We took Bruno for a walk and got caught in the rain, we’d just about made it past the building with no verandas to the buildings that did. Just a few more minutes and we would have made it to consistent shelter, but we fell short.

But the sky got very dark and then it turned black.

It poured down, with water instantly filling the gutters and the drains

People walked past with umbrellas and puffer jackets and coats,

I don’t know how they were so organised.

We stood and we stood and we stood waiting for the rain to stop again. Bruno lay down with his face between his paws.

At times it was so heavy that we got spray from it ricocheting at us when it hit the ground.

Eventually it lessened and we were able to make a run for the next veranda.

 

I Dreamed

I dreamed I was at a family party, get together, it was a party that was attended by cousin Cyd and some of my other cousins [I have lovely cousins] indoors and the aunties and uncles were outside, you know, around BBQ.

I took my bread board with a mountain of my rolling tobacco on it so I could roll cigarettes. 

I think I was rolling a cigarette while talking to dad at one stage, my dead father. 

Cyd pointed out that the board had buds of marijuana on it amongst the tobacco. Chunks. She laughed.

“Oh yes, I should have cleaned that before I came,” I said And I took the board and walked off into the dark rooms of the house to put it out of sight.

Then I was leaving and going home by tram. 

Suddenly, I was at the top of Burke Road [where I grew up] at the tram stop on the west side of Burke Road. I was watching the south side of the road for a trams as that was the direction I wanted to go.

Then I was on the south side of Burke Road waiting at the tram stop with a group of old ladies. I was discussing the price of the houses over the road with one of the women and she was saying which house you could get for 800 thousand. There were some smaller houses and some bigger houses and I was saying you could only get the smaller houses for that price. 

There were terrace houses but they were all set on there own sort of parkland, dotted about, on Burke Road. But there were some mansions as well.

“You could get that one, but you wouldn’t get that one for 800 thousand.” I pointed to different houses.

Then I was in the back of the car with the old women and we were driving down Burke Road and I said, “I don’t even remember getting in this car?”

“Can I drop you somewhere?” said the driver.

“The street after next is where I [use to] live, you can drop me there.”

But she drives right passed [name of street I grew up on] Road and drops me half way to Toorak Road. There is a service road and she swings into that and drops me off.

I get out of the car and I notice that the back mudguard of her 1963 Vauxhall Victor, the one with the round boot, and some of the back of the car is missing as they drive away.

I start walking back up Burke Road to [name of street I grew up on] Road, and I see my sister and brother in law in a booth, that looked like an old crane operating cabin on the side of the road and I go in. (This is despite My sister being at the family party earlier)

My sister asks me what I am doing there.

I tell her about the old lady dropping me off way passed [name of street I grew up on] Road.

“What are you doing here,” I ask.

“Oh, you know that movie/project we never made?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Well, we are starting to make it. The film.” (My sister doesn’t make films)

I left them and I keep walking up Burke Road and I realise I had lost my phone.

“Oh damn,” I yell out.

There are some people just there having a picnic.

The father of the family of the picnic asks me what is wrong. (He was a Kochie type but with red hair)

“I think I have lost my phone.”

“Where were you?” he asks.

“I was just up on the seat at the tram stop at the top of the Burke Road hill, and I am sure I put it down on the seat next to me.”

“Do you mind,” says the husband of the family having the picnic. I start to tell them about the old women giving me a lift… “If I drive you up the road to look for it,” the father of the family of the picnic says.

“Oh yes, that would be great,” I say.

“It was only moments a go, I am hearing,” says the father of the family of the picnic says.

“Yes, yes, just moments ago.”

“Let’s go,” he says.

We walk to his car and now the properties on Burke Road are all parkland, and [name of street I grew up on] Road runs along where the parkland stops.

“I know I seem fine now, but I was anything but sober last night,” I say. I am now carrying stuff, like folders, or some books in my hand.

He says something about it being a party.

Then I realise I have left my chopping board with the marijuana behind too and I think I will have to drive after all to get the board and my marijuana and I am thinking of how to contact my cousin Cyd so I can get let into the house from last night.

Tina Turner

 

The Afternoon

After getting kinda hot thinking about my favourite straight boys, the handsome Jack and the gorgeous Beau together... Jack told me, whatever. He said Beau liked it and would do it again... with him. Jack said he didn't know what to think, because he didn't hate it, as he thought he would.

I listened to Joe Cocker all afternoon, while I did my work. Last day of the week for me. Yipee! 

Joe Cocker is hot. He has never sung a bad song. (just like the Rolling Stones)

The sun shone. 

It was a lovely day.

Bruno lay at my feet all day.

David messaged me from Bali, where he is guru'ing to the sycophants,  telling me he could feel a down day coming on. I cheered him up, made him laugh. He says I am the only person in the world who can pull him out of a down mood.

All a part of the service, I tell him.

Charlie was upset, something his mother had done. In the middle of it all, I notice that in his track pants, Charlie has a good arse on him. I know, talk about inappropriate, but that's what happened. Hang my head in shame? Oh come on, its not that bad. He'll be 20 next month, man enough for what is really just a compliment.

I still don't know if he likes boys, or girls? I'd ask him, but he really doesn't talk much. The only thing to go on was his mum making some quip about him being nearly 20 never having had a girlfriend, nor shown any interest in girls. Take that as you will.

It would be really sweet to see him with a boy friend, some boy from uni, watch him fall in love.  

Wednesday Poem, Jack and Beau

Wednesday, what can I say?

It is a good day,

for realising what you did on the weekend,

was not just drunken behaviour, per se,

but really pretty fucken gay.

You and your buddy, Jack,

that wasn't just boredom,

or too many beers,

that was pretty fucken queer.

Not that I am pointing a finger,

there should be more of it,

there is more of it,

just not a lot of talk about it

out loud.

You straight boys,

with your big toys,

when there are no girls around,

you always come around,

to getting with each other,

not that there is any bother,

with that, brother,

just what your other mates,

down the footy club,

might say, if they saw you and Jack,

treat each other that way.

Lovely Jack, you and he,

always the best of buds,

you'd agree,

he's got lovely eyes,

you have always noticed, you can't deny,

and you'd do anything for him,

and on the weekend, you pretty much did.

In your arms, so disarmed,

that you have always felt that way about him,

especially when you are 6 to 10 beers in.

Monday

Monday, what can I say? It was my day to go into the office. I left home at 6.15am. It is dark still at that time of the morning, and I kind of like it, I feel kind of contained by the dark. My cloak of darkness will keep me safe as I walk the footpath under the glow of the still burning street lights.

I got to the office at 6.45am, so I could work on my own for maximum hours, and so I could leave early.

My one day in the office in a fortnight. I'm supposed to be going every Monday, but every second Monday I message Boris to tell her I'm working from home. It's not meant to be allowed, but I have got away with it so far.

It was our team meeting today, which we still hold via Zoom despite being in the office. It was boring as usual. Yap, yap, yap. Oh what a talkfest. My department boss likes to talk. He's nice and all, but he likes to talk.

We were encouraged to fill out the yearly work survey because so far there has only been a 51% completion rate, so I filled mine out. I elected for mine not to be anonymous. I thought, oh fuck it!

I drank lots of coffee and ate pies for lunch. Sam usually cooks me lunch to take to work, but not today.

I left the office at 3pm.

It was just a Monday. Not much more can be said. 

I can't write on my laptop during the boring bits when I am in the office.

I caught the tram home because I was feeling lazy and I was home in 15 minutes.

I took Bruno for a walk, and I was still home after that before the rest of them had left the office.

Yesterday, going for lunch in the city, there was this?

Do you think one day with AI advances, they will turn on us, running us all down, killing us, and taking over the world completely? Can't you see us all, running down the street waving our hands over our heads screaming with a scooter in hot pursuit?

We walked into town with Bruno so Sam could collect a game from Melbourne Central which he ordered online. We bought slow cooked meat sandwiches and Star Fruit juice and ate them on the steps of the State Library. So many people walking past wanted to pat Bruno, but he just doesn't care. He is ambivalent about pats. (Buddy was the outgoing one who loved people) When it started to rain, we ended up finishing our lunches under the tram stop shelter in Swanston Street.

Tying Bows

Why do all my bows turn to knots when I try to undo them? I ask this question of myself repeatedly.

Shoes, track pants, bonnets, well, not so many bonnets, you understand, they all knot up leaving me to struggle to get them untied. It is especially painful if I have gone to have a wee, and I pull the cord and it immediately goes into a knot, "Ah fuck the planet!" And then I am moving from one foot to the other trying to get my pants undone. Just as painful, if I have come home and I have taken one shoe off and the second shoe bow pulls to a knot and I am standing on one foot and I can't get my bloody shoe lace undone.

Is it just me?

There must be some sort of defective way that I tie my bows? I've examined them, and I can't see why? But they must? Something about how I loop the cord around and where I leave the end bits. I have examined my bow tying from all angles and I just can't see where the defect lies.

I've also tried to examine my bow untying from different angles but it all so quickly goes into a knot, it is impossible to see where the fault is.

It is just annoying.

Oh, one of the annoying things in life, amongst so many annoying things... like 30 kph speed limits - why is there never any talk of pedestrian education? Conservative politicians - any reasonable person knows everything that comes out of their mouths is self serving. American dates. People who hold their phone in their hand and have the person they are talking to on speaker. Celine Dion. Expiry dates on gift vouchers.

Friday, Day Off

7.20am. Bruno was ready to head out the back for a wee, so when I opened the bedroom door, he took off down the stairs. It was light by this stage. It was cold.

We sat on the couch together, once he'd come back in from his wee.

I read the news, such as it is, sucked into the world psycho drama. I somehow got onto Harrison Ford – the new Indiana Jones movie is out, I can’t imagine what an 80 hero would get up to – and I ended up looking at his children and his houses. Shake the head.

8.10am. Sam was up.

8.20am. I made coffee and Vegemite toast. I ate my supermarket bread, I can really taste that it is insubstantial compared to the bakery bread. 

I read the news, somehow got onto Harrison Ford and ended up looking at his children and his houses. Shake the head.

8.10am. Sam was up.

8.20am. I made coffee and Vegemite toast.

I watch YouTube, TheLateBrakeShow and the garage in Wales with the 911SC and the yellow TR6. And then the episode with the blue 2CV.

The morning is slipping away and I am doing nothing. Another day off slips through my fingers, so it would seem. If I was made to lie on a couch, surely The Great Pumpkin would have given me padding. Oh look, he did. 😊

10am. I piss around in the garden for a bit. At least I’m not staring at a screen. I start trimming the creeper on the side wall of the garden. When I see it needs trimming where the side wall morphs into the house wall, which will involve me climbing up on the lounge room roof to reach it, I decide it is time to head back inside again.

10.30am. I have a shower and get ready to take Bruno for a walk.

11am. I hit the update on my phone before I take Bruno for a walk, that seems to take an inordinate amount of time, but in reality, it takes 15 minutes, it’s just that I want to get going on the walk, as the walk takes an hour and I like to be back before 12-12.30pm lunch.

11.21am. I take Bruno for a walk.

Charlie is talking to Sam in the study as we leave. He is telling Sam he won’t be here for lunch, and possibly dinner.

Bruno and I are out on the footpath and Sam calls us back.

I suspect he calls us back because Charlie isn’t home for meals, and the cupboard is bare, we can go out for lunch. (Sam cooks all of Charlie’s meals too, I’m sure it is because he wants to be seen as a good uncle) Sam suggests we go to Brunswick Street for lunch (now that he doesn’t have to cook for Charlie).

“Okay,” I say.

“Unclip Bruno and get comfortable.”

It is too early for lunch, and Sam isn’t ready anyway. He goes and has a shower. I sit back down. I get my laptop out again because, you know, it is disconcerting when you have you plans changed from under your feet, so to speak.

11.45am. The sun comes out.

11.55am. Sam is done with his shower. 

“Come on, let’s go,” he says. “It is going to rain. Fuck. Fuck,” he says. “We are doomed! Doomed! Doomed!” (I've told you before how Sam is Mr Weatherman and he takes the weather very seriously. When he says we are doomed, he doesn't mean our lives are in danger, just our plans. Yes, I know, it is a little dramatic, but what can you do?)

“There is the voice of optimism,” I say.

“The forecast says rain late morning.”

Midday. We head to Brunswick Street. I suggest Mexican, just so Bruno gets a longer walk and we don’t need to walk him again later. I’m all for multitasking. Not that I’m not good about it. Ha ha. Head out to lunch, walk the dog, everything done. Lovely.

It starts to spit with rain by the time we get to the first street. So, we decide to have Ramen in Smith Street, however, by the time we get down to Smith Street it starts to rain heavier. So, Bruno and I head along Smith Street to home. Sam buys food from Coles for lunch.

Bruno and I buy bread at the bakery. I bought bread in the supermarket wholemeal sough dough, but when I eat two slices for breakfast I am really hungry by lunch time. When I eat two slices of bread from the bakery, I am not really hungry by the time lunch time comes around.

It rains heavier quite briefly, but it had stopped by the time Bruno and I got home.

12.30pm. Sam is back. He has pies and instant noodles. We have instant noodles for lunch.

I watch Coldwarmotors, and the one about his friends P5 Rover and the other cars in his collection.

1.15pm. The sun is out.

1.40pm. Bruno and I attempt walk number 3.

The sun is shining. It is warm on my back when it hits my back.

We cross to the south side of Gertrude Street where the sun is shining.

People are so harumphy lately, when Bruno, or Bruno’s lead, blocks their pathway, they act, some of them act, more and more of them act like Bruno has no rights to take up space on the footpath. I always say I’m sorry, but I get harumphs, and eye rolls, and loud exhales so much so, that I’m thinking I am simply going to respond in future with a shrug and a vague look, the equivalent of oh what-can-you-do? Let them work out what they are going to do about the problem.

Fortunately, it is just a few, but they are painful. Today, I had one guy who kind of did a shoe shuffle, then spread his arms out wide on either side raising his shoulders up and kind of accentuating a double take as he stared down at Bruno, like Bruno could give a shit, with looks that could kill, waiting for me to do something, exhaling like a hippopotamus about to charge its quarry. All he needed to do was stamp his foot a few times.

And yeah sure, I get it, human beings feel superior to every other creature on the planet – much to our imminent demise – and I am really sorry that my innocent, puppy-eyed dog has dared to step into your all important way, but really, are you seriously rushing to save the planet and you only have 5 seconds in which to save the world, or what is your story buddy?

1.53pm. We meet a cream Lab as we walk down Brunswick Street in the sun. He and Bruno do major bum sniffing and dick licking antics. The lovely lady owner of the Lab and I chuckle in a slightly embarrassed way as the two dogs have absolutely no reservations about going 'there.' We pull the two of them apart eventually with a good hearted blush.

The sun is shining beautifully.

2.09pm. Bruno and I stop at Le Gourmet cakes for a long Mac and a raspberry muffin.

The cute son isn’t working today. Mum brings me my coffee and, let’s face it, cake. Muffin is just an acceptable way to say cake, isn't it.

2.21pm. Some chick stands behind me yapping on her mobile phone momentarily. Someone was in hospital. They’ve had a procedure. Did they get everything they needed? Did they need her to bring anything in. Still annoying. I am so tempted to turn around and say, “You know that device you have in your hand, it has this really natty feature where you can talk into it absolutely anywhere?” But, of course, I don't.

But, soon she is gone and peace is returned to the village.

I proof read some of my writing that I saved to notes on my phone before we left. I drink my coffee and eat my muffin.

Bruno lies out on the footpath in his super dog pose and practically everyone who walks past is enchanted by him. Just his eyes moving, watching the passing parade.

2.35pm. We start walking again in the sun.

Brunswick Street > Johnston Street.

2.45pm. We meet a very excited Samoyed cnr [name of my] Street and Johnston Street. “Some dogs think he is being aggressive.”

“Bruno is really chilled, he won’t think that.”

“Some dogs are intimidated.”

“Bruno won’t be intimidated.”

“Oh, good,” says the girl. Then the Samoyed is so excited he jumps on top of Bruno, literally. I pull Bruno away and we turn and head up [name of my] Street.

Bruno looks at me as though he is saying, “Seriously? Jumped on me.”

“I know,” I say.

And a cute, cubby, baby-faced wog boy (he's at least 18, just to be clear – and ‘wog boy’ is very much a term of endearment in gay world)  in tight black track pants and a white hoodie with the hood pulled up on his head comes towards us. He looks as though he is looking for some place in particular.

2.54pm. cnr [name of my] & Moor Streets the sun shines like warm honey.

3.02pm. We’re home.

I write my blog. I try to make it interesting. Maybe I do, maybe I don’t?

I Watched Where Love Has Gone, the first half anyway. What better way to spend an afternoon of a rainy day than with a bit of Bette Davis, I ask you? But the misery hour comes on before Bette is done with dominating her family, and we all know how Sam is a stickler for the misery hour. Me, I can take it, or leave it.

We ate KFC. It was delivered by Salim. It was delivered latish, it was coldish. It was shit. The second time we’ve had KFC in as many weeks which is unheard of really.

We watch Gardening Australia. It is good for the soul, Tim tells me.

Sam went off to save Zelda. I watched the rest of Where Love Has Gone. It is very dramatic, melodramatic. Susan Hayward kills herself in the end, the reality of life becomes too much for her. She always spoke like a drag queen, she really did. Like a bloke in a frock.

9.50pm. Bruno wanted to wee and go to bed.

We watched Buena Vista Social Club.

10.50pm. We went to bed. Bruno went for one last wee. Sam headed out the back to clean one of our security cameras.

11.45pm. Lights out.

Going For A Walk And Drinking Coffee And Eating Muffins

I have Thursday off.

Bruno and I went for a walk late morning. 

Oh, I'd opened Facebook, which I don't generally do any more as I find it is really boring, actually, mind numbingly boring. And it is the same old rabbit hole down which I slip. I don't know why, but I get this kind of mindlessness when I am on it, scrolling incessantly. Scrolling, scrolling, scrolling. So, at 10am, I tossed it off in disgust, had a shower and then strapped Bruno into his harness, and headed out.

Its been cold this last week, all those pussies from NSW would be winging if they were here. David is in London posting the same look at us 100 years later photos of him and his old London flatmates.

First up, an old couple come walking towards us. They've been together for 60 years. She’s leading. She manages a kind of smile, the smile of pain, with hair hanging down from her forehead and her mouth open. Expression set, unchanging. He follows, mouth open, like a whale shark, set in a grimace, as though moving is too much of an effort, sucking in air. Walking with stiff legs as though joints have now fused solid. Like cadavers set in motion, you could hear their hips squeak if you listened carefully enough.

Next up, sitting outside a cafe in George Street, a couple of Asian ladies one with a small caramel coloured dog on her lap. Bruno spots the other dog and does his I-want-to-say-hello lie down. If Bruno wants to say hello, usually to a dog, he just lies down.

“He’s friendly, he just wants to say hello,” I say.

The lady with the dog in her lap laughs and she puts her dog down on the ground in front of Bruno. I assume she wants her dog to have some socialisation with another dog.

The two dogs sniff noses and say hello. Her dog turns her back on Bruno. 

She giggles at her dog’s interaction with Bruno. She says something to her brunch buddy in a language other than English, and they both laugh.

“How old?” She asks in poor English.

“Four,” I say.

"Oh four," they both say. Not exactly sure why?

A bit more arse sniffing goes on. He dog leaps about a bit.

As Bruno and I walk away she says, “Thank you.”

I look up from that and straight away, a rake thin, socially challenged chick comes towards us from the other side of George Street. “0h bewdiful, bewdiful, oh bewdiful,” she says, in a gravelly voice, smiling the smile of the toothless. Bruno takes no notice. The toothless always seem to have an affinity with dogs. They are always trying to touch Bruno in the street.

I am writing this down in my journal all the way up Gertrude Street. So, Bruno gets to sniff everything and anything he likes as I am distracted.

We gather some speed up down Brunswick Street.

I stop at [French cake shop] cakes and eat a muffin and drink coffee. A guy stops with, now was it, Terry the Schnauzer at the door to the cafe. He tells me that Terry is often the aggressive one with other dogs, and he keeps moving aggressive Terry towards Bruno, as he seems keen to get some socialisation in with Bruno. He constantly cajoles Terry into not being aggressive. Terry and Bruno end up having a piss-a-thon on the old wrought iron post where I am about to tie Bruno to. I think Terry growls a couple of times, but I am assuming because Bruno doesn’t get aggressive, no kerfuffle ensues. the whole thing is a bit odd.

"Okay, well, I'm going to get some coffee here, now."

Terry's owner thanks me.

The Asian guy serving is sweet, he has a hot arse, I notice as he walks back inside after delivering my coffee to the table. A great guy's arse

11.11am. I’m eating a muffin and drinking coffee in out on the tables on the street. I catch the cafe guy's eye. He's giving me a look. Momentarily, I hold his gaze... I chuckle to myself as I look away. When I was in my twenties, I used to pick up guys all over the place. Cafe workers, in the street, in my front garden, on trams, trains, busses... those eyes... and sometimes when I catch a guy in a cafes eye now a days I forget and momentarily I can think... but, now that I'm not in my twenties, they are just looking to see if I want another cup of coffee. I don't want another cup. 

A lady comes along with a Chihuahua and she also seems keen to get some socialisation in with Bruno too. She praises her little midget for behaving well.

I'm not sure what is going on today, maybe it is the way the planets are aligning.

Bruno wants to lie across the footpath, of course, constantly. Well, when you put tables out on the footpath, the area for walking does tend to be diminished. And with a bulldog lying out. I have to keep moving him before the punters get snooty. But, they don't, generally, they are quite enchanted by him.

I get ideas for my (up until that point un-rewritable) short story, Spiritual. Up until that point I didn’t have anything. I had a vague idea about giving some of the dialogue to his mother and his female friend. I get some new passages for it written sitting there, at that café table, with a coffee and a muffin. It just comes. So that is good. Actually, the new bits I finally write tie the story together much better. I'm pleased. Sometimes, it is just about a change of setting to get the old creative juices flowing.

11.37am. We continue our walk. Since it was just supposed to be a walk, and not a morning tea situation. Morning tea, is that too quaint?

The sun come out for the last part of our walk and it is warm on my back.

12.06pm. We’re home.

An hour and a half later…

I walked to Bunnings, to return the industrial scissors and plastic container we didn’t use to fix the kitchen skylight. We use silicone mostly, and some hard plastic we had to fix it.

Two guys are walking behind me down Langridge Street yapping away, really annoying. A pet hate. I’d pick up the pace, but nyr… walking is good, why spoil it.

Still, the sun is shining.

I’m listening to Randy Crawford.

I buy a rhubarb and white chocolate muffin at Baketico by Wonder Pies Collingwood. (128 Langridge St, Collingwood) they don’t have the plethora of muffins on sale that I remember, but they do have a very appealing white chocolate topped rhubarb muffin which I am instantly drawn to. 

The icing is thick white chocolate, as expected and as it turns out, I get it all over my mouth as I eat it.

I’m walking up Cambridge Street and I look in a parked trucks window to see where the icing is stuck on my lip and I wipe it away. A guy backing a car out of a crash repair workshop laughs and says, “You’re beautiful.”

“I’ve got icing all over my lip.” 

We both laugh.

I return the goods in Bunnings, no problem.

I see the warehouse directly behind Bunnings is up for sale as I head back to Fitzroy. So, we’ll probably be getting a bigger Bunnings sometime soon. Sad to be losing a warehouse though.

I see the tradies working on the house opposite us in [my street name] street are leaving Bunnings at the same time as me, I wonder if they’d give me a lift back up to Fitzroy, if I asked? But as I just ate a fatty muffin I have to walk, I am under no illusion.

I’m back on Smith Street pretty quickly heading to the post office to pay the gas bill. There are two big, built, handsome wog boys in tight track pants standing out the front of Coles chatting. Well, hello.

I pay the gas bill in the post office.

There is a big, solid, handsome blond guy walking past the post office when I come out. I follow him up Smith Street. Eyes watching his arse in his sexy washed out jeans.

I walk to St Marks Recycle. In St Marks. I bought a couple of DVDs.

I start heading home. I cross to the other side of Smith Street. I don’t walk too far when I think of The Salvos. Do I? Don’t I? Do I? Don’t I? 

I do.

I look to see if a tram is coming? There’s not. I should walk any way. I walk. The sun is shining, a bit.

I buy an ice peach tea in Woolies Metro.

I pee in the public toilet corner of Kerr Street. You know, one of those modern, automated stink boxes. It was just vile, but, I was drinking Peach Ice tea and I needed a wee all at the same time, I had to do something, you know, any port… As I stood there with my dick out, I glanced to my right and there is a spoon with liquid contents, and a half full saline bottle sitting on the bench by the built into the wall sharps bin disposal. Oh, someone shot up in this vile place. Come on people, let’s get those new safe injecting rooms up and running, is all I could think.

Sam messages me to say he is going to the dentist.

I look through the CDs first in The Salvos first up, then the DVDS.

I walk out of The Salvos with a Bob Dylan CD, and a Joe Cocker CD. I am pleased with both.

I walk home straight up Smith Street. The sun is out. The walk. is good. I’m home just before 3pm.

It was a day for getting things done.

It Is Just Painful

Under the category of you know what I hate, you know what I hate, you know what I hate.

OMG! I just called my financial company, I wanted to change a bank account. I was put on hold for some time, which I don't really mind, even if it is the company treating us as unimportant the longer we remain on hold, you know whatever.

The thing I really object to, is the incessant voice giving product information, pushing the company details, whatever it is yabbering on about. It never stops. The voice never stops, in fact, there even seems to be completely unrealistically short gaps between the speech. I guess generated voices don't need to take a breath, hey. (Oh, I guess its not computer generated, it is a recorded voice. I reckon they must condense it some how to shorten the gaps between the words. Is that I thing? I bet it is) I feel completely drained by the time I get to speak to someone. 

It stops me calling. I think twice before I call my doctor, as the clinic does the same thing.

It really is draining.

I feel completely annihilated by the time it is over. It is cruel. It is the equivalent of water torture (from someone who has never been tortured). And you know you can't say anything, as the people on the other end of the line are such snowflakes now a days that they treat any sort of feed back like that as abuse.

"Wow, that hold voice is really annoying."

"Don't be abusive." Click. Nothing.

And I'd have to call back all over again.

Really, the banks are making such huge profits now a days they could afford to employee a few more people in the call centres in Mumbai, they really could.

And you know what the very worst aspect of it is, it makes me go wah wah wah wah, almost as badly as Prince Harry.

My Dream

I got up at 3.29am I get up for a wee.

I was visiting my sister in hospital, – it alternated between my sister and my mum – I drove dad’s Landcruiser to the hospital. It was a hospital right across town in the southern suburbs.

My sister/mother and I were going somewhere the next day, so when I got to her room I asked, “Did you want me to visit, or would you be happy to see me the tomorrow?”

“Oh no, I’d like a visit,” she said.

“You’d like a visit,” I repeated. Because I wanted to see her the next day, save myself the trip. (yes, I know, it doesn't make sense)

“Oh, yes please.”

So, I said I’d better get going if I had to come back and visit her, I had to leave. I was complaining about how far I had to go, and why couldn’t she be in the hospital in the northern suburbs, then it would only take me 10 minutes from home.

And the gaggle of nurses in the room – suddenly, it was a room as big as a ward – like a muppet's chorus, agreed that that would be much better only taking me 10 minutes.

Then I went to the car park, so I could go home and get my car so I could come back and visit. The Landcruiser was parked in a tight car spot, so I had to be careful backing it out.

As I was backing it out, the nurses nominated me for a competition, so as a part of the competition they took all the CDs out of the car and they were reading the covers word by word, until they found something that they were looking for - unspecified for winning the competition - and I had to wait why they read all the cd covers, half backed out of the carpark.

I went back to bed.

7.15am. I’m up.

Oh HR, Go On Bang Your Head Repeatedly And I Will Sit Back And Watch... And Dream... And Fix

I have an HR chick in Perth who asks me the same questions over and over again, she really does display the definition of stupidity.

She asks me questions that are within her job description, not mine. I have tried to subtly tell her that that is her role and not mine, but she just doesn't seem to get it.

I got more over night. Questions that she needs to answer that she never seems to understand she needs to answer them.

I'm not sure how many times I have told her that her questions do not relate to my role, she continues to ask them.

I think she is just stupid and desperate, she doesn't know what she is doing so she desperately asks me for the answers she doesn't know.

It is quite annoying.

Also annoying, as she told one of the very senior HR managers that I was rude to her, and he remarked on it and asked me why?

Seriously. I have done nothing but try to help that incompetent ever since she arrived on the Good Ship LawyerPop and this is what she turns around and dose? I was cross about that, I can assure you.

I told the very senior idiot HR manager that I had done nothing but help her, and I didn't know why she would say that. I suggested to him that in future she should ask other HR staff any questions she may have that way I won't be, inadvertently, rude to the idiot HR professional.

I woke up at 2.30am last night for a wee

The dream was some sort of photo shoot. There was a Girl Guide Madonna, that's the mother of the mythical, not the pop star. There was a shiny white porcelain man, who was naked, but had no genitals, he was like Barbie, all smooth down there. And there was somebody who was expected to explode any moment, off camera somewhere. We were all very relaxed about an impending exploding person, the photo shoot proceeded as normal under that threat.

I got back into bed.

Today it rained, and the kitchen roof didn't leak, good on me and Sam, it looks like we fixed it. I acknowledged it by imagining Josh over my lap with his shorts around his knees, and his jocks around his hairy thighs, red cotton stretched between his thick legs, as I slapped his hairy, beefy arse.

"Next time you will fix the roof properly."

"I will! I will!" he replies between exclamations after each slap.

"Won't you!"

"Yes, yes, I will!" Slap. "Ah!"

I Dreamed I Was Packing Up And Leaving

In the last little while, I have developed a habit of getting up at 4am for a wee. More often than not, I'd wake from a dream. Then i would sit on the toilet in the dark contemplating my dream.

Then I thought about writing my dreams down, so I'd take my phone and switch the light on and write my dream down.

Last night, I dreamed I was working in Europe and my time there had come to an end, so I packed up my office. I’d moved around the school a bit, during my tenure, but when I moved I always had people to move my office for me, and I was wishing I had them now when I was packing up to leave, but all I really found that I had was a spare leather satchel and a tin of sweets to take with me, so I didn't really need anyone to help me with that.

So, I headed down the big modern Scandinavian wooden staircase and out of the building. 

On my way, I met Helen Collopy, my grade 7 English teacher. I met her in an old fashioned stone cloister. I greeted her with “And here is the best English teacher there ever was." And we hugged and she thanked me.

She was leaving too, to live in New York. She said she had never lived overseas so she thought she would now while she still could.

I got a lift to my tram stop, which was at the base of another set of stairs sweeping up to some where, a tram stop that I’d often missed, but I didn’t miss it this time, and I was thankful for that on my last day.

I saw my regular ticket seller, a pretty blond girl, and I bought my ticket. And she was lovely and smiley as she always was. 

I told her it was my last day. “So, have a good life,” I said. And she smiled at me. We really liked each other. “Be happy,” I said. And she was really pleased that I wished her well.

Then I offered her one of my sweets. “They are from Amsterdam”, I said. Then I quickly corrected myself. “No, they are from the other one.” And everyone around me said together “Austria.” And everyone laughed because they all knew what I meant. The other 'A' place.

"Yes, Austria," I said.

And then I go back to bed, and I love that moment, that intermission, if you like, where I lay awake. I don't mind because I go back to sleep relatively easy and quickly. But for 5 minutes, those five minutes feel timeless in the dark, in the quiet in the middle of the night, and I can enjoy the fact that I have hours more sleep, to enjoy, which will come to me soon enough, I know that, but for those minutes I can think about stuff, my day, the next day, my writing, what I have just written, what I will be able to write, and it is sublime there in the quiet and the dark.

Fixing The Roof

I went to Bunnings yesterday and got stuff to fix my roof. 

It has been leaking ever since Josh did the last work he did up there.

Get Josh back? Well, yes, of course, in a world where things are equal that would be the course of action. But, that was his return visit to fix what was still leaking after his first fix. And at some point you just have to decide that maybe Josh isn't all that good. (Maybe, my thoughts about him were correct, all he is good for is pulling his jocks down over his big arse and giving him a smack)

And as my old gran used to say - that's the gran who was still property developing at the age of 92, and not the gran who drank a bottle of brandy every day to wash down her two packets of Kools, you understand - if you want a good job done, you have to do it yourself.

I got up this morning and sealed and patched what looks like it might be leaking. The work Josh did was a distance from where the new leak was, but I had a couple of theories for that, and I put solutions in place for those too.

We'll see, the next time it rains, I guess.

I'm a roofer. Ha ha.

The sun was out, the gentle autumn sun. It was kind of nice being up there on the roof. It gives you a different perspective on your life, on your world.

A sense of achievement? I'm not sure about that. Maybe? Kind of? We'll see when it rains next. (I don't know what I am doing, I was just giving it a go)

Now, I am going to continue re-writing my short stories from my fiction blog. Three are done, how many to go?

It's a part of my new, um, er, non-work ethic, for want of a better expression, of not wasting my days mindlessly watching YouTube.

I read through my short stories the other day only to realise how bad many of them are, so I have plenty to get on with.

So, best I get going...

Sam has cooked duck for lunch. Yes, I know I am lucky. Sam is a great cook.

The sun is shining, it is a gorgeous day.

The gays from 3 doors up must be out, as their dog is barking incessantly. Yay. (not all that long after this the dogs are quiet)

I Wish I had...

 

Walking back from Japanese lunch...

The scourge of our streets. Every second day I come out and some self focused twat has parked one of these in front of my gate.

I wheel them down the street and throw them in a first vacant gutter. (I am sure there are more marks on the side of my car from these things falling against it)

I wish I lived closer to the Yarra, I'd throw them in. (Yes, okay, the batteries in the water are very bad for the environment, yes, yes, I know that) 

I wish I lived close to a landfill tip, I'd throw them in. (oh yes, batteries in landfill very bad for the environment, yes, yes, I know that.)

I wish I had an vaporising machine, I'd...

Oh, I know, what do I sound like? Modern life wears us all down. Ha ha, and that's my excuse, and I'm sticking to it. 😁

Our Morning Walk

Bruno doesn't leap about and run and get his lead when we are going on a walk. Going out in the car is a completely different matter, but walks, not so much.

This was him today. I'm sure he was thinking, they will never find me here with my cunning disguise.

Bruno and I Go For A Walk

Bruno and I going for our morning walk, and we wandered into the beginning of a porn movie.

Rainbow

 

Taking Bruno for a walk yesterday and this happened right over our heads. Lovely, isn't it. Just like that. Rainbow, pot of gold, should we go chasing it? Ha ha.

Going to Work

I used to be so stylish going to work. I was. I really did. All the latest looks and styles. Suits. Jackets. Shoes. I used to really care. In fact, that used to be one of the fun aspects of going to work, the drag. That was before I got older and my cynicism kicked in. (Actually, that's not true, I was born cynical. 3 month old baby sitting up and questioning the benefits of breast feeding. "Ha, what for? So, I can live longer and become even unhappier?")

Now, I don't care. I really don't. Chinos and black runners and a ribbed zip up jumper that I wear every week.

Nyr, who cares really.

I'm not sure if it is rebellion to going back to the office? You know, we have all seen the promised land and now they want to take it away from us. Maybe?

I keep waiting for someone to comment on my black runners. I mean, they are black leather runners, but runners all the same. They are a pair that I don't really wear any longer and my work shoes split on the righthand side little toe and I had to buy a new pair to replace them, and I just thought fuck it, I'll wear those runners. So, I am.

And since I am only working in the office one day per fortnight – they wanted me to work one day per week, every Monday, but on every other Monday I just text Boris and say I am working from home and it has worked thus far – I've been wearing the same shirt for multiple weeks, which fixes the really detested practice of ironing a shirt pretty much. I'm lucky, as I don't have any body odour to speak of so I can get away with it.

I wear the same thing every second Monday, all midnight blue, and nobody, probably, really notices as there is 2 weeks between appearances. And let’s face it, nobody really cares what you wear anyway. You know, unless I turned up in a swing top, or a corduroy maxi dress, then they'd probably care. Chuckle.

Growing Up

I thought we were supposed to become more certain as we get older? Wasn't that the 'con' when we were kids. "Wait until you grow up..."

So, we all couldn't wait until we grew up. We, some of us, even looked upon adults as mythical creatures with super powers. (But, it was most likely just a con too)

I, actually, think the exact opposite is true. I think we get less certain.

(Sorry to disappoint all the young ones)

I just think it is because you become more aware, at the same time becoming less willing and less able.

I think your enthusiasm wanes when forever is no longer stretching out in front of you in that infinite way it did when you were 20 and you get to realise how temporary all of this is.

Death and taxes, indeed. Not only the only things promised, they are what life boils down to, in many ways.

And you know what? I am one of the more fortunate people in the world, I know that. Although, having said that, travelling around the world, people in less affluent countries – I'm not talking about impoverished countries, more your developing countries – always just seem that little bit happier than we do. People do seem happier with a little less, I think expectations are just that little bit lower.

I'm not sure that really affluent countries make their people happier. I think, perhaps, they make a few people really rich, but then have you ever hung out with the really rich? So often the most miserable people on the planet. I don't believe infinite wants makes you happy, in general.

Ah life, it is a tricky business.

Tradies Today

The difference between tradies today and tradies of yesterday, those of yesterday used to want to help you, or certainly gave the impression they wanted to help you, now they are just looking for a job, all pretence has been dropped.

That is the way of the world now a days, I guess, now that money has become god, you know, in a sense, in no small degree thanks to conservative politics, the gods of profit over integrity. Was it always that way? I don't know? Some people surely had pride in their service, surely they did? Now it's just a number, you are a money receptacle from which money is to be extracted?

Did tradies always want to help in the past? Oh, probably not. Have things really changed? I think just slightly, around the edges, in the margins, so to speak. Probably, a small percentage more of tradies used to want to help you in the past, and that percentage has just tilted the other way today, if the truth be known.

I'm guessing that is probably the truth.

I suppose what I am saying is that more and more of us bow down to the god of money, more than the god of integrity.

So, what are tradies good for? You know, you have to ask? Well, they are good for a perve in those shorts they wear now, those tan work shorts with the black trim that just seems to emphasise their arses and their crotches.

And so many of those shorts seem to be getting tighter and tighter? Do, you think they do it for the chicks? You know, to get the jobs? Maybe? Some of those shorts are so tight you can practically see what they are having for lunch. I whistle Soldier on with Codral, as I have a good look as I walk by.

Then there was gorgeous Josh up the ladder in his blue work shorts that had wide legs and I was at the bottom of the ladder looking up and getting the best view of him in his red jocks, it was as if he didn’t have those shorts on at all, with his nice firm round arse and the bulge filled out so well in the front. The boy had a great bulge on him.

And I think we are breeding them with gorgeous eyes too. Those gorgeous eyes looking back at you, especially those blue ones that have a darker blue ring around the blue iris. I don’t remember those eyes when I was younger.

So many of them in their 20s. The handsome faces, the tight torsos, the great legs. Well built 20 something olds. And you know what twenty something boys like doing, often multiple times a day? Then I am picturing them doing that as they wake up in bed that morning. Those beautiful eyes squinting, sweat on their brows, breathing heavily… I’m so often walking away from a handsome tradie at their utes in the street, and they are making a mess of themselves before I get to the next corner. Is that just me, or do other guys have such thoughts?

Doing A Re-Write

I've been back 10 years in my blog re-writing. Oh, I don't know why, sometimes it just takes me on a whim. 

Actually, that's a lie, I do know why, there is something I had been meaning to correct/change, and I am now getting to it - it was a name, I changed someone's name. And as that pertains to about 4 years of my blog, and as there is only one way to change it, individually, and one at a time, this is going to take a while. I am about half way through after a couple of days of intense, focussed work, so that is good.

Then I start to read what I have written, and then I get to re-writing and expanding passages. It is amazing what I remember once I start to read. And then it is taking twice as long as it should otherwise take, but, lets face it, all the brilliance of writing (oh, I don't really mean me, but in a general sense) is in the re-write, so I don't really care how long this takes.

I have a couple of days off, which is just the right time to fritter the hours away on historical writing. Ha ha. Don't you think? What better allocation of time can there be than rewriting passages that quite possibly no one will ever read?

And, you never know, someone might go back there and have a read, some day. It is possible. It's all good stuff. (I have to say that, you understand)

Anyway, while I am in the past, re-writing, I'm not writing anything in the present.

I'll get back to my usual transmission shortly. 😀

The sun is shining, I'm going to take Bruno for a walk just to clear my head. All that focussed concentration takes it out of one.

Tuesday

I dreamed there were people running around a kind of a circular boxing rink, which was silver white, to earn credits for something unspecified.

Then the people would leave taking their earnings with them waving their hands in the air, out through a long tunnel like doorway.

I think they weren’t quite earning enough somehow. So, there were, I guess, contestants who were willing to go the ‘extra mile’ so they could earn the full number of rewards.

Those people would run, and run and run for longer, or would run in a certain way to get all the rewards they could.

There was a curly haired girl who was willing to do extra, she wanted to get more. She dressed up in boxing gear to run. She was bare chested, but she had a man’s chest.

2.40am. I woke suddenly from my dream. In the dark.

I had a wee and went back to bed.

4.45am I woke up from another dream, but that dream was gone before I could capture it. 

I tossed and turn thinking about my stupidity, most recently with the roof guys. I’m not falling back to sleep. I try not to think about the stupid decisions I have made recently, and clearly how stupid I am. A fool and his money is soon parted, is that what they say? I just seem to suffer from brain fade when I have to deal with something about which I am not very knowledgeable. It is really annoying. I just lose all judgement. Fancy me paying that (sexy) plumber Josh (with the beefy arse) more money when he & Beau were here to fix previous work. I don’t know, I just sort of panic and say yes. (no, I wasn’t distracted) It is really a problem. (And now the problems aren’t fixed, not really) Then I get anxiety about it after and worry about it, post terrible decision. So, in a sense, I suffer multiple times over it. And then I just feel like an idiot. I have an IQ higher than 95% of the population, but it just never seems to do me any good.

5am. I got up. Shake of the head.

I lie on the couch with the big pink blanket with the satin trim. Milo (my cat) tries to snuggle up but I move around too much for him and he disappears.

My lips are dry. My eyes feel clagged up.

I lay on the couch and read about, of all things, Paul McCartney’s English sheep dog named Martha, about which the song was written.

7.05am, Sam is up growling at me for getting up so early. “Why?”

“I don’t know.”

I make porridge and coffee.

I make more coffee, that is hardly a surprise, hey?

I work all morning. I get everything done. I had a bunch of stuff that was quite complicated that I had to get done, so I got really focussed for quite a while.

And it’s just Tuesday, you know, nothing special. Just a Tuesday.

Sam is in the kitchen cooking, and I’m thinking perhaps I could shut down and take Bruno for a walk, when I realise I was think it was the end of the day and that Sam was just getting preparations for dinner done a bit early, (I got lost in my work, what can I say?) when I realise it is only just midday. And I wonder momentarily if I am losing my fucking mind, but probably not, I guess, it’s because I got up so early. My head spun. Sleep deprivation, ha ha. It’s a terrible thing, isn’t that what they say? Even if I’m not sure that a loss of a couple of hours sleep counts as deprivation?

Then I feel a bit sick, nauseous, suddenly, blah. I whinny like a horse, it doesn’t help. That gives me the chills all through my body. Brrrrr! My stomach doesn’t feel great, and I feel tired like I might retire to the couch for the rest of the day. Blur.

12.30pm. I ate fried rice for lunch. I hoped that would help and while it seemed to be helping initially, the lethargy and the nauseousness returns.

I might go check my work computer, to see if any of the bastards are bothering me with work with an email of demand, but they aren’t, so then get on the couch with the pink blanket with the satin trim.

So, Bruno and I cuddled up on the couch for a couple of hours and had a snooze, it was lovely. Bruno’s fuzzy, furry face next to mine, his breathing in time with my breathing, snoring in my ear for all he is worth. The sun shone in the window. Bruno’s breath in my ear. And I felt a bit more refreshed when I woke up again. And they question why I don’t want to exchange working from home for going back to the office. Seriously, why would I? Jesus, it is a no brainer, as they say.

Now I’m going to sign out and take Bruno for a walk. Clear my head, as they say. Get some fresh air, that can’t hurt.

We eat chocolate chip hot x buns and drink tea when we get back.