society.

I fell asleep on the couch in the later afternoon, just lay my head back and closed my eyes. Big pillow, and a blanket pulled of me. I tried not to fall asleep because I wanted to savour every minute of it. Fall asleep and Monday just sneaks up on you even quicker than it would have otherwise.

Weekends go fast and weeks go slow, isn't that how it goes?

And the weekend slipped away.

God's Plan?

Oh, God’s work. A tornado rips a destructive swath through Mississippi and the survivors yet again say God saved us. Ah the religious, God love them? Don’t they believe that everything is god’s plan? God created everything, after all. Didn’t he? Isn’t he the all powerful?

That is until they don’t believe it, of course. Leviticus and homosexuality, against god’s law. But adulterers being sentenced to death, oh no, no, no, look over there.

There is a tsunami bearing down on Wikki. There is God on the beach. "Yep, just as I planned it."

There is a roaring bush fire bearing down on Malibu. There is God in the hills. "Yep, just as I planned it."

There is a teenager with an AK15, shooting at the school kids, and they are dropping one by one. God is standing behind the shooter's right shoulder. "Oh, good shot, just as I planned it.

Cyclone Ivan is bearing down on Louisiana. There is god walking across the sea. "Just as I planned it.

There is typhoon Donald, bearing down on Mississippi. There is God watching from the surrounding farmland, "Right on track, according to my plan."

There is a homeless man, taking his last breath as his starvation gets him on the streets of San Francisco. There is God sitting in the gutter. "Just as I planned."

There is a Christian reading this text. "How dare you depict God sitting in a gutter." Faceplant.

I always find it illogical that the very nature of some’s survival of a natural disaster, or tragedy, is evidence of god’s love. The all powerful only had the ability to pluck people from the danger, but not to stop the danger itself. So, who, or what, created the danger, other than the all powerful creator of all things. It is illogical. 

I wouldn’t care, believe in what you want? The great tea cup and saucer circling the planet, the Great Pumpkin, or The Great Wahzoo. But when the religious effect the issues I care about, gay people’s wellbeing and lives, trans people’s lives, gay marriage, euthanasia, woman’s rights about their bodies, not to mention the fact they are still filling children’s heads full of the stories from 2000 year old goat herders trying to make sense of the truths of the world around them as the literal truth of life today, at the same time continually affecting educators teaching compassion and equality and acceptance regarding differences in people in society today, then I can make comment.

Reading Books

I'm not going to buy books anymore, I'm going to get everything on my kindle. 

It is a matter of storage, I no longer have any clear bookshelf space for any new books. It is a such pity as books are just lovely tactile things. I love the smell of a new book first thing in the morning.

It is a matter of reading light, too, I can read a kindle anywhere, where with a book I just have to get the light just right. And in a terrace house, light isn't always at a premium, let me tell you.

And then there is yellowing pages, I detest the pages of novels when they have yellowed off. It does put me off re-reading an old favourite, if the pages have turned yellow.

And it is instant gratification, let's not forget that. And us humans love a bit of instant gratification. We are forever wanting that itch scratched, we have no self control when it comes to that. In fact, I'd say, wanting that scratch itched has probably got more humans into more trouble than just about anything else. 

But, I digress, as this itch scratching is of the highest order. You can order a book and it is instantly available to you on your screen. And you have to love that.

On the downside, you miss out on the pleasure of looking through a book shop to discover new books, but, you can just go straight home and order them online. Peruse the book shop for all the joy that that brings and head home and order them there.

Do both. I know I'm going to.

What a gorgeous day. So much blue. The serenity of sunshine and the blue sea. It makes you want to live forever. How good is that? Wouldn't you want that all the time? Whoever said a diet of cake would get boring, got it all wrong and clearly never got to see Melbourne on a perfect sunny day. Blue for as far as the eye can see, with just a hint of Simpson's Clouds in the very distance. I just want to dive into that picture and feel it wash all over my skin. It is perfection.

Almost as perfect as a cup of coffee first thing in the morning. Or your boyfriend's smile last thing at night as you switch off the light. Almost as perfect as a country drive on a long and winding road. Or the taste of freshly baked puff pastry not long out of the oven. Almost as perfect as a blanket on the couch with a new short story by your favourite author. Or the cool breeze on your face on a hot day. Almost as perfect as discovering that secret garden hiding in plain sight. Or your dog looking up at you with loving eyes when it is just you and he going for a walk.

Beating the AI Scammers

Artificial Intelligence, AI, can now clone your voice after only sampling something like 3 seconds of your voice. And it is so good it can fool you mother, as proven by some guy on the internet whose mother was fooled.

Apparently, some institutions like banks use voice recognition software for security checks to identify customers, so this is a serious thing. 

Hackers have a powerful new tool. Everyone is going to have to be really careful they are not fooled.

Sam and I developed an identification code question and answer to beat AI scammers who might try to impersonate one of us. That is a question that one of us could ask the other to ascertain if it is the real one of us that they are talking to.

The question is,

"What do you want for Xmas?"

And the answer is, "A pair of Taron Egerton's dirty jocks."

No AI scammer is going to get that question right, now are they?

And if you needed an added security question.

"And your follow up answer would be?"

"Preferably still warm… from his bedroom floor."

None of the banks, or institutions, that I use do use voice recognition technology, but that doesn’t mean they won’t. 

I don’t really ever contact the bank, I don’t have any reason to do that. And then we are surprised when the banks close down their branches. All the branches around me have been closed down. There isn’t any of the 6 branches that there used to be still open. We are so close to the city, I guess they expect us to go into the city if we need a branch.

Anti Trans Bullies

All the anti trans stuff going on is really very sad. This now seems to be the way the religious right wing gets its message out there.

It simply boils down to the fact if they can't get their Jesus nonsense out there one way, they'll get their Jesus nonsense out there another way.

You know JK Rowlings is a Baptist. There is a surprise.

I really don't know what the religious are trying to prove. What is it? Look at us, we can pick on the most vulnerable members of society to justify our (chosen) beliefs. Scare mongering with the general public’s ignorance to grab power along the way. Oh yes, so much love for your fellow man.

If that is all the Christians have got, and that is kicking those who are the most vulnerable in society to build their case and to get their antiquated, illiterate goat herding views out there, then the god botherers have really hit a new low.

It is just the same unrelenting bigotry from Christians that should, in all reality, label them a hate group.

How many years is this going to go on?

For how many years are Christians going to continue to destroy LGBTIQ lives?

It has been going on for hundreds of years and it really has to stop.

How long do we have to put up with these awful people?

These are the same awful people who want governments around the world to enshrine their bigotry in law.

Dire Predictions

It was going to be 37 degrees yesterday they said. In fact, it was going to be a scorcher! They implied that they almost feared for our survival.

Seriously?

The weather service has seemingly been so keen on ratings just lately that they regularly predict weather Armageddon.

And yesterday, the sun barely came out, the cool breeze never stopped blowing and I think it got to a rather mild feeling 33 degrees.

I think the whole star-of-your-own-show which surely is the bullshit that has been foist upon us by social media, now seems to have infected the news and weather services.

"Look at us! Look at us! We're all going to die."

37 degrees used to be just summer, blue skies, time to get outside and enjoy it, now it is a trigger warning.

Get you bike out and go for a ride. Go to the beach. Head off with your boat and go water skiing on a lake with your cousins, as we used to do.

37 degrees once just meant good weather and fun times.

Yeah, sure, we all learned how to wear a hat and sun screen, but that was just science doing what science does.

Now, we are told, be warned today it is going to be the hottest day since, well, yesterday, with a breathy sense of urgency.

Just sayin'. I think it is curious. That's all.

I'm sure we can probably (sure and probably in the same sentence?) blame Generation Snowflake for this.

Remember star fingers instead of clapping, as some people find clapping an anxiety trigger.

Drama Over

Sam and I are back to normal. Oh yeah, a couple of days. It was yesterday, when he wanted my opinion on a carpet cleaner he wants to buy, so he had to start talking.

I think a carpet cleaner is a waste of time, that has always been my stance on the subject and I held that position, undeterred. 

But Sam had found one on special at a good price, so he was keen. And he had to get me to sign up for some thing, I didn't really listen, so he could get a further $50 off.

"Yeah, sure, sign me up," I say.

And it just went from there. The bad mood just sort of fizzled out with some retail therapy and we were back to normal. 

So, there you go.

Walking The Dog

Bruno and I get a coffee cnr Bell Street and Brunswick Street at the hole in the wall coffee shop. There is girl presumably waiting for her coffee with a staffy that she seems to be telling to stay calm, repeatedly, so I have a tight grip on Bruno, who would just naturally head over and sniff noses, if allowed. I get my coffee and my small jug of milk and turn for my table when Bruno unexpectedly takes off across the sitting area and the small jug of milk empties its contents all over my watch, which has a froth snow man on top of it, and up my arm like it was intentionally coated. Grrrr! At which point the chick with the staffy gets her coffee and leaves. 

Now you leave, I think. 

So, then I can just let go of Bruno’s lead and clean myself up and he just stands next to me. As I would have let go of his lead to negotiate getting the coffee and the milk to the table, if little-miss-lousy-dog-training hadn’t been present.

I realise that I like taking Bruno for walks in the morning on my days off, and the days I am fighting with my boyfriend, which today and yesterday were one and the same thing, as it is kind of therapeutic. Music on, sun shining. (Otherwise, it is always with Sam in the afternoon)

It is like we are venturing out on our own, making our own decisions, and way in life, seeing what we can see in the world, with coffee stops today and yesterday to delay the time getting home.

Bruno just naturally turns into the big pet warehouse towards the end of our walks, because he knows that is where he gets treats. I get him to drink out of the communal water bowl and then he lies down on the cool concrete and looks me in the eye with, okay, I’m done attitude.

That chick is back at the coffee shop seats on the cnr. Yesterday when Bruno and I were avoiding going home, we stopped for a coffee on the otherwise vacant chairs outside. As soon as I’d got my macchiato with a jug of warm milk on the side, she came and sat on the adjacent chairs and yapped into her phone, destroying the peace and solitude. 

She didn’t buy anything from the café and I was tempted to say to her, “Since you are sitting here not having purchased anything from this establishment, do you think could you please go somewhere else and live out your life’s drama.” But I didn’t. I wanted to.

She still doesn’t look as though she has bought anything today. I guess there could be an argument made for the big park type table being a public seating space, which she is sitting on today. Yesterday, she was sitting at the tables and chairs the coffee shop puts out.

I wondered why she has picked this particular establishment? Why come here and not, at least, buy a coffee. I don’t know? She doesn’t look happy, in her track pants that look like leggings, her tie-dyed oversized t-shirt that, well, she might as well be wearing horizontal stripes, and her blond hair pulled up on top of her head which could only be describe as a hay bale explosion. She didn’t sound happy yesterday from what I could hear of her conversation before I put the music back on on my headphones and drowned her out.

Further up the street, cnr of Condell, by the new flats, I see an old guy with a stick, who waits perfectly still, with fear in his eyes, for Bruno and I to walk past before he continues to hobble down the street. I look back, as his bandy legs struggle to take him across the side street and onto the footpath on the other side. He is so unsteady on his feet, I fear for him.

Imagine being that frail that you couldn’t really walk down the street just as a matter of course. If I couldn’t just walk down the street at will, if I could no longer do the things I now take for granted, I’m not sure how much I’d want to be here.

Why couldn’t you use ‘tired of life’ for a reason to avail yourself of euthanasia services, it always puzzled me? Why would some people, want to continue with life when they no longer have the basic ability to walk down the street without the fear of falling over, or failing in some other way? Imagine not being able to leave your house without supervision? 

I mean, who is it that has inflicted their own ideas on the rest of us to deny us such a right? Yes, who is it that took that away just to justify their own beliefs? Do you want to guess who that was? I shook my head at the thought of those sanctimonious types.

Imagine not being able to wipe your own arse? And being denied deliverance from such a degenerative state just because someone else believes in the ramblings of 2000 year old illiterate goat herders, I ask you.

Bruno steps into, what is on him, knee deep puddles in the gutter, and nearly disappears. He walks through the entire length coming out with muddy residue up his legs, and I forget instantly about the fat chick and the frail guy.

“Oh Bruno,” I say out loud.

The Silent Treatment

It is a gorgeous day, the sun is shining, there are Simpson's clouds in the sky. I don't think I now have any worries in the world, now that the car thing is cleared up, oh except, Sam is pissed off with me and not talking to me, (I guess people would say that is a big worry, but no, he'll get over it) but other than that, no worries.

I've always been in relationships where we argue, yell, are loud about disagreements, this is the first relationship for me where the silent treatment is used as a weapon, and you know what, I don't really mind it, once I adapted to it. Is that terrible?

I can just retreat into my shell and enjoy the solitude, do what I like, it's kind of peaceful. It is freeing, no one to worry about except myself, I can do what I like, it kind of makes a change.

I know that is terrible. I've tried to combat it in other ways, at the beginning when it happened, appealed, requested, cajoled, sweet talked, and none of those worked, and were ultimately just stressful for me, this way works.

And I am just naturally self-contained, if left to my own devices, so it is somewhere I feel very comfortable.

Now, I am going to put my shoes on, and take my dog out into the sunshine. I might even buy myself a muffin at the French bakery, with no Sam in my ear telling me I don't need it.

Tinker Bell Pay Up At The 11th Hour

Tinker Bell (I call her that because she seemed to be living in her own fantasy land regarding this issue) paid the money. She paid it on the 14th day of the 14 day period I gave her before I enacted a summons to take the matter to court.

Phew! I say.

I have to admit it had been on my mind, and I'd hoped it had been on her mind. What if she got pigheaded about it and refused to pay, even with the threat of court, as I can tell you, I didn't want to take her to court. It would have been a huge drama for no real reason, but I would have. Do I get a lawyer? Do I defend myself? Can I get the court to allocate the extra costs to her?

I lay awake a couple of nights worrying about it. I hoped she was laying awake some nights thinking about it too. And maybe she was? The timing of the payment says she was. Good.

Well, anyway, she paid, and it is over. 

Well, not quite over, as I still have to take my car to be repaired.

She draw it out as she didn't feel comfortable paying me directly. 

Sam said, "Just let her pay the panel beater."

It just didn't seem fair. She backed into my car, when I wasn't even in it, I had to get the police to track her down, I had to go and get 2 quotes to get the car fixed, I still have to take the car to be repaired, and she thought she could dictate the conditions under which the car got fixed. No, fuck her, I thought.

Anyway... time to move on.

A Tuesday That Feels Like A Monday

Back to work today. Long weekends always end too fast. Ironic really. They promise so much, but in the end they disappoint because they end. Over. Stupid really but you just want them to go on forever. Our whole lives should be a long weekend.

So, back to work. Boris called early to ask how I was? How was my weekend? I asked her how her weekend was. She said good. I said good. My naturally suspicious disposition – read smart, ha, ha, ha – wondered what the agenda was, but in the end there didn't seem to be one. I guess she was just being nice. People are just weird.

It was just a day. Just another Tuesday, that felt like a Monday. But then, Wednesday will feel like Tuesday. And then it will be the weekend sooner than we anticipate. I guess that makes up for the disappointment.

I finished at 4pm. Sam had a zoom meeting. I had a shower late in the afternoon. (You just have to love working from home) I stood in the bedroom in my dressing gown and as I stared to peel it off I suddenly wondered if I was going to be one of those guys in the back ground that go viral, can you imagine anything worse?

"They can't see me, can they?" I asked nervously.

Sam laughed. "No. Do you want to be an internet star?"

"No."

Sam laughed some more. "They can't see you."

It is still off-putting. It still didn't feel completely right getting dressed with all those faces looking at me.

I took Bruno for a walk, while Sam zoomed. (Okay, I am using Zoom meeting in its most generic sense) The sun shone. I listened to Renee Geyer. Bruno sniffed everything he could. And pissed on just as much. He had a couple of good craps; Sam is always interested in his bowel movements, not exactly sure why. Maybe, his mother did it to him?

I listened to Renee Geyer all day. She said she was going to do a blues album to finish her recording career, but we didn't get it. That was disappointing. You can take any track she has recorded from any era and it doesn't sound dated. She was simply one of the greats.

I find it therapeutic to walk Bruno with my headphones in. Present, but removed. In the day, but not exactly. People smile at Bruno and I smile back. But I don't feel any compunction to comment, I have my protective shields up. My cone of silence, sort of. No conversation required.

The day sparkled. We saw a couple of the local crazies, along the way. The old Chinese man who always greets me so warmly and who always enthuses over Buddy and Bruno and more recently just Bruno, from who I can never understand a single word. Eventually, he always just walks away, like he switches off. Maybe I am mean calling him crazy, he genuinely seems nice, well, as far as my Chinese will allow me to make a judgement. There is the chick who’s curly hair changes colour regularly, who marches along the footpath like she has somewhere important to go, smoking and talking to herself continually. And there is the praying mantis, a not unattractive young guy who has a stash of belongings on the foot path around which he dances a strange kind of high step, slow motion ballet, as though he is the only person who exists in the world. We were home in an hour.

David called as Bruno and I were half way around our walk. He’s been in Melbourne attending to his sycophants. He wanted to drop in in half an hour, for a cuppa, was I home? And was I up for a visitor?

He couldn’t stay with us as we have another house guest at the moment, and he was none too pleased about it.

“No, I’m not home, I’m walking the dog?”

“Oh, ug,” says David. He hates it when he calls and I am walking the dog, as he has to complete with Bruno for attention.

“And I won’t be home in half an hour, I’ll be a bit longer than that? But I am up for a visit.”

“I see,” he says. “Okay then, I’ll go find a bar.”

He went and found a bar and drank margueritas (4.30 in the afternoon) and arrived very smiley. “Where is this person who has my room, we need to have a word.”

“You leave him alone, he’s not up for your shenanigans.”

“I’m just going to suggest he find somewhere else to stay in future.”

“My point exactly,” I say.

“You know this is the only place where I feel comfortable.”

We ate noodles. David turned them down. He took up a couple of hours in our room on a zoom meeting, to catch one of his more recent happy clapper meetings that was threatening to descend into chaos only weeks out from the groups weekend… read from when their hard earned cash plumped up David’s bank account.

David eventually reappeared and scoffed the leftover noodles almost in a single inhale, then forced us to watch Married at First Sight because, “the drama is soooo good I just can’t miss it.”

“I thought you’d just had enough drama with your disciples?”

“Oh, yes.” Roll of the eyes.

“Did you sort them out?”

I could see David was winding himself up to a full explanation of how Mary-Beth felt that Jethro had made her feel unsafe when he messaged her and… 

“Seriously, I don’t care,” I say. “I don’t know what I was thinking even asking.” 

And then MAFS came on.

David left at 11pm. We parted with our customary Devil Wears Prada Quotes.

“I said to myself, go ahead. Take a chance. Hire the smart, fat girl. I had hope.”

“But… you Ended Up Disappointing Me More Than Any Of The Other Silly Girls.”

Kiss kiss, at the gate.

“That’s all.”

And he jumped in his Uber and was gone.

Labour Day Weekend

Monday, of a long weekend. I am sure that has connotations of quiet, just naturally, without ever, actually, judging the noise levels of the day. The term long weekend just somehow naturally cocoons you from the normal day.

Sam wants to go and do something, get out and see the world, and me with my naturally lazy tendencies - I don't know how he puts up with me - puts it back onto him straight away.

"Where do you want to go?" I say.

"Oh, I don't know," he says.

With no destination naturally coming to mind, and me being stubbornly mute on the topic, he goes and cleans the pond filter. 

I finish writing my blog, after which I settle back on the couch with my kindle and Margaret Atwood's new book of short stores. The breeze blowing in the back door is cool, so I pull the grey striped blanket over my legs.

Later, when the pond has been sufficiently maintained, Sam comes back in and suggests walking to Carlton to eat Nasi Lemak for lunch.

He commandeers the couch when I get off to write down some ideas, I had reading Babes in the Woods, as he hurt his back yesterday down the Yarra grabbing Bruno away from yet another gormless twat's less than social dog off its lead. Seriously, the stupidity is strong, or is that selfishness, I think the latter, with some people, but I guess that is kind of the point hey, people just don't give a fuck about anyone else but themselves. (I'm not saying that is any truer of today, than it has been of any era, because I suspect it isn't) Sam calls out loudly in pain as he settles himself back on the couch. I am tempted to argue the point of immediate ownership of the couch as I'd only been off it for moments, but I don't.

So, it looks like we are off to Carlton.

The sun shines, even if the temperature isn't so warm, but, you know, warm enough.

Sam gets me to stand on his back, always against my better judgement. He lies face down on the floor and I step on his back with my foot, with absolutely no feeling as to what I am doing. He groans and moans and I prod about on his back with my big feet with the touch of witless elephant and somehow this is as good as someone with university medical training. My mind boggles.

We walked through the gardens and ate lunch in Lygon Street sitting out on the foot path. Charlie came with us. It was quite busy, the footpath tables were full of people, quite constant, really. Bruno lay down with his face between his paws and watched the goings on around him. People had to step over him at times, as he just isn’t bothered by people trying to get past.

The sun shone.

It was a lovely day.

Bruno and the Little Girl

Bruno has no problem making himself comfortable anywhere he is

I was sitting outside the small supermarket, perched on the window ledge with the rest of the shopping, and Bruno, next to me, as Sam shopped.

The sun had been lovely as we walked along the Yarra earlier, Kookaburras laughed and magpies sang, but I was starting to feel the cool breeze sitting there in my shorts just out of the sun.

It was very quiet, Sunday of a long weekend, and we’d had trouble buying food for lunch. When I suggested we have tuna on toast when we got home, Sam soon found a Vietnamese restaurant that had outside tables to accommodate Bruno, as food was so much more important to him than tuna on toast for lunch.

A young girl, maybe 5, or 6, I’m not so good with kid’s ages, sitting on the door step to the small supermarket kept looking Bruno. She was clearly fascinated with him. You can tell these things pretty easily.

“You can pat him, if you want,” I say. 

She hops right down and cuddles up to him. “Is he friendly?” she asks quietly.

“Oh yes,” I say. And she pushes her face up against Bruno’s face. “He might lick you,” I say

“That’s okay,” she says. “I have a dog of my own.” She uses that confidant tone children use with adults, in other words, I know what I am doing.

She snuggles her face right up to Bruno’s face. She presses her mouth against his mouth. He sniffs her gently. And she kisses him. He rubs his face against hers, and kisses her back. It is the secret language of children and dogs right there in front of me.

Her father is standing on the footpath on the other side of the shop doorway with her brother. He puts a lot of trust in a dog he doesn’t know with his pretty daughter, I think. It was refreshing to see parents who don’t parent with hysteria, which is so often the case with parents of today.

I Fixed My Bike

I got my bike fixed. It had been coming out of top gear which made it not impossible to ride, but really annoying. It had been doing this for some time, and it discouraged me from riding it.

The thing is, I have a 10 speed racer which I have stored away in a garden lock up and I have a mountain bike that a friend who was moving overseas gave me. I told him initially that I didn't want it but then it came to the time for Quentin to head OS and he hadn't done anything with the bike, so he asked me to take it and dispose of it for him.

So, it was just sitting in the back yard, easily able to be ridden, I didn't have to drag it out of the garden shed all the time, like I did my racer.

Then, I found it more comfortable to ride than the racer, it not having racer handle bars had a lot to do with it, and I found I didn't get a sore neck like I did riding the 10 speed, so it is the bike I have really been riding for some time.

So, while it may not be worth anything as such, it was worth something to me as it was the bike I, actually, rode. And I wasn't riding it because of the faulty gear problem.

Of course, it had the more unusual 6 speed gears, rather than the more common 5 speed gears, so the parts were harder to find, and more expensive than they otherwise would have been, of course.

So, 300 and something dollars later, it is fixed. 

I'm back on my bike.

Slagaphobia

Slagaphobia 

- the fear of HR workers.

They are all awful. In my extensive working history dealing with HR I have met one, maybe two, good ones. I think it attracts women with a God Complex, I think that is the nub of the problem. I bet they use strap-ons with their husbands

More women who work in HR have been charged with spousal abuse than any other profession.

Sussaphobia

- the inherent knowledge that all male HR workers are closet gays. Ha ha. Not that there is anything wrong with that. I it attracts submissive men who long to be dominated and as such all HR boys are bottoms.

More men who work in HR have been caught loitering in public toilets than men of any other profession.

I Had A Dream

I had a dream that Sam was friends with Nicky Buckley. We were in a stadium at some sort of event and I was between Nicky Buckley and Sam. She leant over and chatted to Sam like they were old friends. She then pointed to her daughter (I googled Nicky Buckley later and she has 3 sons) sitting next to her on the other side and jokingly said the daughter wanted me to apologise for all my bad behaviour. We both knew it was tongue in cheek.

“Oh, why not,” I said. “I am sorry.”

We all laughed.

Nicky then got Sam to promise he would help her with something, later “Remember, you said you would.”

“Yes, of course,” said Sam.

After that, Sam turned to me and said, “Will you come with me and help me,” pick out whatever it was Nicky wanted.

“Yes, sure.”

Then Sam and I were standing on the edge of the bleachers very high up looking all the way down to the street below bathed in sunshine. It was one of those narrow streets like you find in Rome and we stood there and watched the world go by with the sun on our faces.

I have no idea where Nicky Buckley came from in my dream. I am sure she hasn't come up in my life lately before the dream.

It was porridge and peaches this morning for breakfast. And much coffee, of course. Naturally.

The sun shone.

I worked, from home. It was a quiet day in the office. I really didn't do a great deal. 

It Was Just Tuesday

It was just a Tuesday. It was Turkish Bread with butter and Vegemite for breakfast to start the day.

I worked in the morning, but I never really had all that much to do all day. 

I sat at my desk and read Christos Tsiolkas Merciless Gods. Oh, I have got so sick of staring at my laptop screen hoping YouTube might thrill me all over again, so I pulled out the last book I was reading, how long ago was that, and I got reading. It's nice. I can get so lost in it so easily. I guess that is the idea, hey? Another reason to continue loving working from home. 

I checked on David as he's having a depressive episode, so I talked him off the ledge. Apparently, I am the only one who can do that. I wonder if he says that to everyone? He is needy of attention from more people than just me, so I have to wonder? He'd been to one of his new age happiness camps in the Hunter Valley - oh yes, the irony - which he followed with Mardi Gras, and some shows. Some mate hugged him too hard and popped one of his ribs, whatever that means, which meant he had to cut his time in Sydney short by a few days - it was World Pride and he was originally staying for the bridge walk - and head home with his tail between his legs in pain. And he was coming down, dosing himself up on prescription drugs and alcohol.

"I love you so much, you know that don't you?"

"Yeah, yeah, you're drunk."

Not that he was depressed about Sydney.

"Why can't I find a boyfriend? Why do I have to do all of this alone? Do you think I am always going to be alone?"

I reorganised my Patti Austin tracks. I'd made a 60 track collection of her songs, but that means I only ever listen to the first 10 tracks, or so. That's what I did in the beginning, make huge collections of artists music, thinking I was being really clever, until I realised it wasn't clever at all, and since then I have been breaking them all up, one by one. Still got to love electronically stored music (what is the collective noun?), the way you can piss around with it and manipulate it the way you want.

My back is feeling better today, which is good. Now I am wondering if I should cancel my osteo appointment on Thursday? Normally if I do that the problem usually flares up again, of course. Is that Murphy's Law? I guess it is. Kind of.

I haven't heard from that idiot bitch who backed into my car. She really must be dim if she wants to go to court over this. Anyway, she now has 9 days to comply before she gets the summons. Talk about making a relatively easy process as hard as she possibly can. I guess the only way she will learn is when some else does it to her. (Lets hope it is a semi trailer through a red light. Fingers crossed) Even then she may not learn, hey? Or the judge scolds her, and awards her costs.

Anyway, that was Tuesday 07th March 2023 done, over, gone, never to come again.

Sam cooked spicy steamed fish for dinner.

Feeling Pain

I've hurt my back and I have hurt my neck. I'm feeling like a wreck.

What the heck?

I hurt my back as I sat down at footpath dining table eating Mexican Saturday lunch time with Sam and Bruno. I very rarely have a sore back, occasionally, more so more recently, than in the past, but then not even so much. It is really hard to be creative when you can't even sit comfortably, it just takes it away, the creativity. You have to focus to write well, you know, make stuff sound the best it can, which you can't when there is such a distraction as pain.

I don't know what I have done to my neck, but it is really sore right in the middle of my left collar bone. I suspect it might have something to do with my home office desk not being entirely ergonomically sound, being set up on an antique dining room table. I'm kind of looking up ever so slightly to see the screen.

Pain makes it really hard to sit at my desk and work for any length of time.

I've made an appointment with the osteo, but not until Thursday. 😧

I take 2 Panadols and then I take 2 Ibuprofen, that kind of works.

More Christian Nonsense

"Jesus gave up his life for our sins."

"But, wasn’t he resurrected after 3 days?"

"Okay, Jesus gave up his weekend for our sins."

It Is Not Only Harry Who Is Going Waaaaah!

The one thing that they seem to fail to mention with the interest rate rises, is that with the record low interest rates for so long, there were many people who bought houses which they couldn’t, actually, afford.

If you have a mortgage you can't afford, it is really nobody's fault but your own. Sorry, but it is true

The Finical responsibility is yours, as it is with any financial decision.

You cannot blame the head of the Reserve bank, because if that is the only financial advice you took, well, then you were negligent in your financial research. Sorry. You can't even really blame the banks.

People took a punt on the historically low interest rates, and now it looks like it isn't going to turn out quite as well for them as they first thought. That is the nature of finance. That's life. Sometimes you win, sometimes you don't.

I'm Tired of Tinkerbell

I don’t know what is wrong with Tinkerbell, the chick who backed into my car and then drove off without leaving her details. 

I had to get the police to chase her up for her criminal acts, she must be so proud.

She was very sorry by the time I spoke to her. Yeah, sorry you got caught, I thought.

She doesn't want to use her insurance company, she just wants to pay for it herself. "I have an unblemished record," she said. "I'd like to keep it that way," said the 22 year old.

But she doesn't want to pay me directly. Oh no. But, she has to pay the money for the damages, what difference does it make who she pays it to? Seriously?

You just know she is a millennial with some hair-brained idea of what this is all about and even if she explained it, it still wouldn’t make sense.

I imagine her to be chunky in shorts skirts with thick thighs.

She is just being an entitled pissy little cow. I blame it on a failure of parenting. These princesses have been told they can do anything they want, and that they are special. And they are just not. There is 7 billion of us on the planet and they are just 1 of 7 billion. They are not special, they can’t do anything they want, the parents invariably fail to add, unless they are prepared to work really hard and they have a certain amount of luck along the way.

And now this princess wants to direct what is going on here, despite her being the perpetrator. She is the wrong doer and now she needs to stand up and pay for her sins.

She is acting like she is the victim here. “As stated before, what I would feel comfortable with…” She is not the victim. She backed into my car and then drove away without leave her details, which is a criminal offence, and she should be charged, as far as I am concerned. 

(I'm going to email the handsome policeman to see if he will charge her)

And now she doesn’t want to pay me for the damage her negligent driving caused to my car.

“I just don’t feel comfortable paying the money to you,” she said. “I would feel comfortable with…”

She only wants to pay the panel beater directly, but I don’t want my car repairs to be dependent on her. I don’t want to feel as though she is supervising my car repairs, telling me when I get my car fixed.

Or, she wants to pay once I produce a receipt proving the car has been repaired. But to only want to pay for the damages after the car has been repaired, assumes I would have paid for the repairs, and is tantamount to refusing to pay for them herself.

I want her to pay me, so we can move on with our lives, so I don’t ever have to deal with this dishonest cow ever again.

I have now spoken to a lawyer. And I have sent her a letter of demand, which states she has 14 days to pay the money into my bank account, or I will start proceedings in the magistrate’s court, and she will hear nothing more from me before she gets a summons to appear in court. And I no longer care how much this costs, she is going to comply with the law.

Let's hope that turns out to be a good decision.

Wednesday We Go Insane

And the wicked HR witch of the north, the duplicitous Fish Face, whark, whark, whark's at me mid morning (Oh gee, I thought you were dead... I hoped you were dead... you know, a runaway truck on a sharp bend as she makes her way home late Friday night after she has stopped haunting the Sydney office for the day. Cross your fingers) with some indirect question, the meaning of which isn't exactly clear, that I just know is going to come back and bite me one day, most likely in the very near future. I always have to look for the hidden agenda with that one. 

I sick Boris on to her. Boris is good for dotting i's and crossing t's in a way that I really just can't be fagged doing, sometimes to my detriment. You know when you are dealing with an incompetent and you just know it is kind of pointless, as they are only trying to shore up their position continually, more so than doing what is good for everyone involved.

Oh, I so often, can’t help but think, it just doesn't have to be this way when I am dealing with her. You know, adversarial. And when I engage with Fish Face on her terms I always feel as though I have to go and have a shower afterwards, just to was off the ‘ick.’ You know what they say, lie down with dogs... (even if I think lying done with dogs is the most beautiful thing... you all know what the saying means)

She has a voice like a long plaintive crow call, like a crow that has live a life of abject misery. I'm sure its capable of taking out an ear drum if she really got going. (She has bleach blond hair, skin that is darker than her locks, and rabbit teeth)

So good old Boris, sick 'em tiger.

Still, it is nearly the weekend.

Let's not go insane... now.

I won't be around for the next 2 days to get hit by her bitch fall out. "Watch out! In coming!" So, what do I care anyway.

And Bruno lies across the wheel leg of my chair in what looks like the most uncomfortable position, so I can't move my chair, snoring contentedly. He lies next to me for most of the day. Why would I want to go back to the office? Remind me again?

Hump Day, it's all dismay,

unless, of course, it is the week's last day.

Smiley face.