Monday

I’m up at 5.45am. I get dressed in the dark. I whisper “goodbye honey,” at the bedroom door and Sam always mumbles goodbye in his sleep. I love that about him.

I eat Vegemite toast and drink coffee in the quiet of the house before the sun rises just Milo to keep me comps and even then when I sit down too close to him on the couch he gets up and herumphs off.

I leave home at 6.20am.

I’m listening to Tina Turner’s Twenty Four Seven.

It all seems much more lit up than usual, this morning, I’m not sure why? Is it that the night is turning to light earlier than it has been, and nothing to do with the artificial lighting in the street?

I don’t know.

A gaggle of tradies in hi viz walk towards me down Brunswick Street, leaving one of their group behind on the footpath further up the street who looks like he is pulling up his pants. (It’s still dark and hard to see properly) My mind reels with possibilities of what the first four had been doing to him. As I get closer to him, he picks up a backpack from the ground slinging it over his shoulder, he looks at me with his handsome face out of which hangs an unlit cigarette. Oh yes, you’re the pretty one, I think, and the other boys like doing things to you, I see.

I chuckle to myself as I head towards Victoria Parade.

6.34am. I’m sitting on the metal seat, which is always cold on my arse, at the tram stop at St Vincent’s Plaza waiting for the number 12 I saw off in the distance coming up Brunswick Street. I could walk to Albert Street, but what’s the point really in the greater scheme of things. One stop where I don’t pay, or two stops, really, what does it matter.

I message David. I tell him where I am. I bet he wishes he was me, I say. I’m trying to humour him. He’s struggling with some mystery pain about which no test he has had has shed any light. He says he can’t go on like this. (He’s always been dramatic)

I tell him it’s only been six weeks.

He says he can’t cope with it.

The tram arrives moments later.

Two middle aged Asian chicks rush off the tram at the last minute, as I get on, moments later they rush back onto the tram, don’t know what that was all about. (Drug drop off, I ponder)

The tram is near on empty, as I lose track of where we are in Collins Street it still being dark outside and brightly lit inside the tram, making it look as though me, and the few people I am sharing the tram with, are the only people in the universe travelling through space in a brightly lit capsule complete with bright yellow safety rails. I think Doctor Who.

I’m at William Street 6.45am.

“Cause absolutely nothing’s changed”, sings Tina, as I get off the tram. Ain’t that the truth, Tina, I think. (Although, you’ve had a pretty significant change I think immediately after that)

I’m in the lift at 6.49am.

I’m the first in, our floor is dark, the lights clank on with every step I take, like I am a super model walking the cat walk, or a death town prisoner walking to the gallows.

Oh! The first thing I see when I open my emails is the Pony Tail’s return from parental leave. Boo hoo. My kind of nemesis? Maybe squeezing a sprog out her snatch may have softened her, I think. I cross my fingers and hope. Surely, she couldn’t be any more intense that she was before? Surely.

I make coffee.

7.21am. I make more coffee.

Muscles is in the kitchen playing with the mornings fruit delivery.

I don’t really have anything to do this morning, partly because I have been working full time for Boris these last few weeks.

I might read the news. What the hell. This is the morning in the highly charged world of legal finance. Ha ha.

Sunday

10am. We leave home.

The donations outside The Salvos are strewn all over the foot path. I contemplate having a look, but don’t want to be a part of that mess. I’m

10.45am. We’re crossing the bridge across the Yarra. There are plenty of people out today, we’ll, the sun is shining and the sky is crystal clear, that always gets the punters out the door in greater numbers; girl couples with cattle dogs, mum and dad and the two little sprogs, young couples with Labradors, older couples walking their dogs together, blokes with big dogs and ball throwers, girls with small fluffy dogs they carry for at least half the time, men in tiny shorts with great legs, jogging, girls covered head to toe in active wear, jogging, impatient bike riders demanding their right of way on the bridge, like bike riders do.

The sun is shining, the sky is cloudless blue.

There are quite a few people walking the track with their dogs.

We’re walking off down the path and we meet a cream Lab coming the other way. As soon as the Lab has past, Bruno looks at me with his I’m-not-coming-with you kind of look, and then he runs off in the other direction, don’t know why. We had to chase him back past the bride before we could get the lead on him.

He must have seen someone playing ball with their dog, that is usually behind such behaviour, otherwise I don’t know what got into him.

We meet up with a lady and her German Shorthair Pointer and a second dog that looked kind of part wolf hound. She asked, “Is he friendly?” I still had Bruno on the lead and it must have looked like I was disciplining him.

I laughed. “Yes, he is.” And I let him off his lead and Bruno headed straight off fallowing her dogs towards where the wide open off-lead park turns into the narrow path way where, officially, the off-lead section finishes, but no one puts their dogs on leads there.

Bruno came back and she bent down to pat him, coo’ng at him saying he was a gorgeous guy, and Bruno in his inimitable style ignored her completely, leaving her standing there with her hand out reaching for thin air. He is such a rat like that. He doesn’t care.

The sun shone, the sky was blue, fresh air blew. The bush seemed particularly vivid green today. There was the odd puddle of water so it had got some rain fairly recently, even though I didn’t remember it raining anytime lately.

We walked down to the usual turn around spot before the path raises up and the drop off down to the river becomes steep and I, somewhat ashamedly, have vertigo problems, they are just painful. We turned around, right when we met up with two Asian girls coming towards us who eyed off Bruno with trepidation, and who eyed off Bruno even more so once we were following them. But, you know, Bruno soon finds something to sniff and the two girls leave us behind.

We meet Bruce the Jack Russell, he and Bruno have a piss-a-thon on a fallen log. The two of them must have lifted their legs four times each before I call Bruno’s name and the other dog owner calls Bruce. The other owner and I laughed as our two dogs did their continued circles to the fallen log.

As we approached the bridge again, Sam said, “Should we put him on the lead, or should we let him run around some more?”

“Oh, let him run around some more,” I said.

And Bruno ran off ahead, right at that moment, chasing after two German Shorthaired Pointers whose owner was throwing a ball for them. 

As you have guessed, Bruno managed to grab their ball and in usual Bruno fashion, he wouldn’t give it back. We managed to put a lead on him, but he still won’t give the ball back. It took some time to get it from him. 

The German Shorthair Pointer’s owner is good natured about it. He is somewhat handsome, a bit chubby perhaps, but with a sweet smile and a good nature. The German Shorthair Pointers were keen to get their ball back bouncing around us while the extraction proceeded.

The stubborn Bulldog was not giving up the ball easily. It too sometime of coaxing, and cajoling, and attempts to rip it from his teeth. Eventually we got it from him.

We headed back across the bridge, a caramel coloured poodle/terrier, a cram Lab, a Puggle, a Rottweiler and it’s Jack Russell house buddy and a medium sized cream Groodle came the other way.

A guy with his pants halfway down his arse was rifling through the Salvos donations as we got back to the car. He’d got himself a box and he was filling it with the stuff he was taking, not a care.

11.20am. We’re back at the car.

11.33am. Bruno and I are waiting outside The Hive while Sam shops.

The sky is blue, the sun is shining. It is a gorgeous day. Bruno lies out with his face between his paws. Many people commented how adorable he was, and he does look adorable like that. I sat on the tiles with my back against the window writing my journal, well, this really.

11.53am. Sam reappears.

He points out the guy with the German Shorthaired Pointers was standing over on the footpath. I saw that he had a beard.

I smile. 

He smiled. “It’s okay, the ball is secure,” he said.

Sam went over to Minh Phat supermarket. I stayed seated on the cool tiles.

Sam reappeared at midday back from Minh Phat.

12.09pm. We’re home again.

We eat rice noodles with beef and vegitables for lunch.

Then it was screens for the afternoon until dinner. A couch each. I pissed around with old blog posts. Bruno moved from one of us to the other. That was Sunday.

 

Charlie's Home

Charlie arrived home at 5am, having been in Bali, Jakarta and Hong Kong, on holidays, some of the time with his mum and her new partner.

5.15am. We leave for the airport, with Bruno in the car. Charlie doesn't exactly like Bruno so I did wonder if we were doing the right thing, but it worked out okay.

A fine mist of rain was falling as we left. The streets were deserted pretty much as we headed out of town to the airport.

I take the wrong turn off, the one before the one I was meant to take, I have never done that before, but Sam and I were chatting, and it was raining, oh I don’t know, that’s my excuse. Sam said he thought the signs had been changed. Then we were on the back roads of the airport which is quite a wasteland, where everything looked different and we kind of got a little misplaced until we found the road back to the arrival’s terminal.

5.40am. We get to the arrivals parking area. Sam heads into find Charlie straight up.

The airport is busy. There doesn’t seem to be any of those Nazi traffic officers who are always moving you on after only so many minutes waiting, so I just sat.

5.46am. Sam calls to say the plane has landed.

5.48am. Sam calls to say he has found Charlie.

5.51am. Then it is only minutes later they open the back hatch of the car to put the luggage in.

Charlie is even quieter than he has ever been before, if you can believe it. He answered questions in a whisper. I ask him questions but I can barely hear his answers.

We miss the Bell Street turn off and have to pay a toll getting off at Brunswick Road. So, we weren’t doing so well in that department. I am not sure why, I have never missed one turn in the past let along two. Ah, fuck it, who cares. That Bell Street turn off is so absurd anyway, it just smacks of the toll company paying off the govt to make the last turn off before you pay as confusing and easy to miss as possible. (You know, it is why we aren’t going to make it as a species, too many self interest capitalist players who will work against any sort of easy solution to the climate crisis)

As we are heading back into the city and home, the streets get busier noticeably, 6am and people are heading to work, a lot of them probably to beat the traffic carnage that is to come in an hour, or so. Poor bastards, what a miserable life. Of course, if you had to sit in the bumper to bumper traffic every morning, you’d just top yourself right there in the car one morning when it all got too much. 

I think I would.

Actually, no I wouldn’t, as I wouldn’t be, have never been, a part of that peak hour carpark.

6.18am. We’re home. 

Time to make coffee and sign into work myself.

Fuck the cunts who are trying to get us all back to the office. Come on workers stand up to the stand up to the corporate overlord tyrants and simply refuse to comply.

I’m refusing. Fuck them, we have been shown a better life and they want to take it away from us.

I reckon Charlie has been living up with his mum, because I reckon he has a bigger arse than he had before he went away. Not that I am into sizing up 20 year old boys bums… oh, really, who am I kidding. 😬 He’s got this pair of black thermal pants he wears around the house, that fit him so fine, well, he can’t wear those around a gay household and not expect us, er, me to look. I don’t look obviously, and he would never know, but I still see how he looks.

Isn't That A Problem?

There is a real fault with our road laws that I can see.

If you are a car turning left and you have to wait for pedestrians to cross the road into which you are turning, and there is a bike path in the road out of which you are turning, bikes can come up the bike path out of no where and just go straight through the intersection. And you can turn in front of a bike that wasn't there moments before.

Surely, the safest action here should be for the bike to stop and give way to the car turning left. The bike is after all behind the car, coming along after the car has commenced its lefthand turn.

The way it is now, it is just an accident waiting to happen, as far as I can see.

 

I've been playing around with photo effects in Photoshop, I call this one a G-String Mandala

2:22 A Ghost Story

5.30pm. David arrived.

We walked into the city with David complaining he was in pain the whole way, apparently, his legs have been painful for quite a few weeks. He doesn’t know why.

We saw ‘2:22 A Ghost Story’ at Her Majesties Theatre. It was a mystery. It was enjoyable. Yes, it was good. I’m not sure I really understood the ending, exactly. Maybe, I was over thinking. I think David was. Of course, I can't tell you, as it is a mystery.

I think for an ending to be satisfactory, I need to go, Oh Yes, not, Huh?

Still, I love going to plays, I have ever since I was a kid when my mum would take me. It was nice to be in a big theatre. The effects were good, as was the staging.

David grabbed a taxi quick as a flash so he didn’t have to walk home. He dropped us off at our street, he went onto his hotel, just down the road. He's heading back home tomorrow.

We were home by 9pm.

The Rolling Stones

I google Rolling Stones new album every morning. Of course, with England being behind us I should google it in the afternoon, but be that as it may.

It was supposed to be released in the northern summer, then it was being release in Autumn, and the last thing I read, it should be released in September.

Well, with a release date imminent, you'd think they would be releasing some details about it soon. Surely, if those release dates are true, they must know a lot of details about now, details they could be releasing.

Oh, come on, it has been something like eight years in the making, we are getting impatient, get on with it.

It really is time for a new album.

They released new tracks in 2011. They released new tracks in 2013. They released new tracks in 2020. They released new tracks in 2021

But no new album. Grrr!

Sunday Grey Day

The weather was shit, a fine mist of rain fell for most of the day. I lay on the couch and watched YouTube for most of the day. Bruno and I for the most part shared the couch. I only objected when he used my face as a pillow, as bulldogs tend to do. His big, fat, squishy face would land, plop not a care. And he never seems to understand my objections, it is as if he says, "What?" in a curious tone (you know that old beer ad with men behaving badly) as I remove his damp jowls from my mouth.

And, you know, I am none too unhappy about lying on the couch all day on a grey winter's day. I caught up on all of my car YouTube channels. Lovely.

We did manage to take Bruno for a walk late in the afternoon, when the rain stopped and the sun tentatively came out, a walk on which Bruno really wasn't keen, 5 minutes off the couch standing on the footpath in his harness. Really, you still think this is a good idea, said his expressive face as he took a tentative step.

All the usual things happened. 

"Do you mind if I pat your dog."

"Do you mind if I take a photo of your dog?"

"Do you mind if I take a photo with your dog?"

Do you think it is interesting that Sunday, is nearly spelt like Sundae? Oh look, it has an interesting history when I google it.

We ate pork ribs for dinner, with the open fire blazing. Work tomorrow. Sad face. Actually, as I have been working Boris' full time hours, I can guarantee you that I will sign into work tomorrow and I will have nothing to do. I have done it all.

Morning Dog Wash

Wow! It was really cold as Sam and I walked Bruno to the poodle parlour. 6 degrees, so my phone was telling me.

We left at 8am. There were like minded dog owners walking their dogs down our street. There was a friend further ahead with her mastiff, at the first corner a black Lab and his owner cut in between us and our friend, with who we never caught up. There was a small black curly coated terrier behind us.

The sun was out shining brightly, but the air had a biting cold sting to it.

We met a cream Groodle (or a Cavoodle, I'm never really sure which is which) named Harvey that it and Bruno had a stand-off. They gazed at each other but didn't move a paw, I wasn't sure if it was love, or fear, not that Bruno ever fears anything.

We got to our appointment on time. There was an Italian greyhound in a coat waiting outside, which it turned out was waiting for its buddy a black puppy Lab in a coat inside.

We left Bruno, he gazed back over his shoulder as he was led away, with 'what's going on' eyes.

We walked home in the cold to breakfast, blackberry croissants, chocolate danishes and coffee.

Later, when we picked Bruno up, he wasn't all wiggles to see us, he just eyed us off as if to say, Really, what was that all about? You've got to love dog's and how unswervingly honest they are.

Washed & Dried

We've decide that Bruno is going to the poodle parlour. Can you believe it? Bruno amongst all the girlie dogs, he will look funny. Sometime he looks a giant when he is surrounded by little dogs, when he just isn't a giant.

He's been scratching and itching and he needs a bath, but it has been so cold, and is going to be cold for the next week, or so. So he's going to be washed, and dried at the dog salon, it was Sam's idea. Tomorrow at 9am.

He's going to be washed, he's getting his nails done and his ears cleaned. He hates his ears being cleaned, so, we'll see how they go.

I wonder if all the dogs sit around reading magazine and gossiping as their 'dos' dry.

"Did you see Trixie down the dog park? What a tramp." Cottonwool between their claws, foils in their fur.

Me and My Fat Mouth

Boris went overseas for 3 weeks and she asked me if I’d work full time while she was a way. “Oh yes, sure, not problem,” comes out of my stupid fat mouth.

As I sit here for the second week, I have been repeating over and over, well, ever since I said I would, “No, Boris, I don’t want to do that.” See how easy that was ☹️ Grrrr!

Oh well, just another week to go. Kill me now!

"When will you ever learn," says Mark when I tell him.

I guess we never stop learning, hey?

I've got every thing done of Boris' work, and I have got everything done of my work.

Now I am writing my blog. I'm trying to pull together an old year from my journals at the time. I guess I shouldn't complain about work. Hey? If it affords me to write.

Oh, then people bother me with things to do. Sheesh! And I have to stop doing my writing and get stuff done. I'm busy here, I think. Ha ha.

HR A Go Go

Oh, HR are drama-ering again, namely my old nemesis Fish Face. I quake in my boots when I see her extension come up on my phone, usually – there is a quick decision to be made of answering it, or killing myself, on the spot, to avoid her – except now a days because my work phone is diverted to my mobile, I don't even get that pre-warning name to decide if I am going to answer, or not.

No. Grrrr. I can tell it is a work number by the number on my screen, but I don't know who it could be anyone.

"Hello Christian speaking."

"Hello Christian its.... " she doesn't have to say her name, I can tell instantly from the distasteful, bogan, nasal tone – she talks out her nose, I image as the Wicked Witch of the South did – now threatening to damage my ear drum. 

Hello, you lying, duplicitous, self interested, opportunistic cunt, how may I help. "Hi."

Oh, shake of the head. Oh, it is going to be a bad day.

And it was all my fault. I was doing some house keeping and I noticed some paperwork had the incorrect dates on it and as it pertained to the Perth office, I corrected it and sent them a corrected copy with a brief explanation.

The next thing I know, is I get an email from Fish Face demanding an explanation as to how this happened. You see, the Perth office had done the work for the NSW office, and it had forwarded my correction east to Beelzebub. Oh, the horror, I thought. It is like inviting a vampire into your house, you just don’t do it. You'll never get the smell out.

I would never have sent the correction if I’d known that that opportunistic useless piece of …. bleach blond, straightened hair and bucked teeth, and too much fake tan, was going to have anything to do with it.

And, true to form, Fish Face has misunderstood the correction itself, just two dates, and has gone down the process of demanding details to effectively guard herself against anything that may come back on her on the arse. It really is pathetic to listen to. It is like hearing a drowning child on the other end of the phone flailing around trying to make sure it is safe at any cost.

And it makes me anxious, usually.

And, you know, while it is making me a little anxious, I’m thinking fuck it, and moving forward. I’m BatFink. Fuck off, Fish Face… my wings are…

And, of course, Boris is swanning around Europe some where and of no use to me at all.

The thing is, Fish Face has gone quite since yesterday, but sometimes that is just me lulled into a false sense of security, before she comes back over the parapet all self-interested guns ablaze. Cross your fingers.

Sun rise does the soul good, it is every thing being renewed, in a macro sense, in close up, every day. So close that if you reach out you can even believe you can touch it.

There is joy in a sun rise. There is wonder. And there is hope. All set out before you in glorious technicolour. Take a big breath and take it all in. It is almost too much, it is almost overload, it is almost unsettling in is gloriousness, although it isn't. 

So much to live up to. 

It is the teeth chatter on an E. It is the chill up your spine on a swing. It is the sugar rush on a huge piece of pavlova. 

It is the dreamy calm of a beautiful dream, knowing that everything was going to be alright, and was alright with the world.

It is such astonishing beauty it is capable of taking your breath away, it is able to have you saying "Wow," out loud before you have any thoughts of doing such.

Monday

I leave home at 6.27am. It’s cold and dark. The street lights are still lighting the way.

A cute Asian boy in a red hoodie pulled over his head walks towards me on Gertrude Street in the dark. His smile looks frozen on his face, like it aches for warmth.

I see two trams head up Brunswick Street off in the distance. A stream of light, then it is gone. Then another glow of light, then it is gone too. Damn, I think, I should have left earlier.

A more sinister guy with a beard and a hoodie pulled up over his head with a coffee in his hand walks towards me just as I get to Brunswick Street. I chuckle to myself, I don’t think muggers carry coffee, generally.

I could shiver but the walking keeps me warm.

An 86 tram crosses over back behind me as I walk up Brunswick Street. I wonder about the benefits of catching that tram and walking down William Street, or King Street, but think that if I don’t pay in the mornings there is only stop the way I am going before the free zone, there would be more than that on the other tram. I used to walk that one stop, so I didn’t skip fares at all, but I got lazy. I’m not going to pay$6 for one stop. Bad me.

A black girl with hair pulled back tight into a ponytail and white headphones walks towards me, her white headphones reflecting the street lights in the dark.

6.35am. I’m on St Vincent’s Plaza with a girl wearing cat-ears-hat, who I think is abusing the tram for not coming, but then I think she is rapping, and then I think she is doing both. Anyway, it is strange her affectively calling out in the dark. A guy in orange hiviz with his hoodie pulled over his head, with shorts and muscular legs, appears out of no where. The girl with the cat-ears-hat raps away obviously to anyone around her, but she doesn’t get on the tram when it comes. Go figure?

I get on a 109 tram.

For your continued safety please remember to hold on, says the announcement as we whizz off down the Collins Street hill.

They are still working on the city square underground train station, everything seems to be boarded up on the Swanston Street corner.

The boy on the seat opposite to me coughs like he has some lurgy.

A boy all in black with what looks like a surgical mask gets on. He sits with the coughing guy, I think they are meant to be together.

I’m at William Street at 6.47am.

It looks like Stella Holden sitting in the middle section when I look up to get off, I’ve just been writing about her in my old blogs, funny how that happens. We didn’t part on good terms. But she lives in Williamstown and would be coming from the entirely opposite direction. I wondered if she was still with husband Adam. I guess her son Patrick would be in his 20s by now.

6.51am. I am in the lift.

7.04am. I have an emergency shit situation.

I make coffee.

Ourboybaz, with all his muscles, is in the kitchen. He is usually in next  after me in the mornings. He looks like he is making a healthy cereal breakfast. He says hello. He asks me if I have far to come in the mornings.

Big Ange is in next, walking like she is in pain, as she usually walks.

The Grand Pooh Bar is in at 7.50am.

Jason is in after them. He is looking cute in his green top, and jeans, he's always in casual clothes now a days. I so would do it with Jason. The fact he reminds me of Sam may have something to do with that. I reckon I look at Jason to intimately sometimes because I think he is sam, sometimes I catch him giving me a quizzical look. Chuckle.

It took me until 9am to get everything sorted this morning.

9.36am. All my morning work is done. Yay. 

There is some chick in the services department who has a terrible, loud voice who hasn’t shut the fuck up all fucking morning.

I want her killed.

My finance hit squad of 5 hot guys should just head in there and take her out. All you’d hear was the whoosh of their silencers, ft, ft, ft, ft, ft, and the sound of the bitch’s body hitting the floor like a bag of shit.

9.53am. The boys start having footy talk just outside my office, gritted teeth, screwing my hands into fists, fortunately this nonsense doesn’t go on for very long.

The deep sea submersible would have disintegrated in 0.4 of a second

The human brain takes 0.5 of a second for a realisation.

(Something like that)

So the guys onboard the submersible would simply have ceased to exist.

That is amazing, really. Zzzzzz, gone.

That was an interesting fact from the weekend that has stayed with me.

I wish Rachel happy birthday, she says she can swing by my place this arvo as she is visiting her gorgeous son, who’s just moved back near me. I saw him the other day, he is still a beautiful boy, even if he’s getting a chunkier arse than he used to have. Is it wrong to take a squiz at his arse as he walks away, a boy I held in my arms a day, or so, after he was born? I don’t know? He grew into a gorgeous man, which is hardly surprising as he was an angelic child. But, I’m in the office, sad face.

I’m pretty much done by 10.50am and am considering lunch. No lunchbox today, Sam didn’t make me one as I didn’t tell him until the last minute I was going to the office, so I am off out to get pies.

11.21am. I head out to get lunch. This is when lunch is when you start early.

A chick comes in the door as I go out, she says, “Sorry.”

I wonder what she is sorry about

11.31am. I’m back with my pies. I’ve got the rest of the day free at this stage. I wish I was at home.

Still, the sun is shining.

I go get another coffee.

One of the guys tells me in the kitchen I have been calling him the wrong name… for 8 years. Now that is embarrassing.

The big boss comes around with chocolates.

Out To Lunch In The Sunshine

Sunday. We walked into town to walk Bruno, and to eat lunch. It was a nice day, the sun was shining, I even took my thermal top off and put on a t-shirt for the occasion.

We ate in Melbourne Central. There is a part of Melbourne Central that is divided up by laneways, you know, what Melbourne is famous for, its laneways. Of course, that is just a vehicle which architects use to design a large building. You break it down into what I'd call more manageable chunks of building, so the general public can related to it and  accept it and, I guess, by extension like it and use it, especially public buildings.

The laneways aren't outside as such, but as they are laneways, faux laneways even, perhaps one can reasonably assume you can take your dog there, which we did. And people think it is adorable, except perhaps the Indian family at the next table that moved almost immediately after we arrived, so Sam wondered? But, no, I saw the matriarch selling the 'larger table' idea to the family as a reason to move, so I don't reckon it was because of Bruno. And they only moved to the next table across, which was clearly a larger table for her large family.

Bruno lies on the laneway floor with his face between his paws, just his eyes moving watching the world, and the passer-by's genuinely have an enchanted expression on their faces as they gaze at him.

A gaggle of lads

Of course, Sam had an ulterior motive and he disappeared off to Harvey Norman or, at least, that is where I think he went, after lunch. Bruno and I sat on the grass out the front of the State Library engaging people who wanted to say hi, or take a photo of, or have a photo taken with, Bruno. I mean, I didn't actively engage with people, I just sat in the sun writing my journal on my phone, and taking a few photos of the day, but people are mad for him. He's kind of indifferent, which is in equal parts funny and slightly embarrassing.

"Oh isn't he soooo beautiful," someone will say.

And I can see Bruno think, nyr and turn away. I just turn him back, you know, as much as I can be bothered to turn hm back, at which point Bruno comes to the party, generally. Hopefully. Or I find myself making excuses for him. "He's been on a long walk, he's ready to head home to the couch." Smile.

They generally laugh at that. "Me too," they'll say. "See you kid." Chuck behind the ear.

Sam eventually returned and we trotted off home up La Trobe Street, Bruno stopping to sniff every damn thing. You just have to remember, it is as much about the sniffing for a dog, as it is about the walking. 

I lay on the couch for the rest of the afternoon with Bruno watching my favourite YouTubers on my laptop, dozing off half the time I had my eyes on the screen. I quite like that feeling of unrestrained slumber, glorious dozing off where you have no intension of limiting yourself by trying to stay awake. That sensual giving in. I've just got to position myself where my laptop doesn't slide off my lap and onto the floor, by just gently rolling my legs ever so slightly towards the back of the couch.

And that was Sunday.

The Love Heart tree

 

I Love You Tom

Sam never met Tom. I wish Tom had met Sam, Tom would have liked Sam. (Bruno has just got out of bed and he is trying to nuzzle up to me as I write)

I've been re-writing my old blogs. I've written up a couple of previous years of journals just as a love letter to Tom. You see Tom and I used to email each other every day, for years. So, setting out years of that, those emails, I can read one long conversation with Tom, again. I can even hear his voice again.

Tom and I were never lovers, no, nothing like that, but we were best friends, and sometimes I think it is harder to loose a best friend than a lover. Lovers are easy to come by, a wink, a nudge, drop your pants and you've got a lover. Best friends are so much harder to come by. You have to give them something real of yourself to get them to hang around, to get them to like you.

Ah, all those friends with whom I no longer keep in contact. I haven't really lost contact, I could call anyone of them up. But, my really best mates are dead. Fergus, Simon, Tom, Anthony. I guess I told you Anthony died? Life got sad for him and he took to drinking big time. 

The problem was that he was a really nasty drunk, so he lost all his friends and life got sadder. I wish I'd done more, I wish I'd hung in there, you know, like a friend would. But his nastiness was too much for me too, brutal drunk nastiness, and we lost contact right at the end.

Excessive alcohol gave him cancer, I assume pancreatic cancer, as he was suffering from pancreatitis when I last saw him.

Apparently, in the end, when it was too late, he gave up drinking and he tried to make amends by contacting everyone who, I can only presume, meant something to him, in which I wasn't included.

I said that I could only assume that I didn't mean that much to him. David (Oh, David isn't dead, although she's half nuts.) tried to tell me that I couldn't assume that I didn't mean anything to Anthony, because that just wasn't true.

"Actions speak louder than words, David," I said.

David said it wasn't true.

I said it clearly was. "He never tried to make it right with me."

Shane isn't dead, but he's been in London for 10 year. Sebastian isn't dead, I saw him the other day, but it had been quite a while before that since I've seen him. Mark and Luke aren't dead, of course, but they live in northern NSW now. Jill, Rachel, although I never seem to see her, LouLou, Lolli, Adriana, I so should call her, all at the end of the phone. 

Anyway, it's nice spending time with Tom, again. I miss him to this day. Fucking Leukemia.

David is always asking when I am going to publish my journals, he calls them the Reno Files, because they chronicle all of our relationship bust ups. None of my friends know I write a blog. Sam knows, but he doesn't care. Mark and Luke knew, but they couldn't have cared less either. Maybe, I'll tell David one day. 

"Maybe I have already published them," I will say to him, mysteriously, one day, just to see the look on his face. Of course, there is only part of them here. I've written them ever since I was a kid. Every day. Nearly everyday. I can't help it, writing. I've never been able to help it. I've always had to write, it is just something in me.

And maybe I won't tell David, either. There is a certain freedom in nobody knowing, it gives me much more freedom to write what I like, I imagine, than if they all knew.

If I ever published my journals, I think I'd call them, I Love You Tom.

I listen to The Rolling Stones from Sticky Fingers backwards to Between The Buttons all day.

The new Stones album is out in the next few months and still no details about it yet.

Come on, it has been at least 8 years you guys have been recording it, we're getting impatient now. Where is it?

Working From Home

Yeah, well, as predicted I really had nothing to do all day. Nothing. And I will most likely have another day of that tomorrow. 

There were just a couple of questions all day, but nothing much.

And one enquiry from one of the a partners late in the day, a part of Boris' job description. I hand-balled it to The Midget, and she took care of it, with some input from me to help her out.

Other than that, I went to the dentist at 9am. Cleaned. And where my teeth have worn, there was a pocket worn into my bottom tooth, so the dentist filled it so nothing got caught in it so it didn't decay in the future. It was preventative. I have dental cover on my heath insurance, and do you think my health insurance coughed up the extra $100 for the filling, not a chance, baby. Fucken Medicare Private.

I went to the super market to get some milk and some oranges.

There were a whole bunch of coppers in, I guess, what you would call Special Ops drag, tight fitting copper blue uniforms on big, strapping lads who filled them out respectfully, they all looked like they had gym memberships. They were all milling about the recently fire bombed grocery shop like they had a lot going on. There were cameras and that reporter with the beautiful eyes was there too. It was all on the news at night, gang war escalates on Melbourne's mean streets, on some such over dramatized news report.

Other than that, I sat at my desk all day and rewrote huge parts of my blog. Easy Peasy. What's not to like? Getting paid to do what I enjoy.

I have decided that I really don't care, either. If I am going to sit here all day with nothing to do, I am just going to do my own thing unashamedly. So, I might do some shopping, go to Bunnings. If it is a nice day, I'll take Bruno for a walk, I might walk him to Bunnings. I'm going to do just whatever I feel like doing. Stuff it.

Sticky Buns

Jeff headed into the cake shop, he was feeling hungry, he hadn’t eaten since lunch time yesterday. He should have been hung over, but he wasn’t, amazingly enough, just hungry.

He asked the plain girl behind the counter what was good? He wasn’t so interested in her opinion, it was more the fact that he just couldn’t think what he wanted.

“Oh, savoury, or sweet?” asked the girl behind the counter. She had hair pulled back so tight Jeff could see the strain on the sides of her face behind her coke bottle glasses.

“Oh… um… sweet.” Jeff saw that the girl had a name tag pinned to her flat chest that said Cheryl.

She pointed to the iced buns in the glass-topped counter in front of them. “Would you like sticky buns?” asked Cheryl.

Jeff’s arse cheeks flinched at the suggestion; the soft cotton of his undies was still sticking to his skin. “Oh yes, sticky buns, I like sticky buns very much.” Jeff laughed. He pulled the soft cotton out of his arse crack.

Cheryl took the tongs in her hand, her finger nails were painted silver with pink and blue stars and rainbows, she grabbed the bun covered in icing and walnuts. Jeff wondered who had the patience to paint ten finger nails with such miniature pictures, but then he thought Cheryl probably wouldn't have much else going on in her life, so he guessed she did. 

"Nice nails," said Jeff. He just couldn't resist.

"Thanks," said Cheryl. "Me mate George does them for me."

"Funny a boy doing nails."

"Nah, George isn't a boy," said Cheryl. "George's pronouns are they and them."

"That must take some time?"

"Yeah, I'm gettin' really antsy by the time George has finished."

Cheryl slid the bun into a bag. “Anything else?” Cheryl was chewing gum while she waited for his response.

“No,” said Jeff. “Just sticky buns. Thank you.”

Cheryl handed the bag over to Jeff. "That'll be 4 bucks."

She held her hands out like two great slabs of sausages in mid air in front of Jeff. "You like em' do ya?" asks Cheryl.

Her hands looked wider than they were long. Fat and stubby, thought Jeff. "Yes, very nice."

Jeff handed over a fiver.

"You doin' anything Saturday night?" asked Cheryl. She headed to the till to get Jeff his change. 

Jeff pulled at his undies stuck up his arse crack again and thought that he was hoping to go a few more rounds with Scott. "Nah, got nothing definite planned." Was Cheryl asking him out?

"There's a nail convention on at the Exhibition Buildings, if you are interested," said Cheryl. "Admission is free, so it wouldn't cost ya nothing."

The only real interest in nails that he had was that Scott's should be kept nice and short. Jeff laughed to himself, being careful not to let Cheryl see him laugh, he didn't want for her to think he was laughing at her.

"Oh, okay then," says Jeff. "Good to know."

"I'll be there with George on the Nails for Equality stand."

"Nails aren't just for girls then, ay?

"Exactly," says Cheryl. "You'd be amazed how many people don't actually get that."

"I'm sure I would find it amazing," says Jeff.

"It's good to have allies," says Cheryl.

"Yeah, isn't it," says Jeff. He picks up his paper bag.

"Hang on," says Cheryl. She grabs her tongs and slips a cheese pull apart into another bag. She hands it to Jeff with a flourish. "'Ere, something to have before your sticky buns."

Going down on Scott was what he had before he got sticky buns. "Thanks," said Jeff. He smiled at the thought, and this time he didn't have to worry about Cheryl thinking he was laughing at her, because a smile was the most appropriate response to her generosity of the cheese pull apart." That reminded him that he really, probably, needed to head home and have a shower, as he pulled at his jocks still stuck up his arse crack.

"See ya Saturday night," says Cheryl. Then did she wink? Jeff was pretty sure that she winked. He amused himself with the thought that she just had something in her eye, but he was pretty sure she winked.

"Yeah, sure," says Jeff. "Saturday night.

Boris' Last Day

It is Boris' last day for two and half weeks. She's heading overseas to shore up the family estate, or some such shit. She's heading over to snatch her part of the family fortune, one can only assume, I didn't really ask, out of the hands of the goat herders who make up her closest relatives.

I'm filling in for her. And you know, right about now I'm saying to myself, how hard was it to say those words, 'No Boris, I don't want to do that?' I mean, 8 simple words, I practically use on a daily basis and yet on this occasion I found myself saying, 'Yes, sure I will fill in for you', instead. 

Idiot! I mean seriously, WTF?

Anyway, too late now. Boris goes tomorrow.

But, on the bright side, Boris completed the only major piece of work of hers I had to do. Contradictorily, that is something of a shame, I mean, if I have to work 5 days, five fucken days, I should, at least, have something to do. At this stage, I am working 5 days per week for the next 3 weeks and I have fuck all to do. 

I know, some people would say 'we could be so lucky.' But I hate doing work if I have nothing to do.

I barely have enough work to fill in my 3 days, as it is. But, as long as I get to do it from home, I guess I don't really care. I'll write my blog. 

I do wonder about the practicality of taking my laptop to work, if I had to go back to the office to work. I mean, if I could pull out my MacBook, I am contained, I can't go anywhere, it would be a good chance of getting some work done. But, I'm guessing, having my laptop at work would be pretty obvious, huh?

As long as The Grand Pooh-Bah, who is currently doing triathlons in some European backwater, doesn't come back and insist on me going into the office. Oh no, that would be really bad. He is the energiser bunny at the best of times, but if he's had a break and has filled his head with all that crisp fucken mountain air there is no telling what he might involve himself in.

"You full time, you come to the office 3 days."

Oh, yes, I'd be very unhappy about that eventuality.

I can hear the magpies calling in the garden.

Monday

Monday, what can I say? The most hated day of the week. Nyr? Whatever man? It is like your aunt's tongue at Xmas, or herpes at Mardi Gras, it's almost impossible to avoid.

I had to deal with the usual number of cranks, misfits and incompetents, but, you know, that's not just Monday, let's be real. And since I am still doing it from the comfort of my own home, how bad can it be.

Sam bought some really powerfully scented hand wash for the kitchen, so at least we smell nice for the horror amongst days.

I say that this hand wash has some powerful shit in it, as all I need to complete the picture is some satin sheets and a water bed because that is some serious hooker vibe hand wash shit, it is so strong, it not only perfumes me, it also stinks out any room I/we have been it.

(I imagine that is what Gwyneth Paltrow's vagina candle smells like? Seriously, you don't think she'd have a candle that smells like woof, do you?)

"What is with that stinky, scented hand wash?" I ask.

"It was on sale," says Sam. "What can I say?"

"Spend a couple more dollars next time, that's what I say."

"Ha ha," says Sam. 

Sam is an 'On Sale' shopper, that is for certain.

"We will still be able to smell this once the, no doubt, Chinese factory goes out of business," I say. "Years after climate change has inevitably wiped us all out."

"5 years would hardly be a stretch for this stuff," says Sam. He laughs. He picks up the bottle to investigate the ingredients. "It's called sea breeze."

I snatched the bottle from Sam's hands. "It was made in Dandenong," I say. "The cruelty free label is definitely open to interpretation."

Sam laughs. "I think I can even taste it on my lips."

"Me too."

Sunday

Late morning, we walk Bruno into the city to get haircuts and lunch. The rain has stopped, finally.

We don’t get further than Victoria Parade and we’re sheltering outside the Eye & Ear hospital on the granite, maybe faux, seats out the front under the newly renovate front of the hospital under shelter watching the fine sprinkle rain fall once again.

Bruno barks at a woman passing by, with think it is her umbrella to which he is taking exception.

It is a brief shower, fortunately, and the rain stops and we get going again.

Twenty minutes later, Bruno and I are waiting outside the The Paramount Centre while Sam gets the first haircut.

The city is quite busy with people. An older woman stops to ask me if Bruno was an English Bulldog. “Yes, he is,” I say.

She thanks me. It’s interesting the brevity of her enquiry, I think, but she is gracious with it.

There is a couple walking an Australian Shepherd. Neither Bruno, or the Australian Shepard are interested in each other.

I sit on the seat outside the Chemist Warehouse, which is next to The Paramount, which is, actually, a part of the Paramount complex, I see as I look up trying to find the words.

It isn’t that warm as you can well imagine, although not the dangerous storms that were potentially going to kill half the population of SA, NSW & Vic as predicted on the news services but, you know, who takes too much notice of the weather services now that sensationalism seems to be their main aim. All a grab for ratings, is what I think about it.

Suddenly, I realise that Bruno is eating something on the footpath next to me. It is pickles someone has dropped on the ground. You know those pickles in McDonald hamburgers that so many people hate, they have been tossed all over the footpath and Bruno is licking them up. So, I have to kick then into the gutter where he can’t get them. Seriously, people? Not that I think pickles will hurt him, but you just can’t let them eat stuff of unknown origin, now can you.

A family walks passed with two 12 year old’ish boys. One of them is a 12 year old boy walking along, the other is wearing a hair band, giving it zoosh, holding my gaze, practically doing jazz hands. 

Hey little gay guy, I think. Welcome. They could have been twins, the two boys. What a life he is going to have with his straight twin brother having his back, I think. Ten years time, you’d think being gay will have gotten even easier.

I have a haircut after Sam. He heads off and orders us food.

I head to the Nepalese restaurant, Momo Central, Bourke Street, after my haircut. The food arrives just as I do. We have Chow Mein with lamb, and curried Somoza Tarkari with chickpea curry and Momo Dumplings with curry sauce, The food is great, I’d recommend it.

12.50pm. The sun is out.

1pm. Lunch is done. (not sure why I have started writing times in my journal, but I have)

Sam wants to go to JB HiFi, something about giftcards on sale. Bruno and I wait outside TimHoWans as Sam does whatever he does with gift cards in JBHiFi. I lift Bruno up onto the decking, and he seems a little nervous about the wooden slats under his paws. All the people waiting in line for TimHoWan are then patting Bruno and asking me questions about him.

I head into JBHiFi after Sam comes out. There is a sale on, but I can’t find anything I want. So, I leave empty handed.

1.24pm. It is raining when I come out.

I head down the arcade to the toilet, which is closed for cleaning. When I come out again, I see the cleaners sitting on the seats in the arcade laughing and chatting. Seriously, I think.

We head home.

So many people in puffer jackets, that would be my observation for the day. One thing about puffer jackets is they sit nicely on the waist and they seem to give everyone who wears them a nice arse. The guys and the girls. Or, am I just looking at the sporty ones? Maybe.

We’re home a couple of hours after we left home.

Then it is couches and screens for the afternoon. Bruno cuddles up with whoever gets the big couch.

Walking To The Supermarket

I walk to Coles early in the cold to get oats for breakfast. My oats container was empty this morning when I casually when to it as the back up for bread, which I was out of.

Oh damn it.

The day was pretty grey. It was pretty damn cold now that I was out here in it. 

There was a cute floor guy, the name of his floor company in big red letters on the side of his van, going into a house with his handsome face and his shorty shorts, showing his spectacular legs and arse, looking as pretty as a super model. 

Damn, he's pretty, I think. I smiled at him as I passed, yeah, because he was pretty? No, I tend to smile at everyone I make eye contact with in the street, but he didn’t smile back.

He grimaces in return.

I think his cute face is etched with the cold he was feeling, it’s not that bad, baby. That is the face he’d, no doubt, make getting a finger up his arse, I think. The thought makes me giggle. Yeah, that would make you look like that, no doubt. That’s exactly the expression you’d have on your pretty face.

Really? Can’t be friendly? I think. So, what if it is cold. I imagine a couple of buff leather boys, the type I used to like playing with at Mardi Gras however many years ago, holding him down, tearing off his little shorts and then his jocks and fingering his hole, long and slow, all the while him calling out, 

“Okay, okay, I will smile next time, I promise.”

Then I imagine the two leather guys taking turns eating his arse out, tossing his salad, as they say, and I wonder what that would do for the expression on his face? (Sure, I’d like to watch that) That would make him smile (despite himself) I'm sure.

Hey, pretty guy.

I’m chuckling by now. What is that, the smile police I am forming in my head?

I shake my head? Where the hell did all that come from? Too pretty not to smile, I guess.

Funny the things you think, in the cold, in the early morning, as you head to Coles to get oats for your breakfast.

I’m listening to the Rolling Stones, Too Rude, funnily enough. The wind blows. The sky is black grey. People are dressed in big coats and jackets and gloves. 

I quite like the cold, I have to admit. I like the different seasons, they are all fantastic, really.

Voice To Parliament

Vote Yes to the voice to parliament, as Aboriginal people have a right to have a say in their own destiny.
Don't listen to the conservative voices who are talking from their own stand point and that is they simply don't want change.

 

Paris France, my take on the protests

Global Warming

This Monday, 3 July 2023, was the hottest day ever recorded globally, according to data from the US National Centres (okay, it wouldn't be spelt like that in America, but I just couldn't look at it spelt the other way) for Environmental Prediction.

Oy, oy, oy!

Ocean temperatures around Australia last month were the hottest for any June on record, as the UN’s weather agency declared the world was now in an El Niño.

El Niño events influence weather extremes around the globe and for Australia increase the risk of drought, heatwaves and bushfires, this summer should be a doozie.

We're all gonna burn, this summer, is that what that means?

Come you lot in charge, start doing something about climate change.

Collectively, we still don't seem to get it, even when 99% of the scientist's agree.

Conservative forces, politicians, commentators, and the like, have a lot to answer for with their constant climate change denying lies.

Fuck Off

Oh Jesus, if one more person sends me a thank you email with the conclusion, I hope you have a great day, I might just send back a reply, Oh fuck off will you!

Just a simple thanks is all that is required, there is no need to deviate from that, it says it all, without straying into the insincere realm of have a nice day now won't you... because you don't care, and I don't care, and you just sound stupid.

American has a lot to answer for. (Have you ever been to America and witnessed the mind boggling homelessness first hand? Really, who is, actually, wishing who a nice day over there?)

Teary Declan

How adorable was Declan on MasterChef last night with teary eyes, I could have just eaten him up.

I'm not sure where the attraction for teary boys came from, but it is strong.

I love a guy with tears in his eyes, looking emotional, it is very sexy.

It has always turned me on. Well, turned me on is perhaps over stating it, I have always found it incredibly endearing. It makes the old heart melt.

All the boys in this gay household think he's cute.

"Oh, yeah, he's very cute."

"He could go to fat really easily."

"Oh, yeah, he'd have to be kept on a strict diet."

"And a gym routine."

"Work those muscles boy."

"I want to see him in his gym shorts."

"We'd have to have a shower inspection monthly."

"Oh no, if they are prone to getting fat, the inspection would have to be weekly."

"Okay, weekly it is."

"But that smile is adorable."

"Adorable."

"Every time he smiles, I want to kiss him."

"Me too."

"Both together."

"One cheek each."

"One cheek each."

“Then we’d be slapping his arse on the treadmill.”

“Run boy, run.”

“It would still be one cheek each.”

We all laugh.

Bigotry

No racism. No Prejudice. No bigotry. I don't care if you are fat, skinny, tall, short, bald, black, white, gay, straight, bi, glasses, green hair, two heads, three husbands, I don't care who you are... it is really simple if you are any of those things, or anything else, you are okay, you are okay being you. No judgement.

I don't know where some people got the idea that they are superior to anyone else? Really, where did that come from? Based on any criteria? Certainly not based on skin colour, for the very basic fact that human beings come in every hue. Women being inferior? Well, that has never been true? Being gay, bi, trans, being wrong, well, religion has a lot to answer for. Or based on what religion? No, with so many imaginary mythical rulers, there are something like 5000 gods, how can one person's imagined friend be any more important than someone else's imagined friend. 

I guess bigotry is fear, fear of difference, I suppose. Why would anyone fear difference? Wouldn't you embrace difference, for all the things you could learn? Difference should be thrilling, revelling in the things that you don't know.

I guess not? I guess history speaks differently, hey.

Sad really.

You know, travelling speaks to this. How thrilling it is to discover places and people and cultures and places you don't know.

Why are so many people, clearly, so scared?

Where Did You Park It?

6pm. LouLou called. I had just got comfortable on the couch and I didn’t answer my phone. It wasn’t LouLou, I just didn’t feel like talking to anyone. The fire was burning, I was warm. Then she called Sam, and fortunately he answered. She was upset.

She had been to the dental hospital. She had parked her car in a paying car park and she couldn’t find the car park when she came out. She had been looking for it for a two hours, with multiple people trying to help her, but they couldn’t find it. She was distraught. 

“I might be turning up at your place in a taxi very soon.”

“Okay,” I said. “But you still have to find your car.”

“Yes, yes, I know that.”

“Do you want me to come and get you?”

“Yes, I would love that.”

I so didn’t want to do that, really I didn't. Not that I minded, because I didn't. I didn’t want to go, though, it was cold, it was dark out, but what can you do? It’s awful when you are in that position where it all just seems hopeless and you feel like you are never going to prevail. I haven’t felt that way for I don’t know how long, but I remember the feeling. All you need is a little help from a friend to help you out of the situation. Just a hand from a buddy who can just solve the unsolvable problem for you. That situation, when you just need a friend. Sometimes you just have to be that friend.

LouLou's sense of direction is so poor I sometimes wonder how she gets through life.

6.33pm. I get to cnr Faraday and Cardigan Streets. LouLou is on the corner, in a panicked state.

She gets in the car. Her eyes are red and she's looking a bit bunnies-in-the-head lights.

"Thank you so much for this."

"You okay?"

"No, not really."

“So, what clues do you have?”

“None,” said a clearly distressed LouLou. This is starting well, I think.

“Any clues at all?” I ask.

“No.”

“Well, we should drive to the dental hospital, you know, start retracing your steps.”

“Okay, yes.”

“So, anything that you remember?”

“My note said I came out onto Cardigan Street.” LouLou is a manic note writer.

"Oh, okay." So, we drove up Cardigan Street until we came to a car park.

“Is that it?”

“No, it wasn’t lit up like that one.”

“But didn’t you get here in the day light,” I say.

“Yes, true,” says LouLou.

“What else can you remember.”

“Nothing. No. I have walked all over the place. I don’t know.”

"Do you have a ticket from the carpark?"

"No, I just used my credit card."

“Let’s drive around to the dental hospital.” We drove down Swanston Street in a southernly direction.

“When you first approached the dental hospital today, what direction did you approach it from?”

“This direction?”

“So, the carpark should be behind us then.”

“Yes, I guess.”

“What do you remember about the car park itself?”

“There was a black box against which I had to put my credit card. And I turned around to the left to park my car.”

“Was it multi-story?”

“Yes, it was, but I parked on the ground floor, I didn’t change levels from the street level.”

We stopped at the next car park, just to check it out, but no, that wasn’t it. No black box, and the driveway went straight underground, I deduced from what LouLou had already told me, she could only suggest the lack of black box.

“No, it doesn’t have the black box as you drive in.”

So, we drove back to the first car park we saw in Cardigan Street, which seemed to me to be roughly in the correct location given the clues LouLou had given so far.

“Go in and have a look,” I say.

LouLou went in very tentatively and had a look from the front area, she gazed in for the longest time, so I thought it wasn't it, but then she could see her car and she gave the thumbs up. She came back and got her bag and thanked me for my help.

I waited outside for her to come out, which took an inordinate amount of time. She eventually did come out, not really sure if she realised I was waiting, as we had already said good bye. Later, she would tell me she sat in the car to calm herself.

Job done. I wasn’t sure what all the other helpers had done but, of course, I had the advantage of having a car in which to drive around. I was home before 7pm. Really, it didn’t even take me an hour.