Thursday

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

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

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

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

“Hey, give way to pedestrians.”

He stops, and winds down his window.

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

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

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

He opens his door in some kind of threatening gesture.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I turn left into Elizabeth Street.

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

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

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

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

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

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

There are no trams in sight, dammit it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Come on! Come on! Come on!”

I wonder how often the trams come down Clarendon Street.

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

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

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

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

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

I guessed it was broccoli. 

12.57pm. home.

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

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

 

Non Stop Rain

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

I make coffee.

I sign in to work.

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

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

Ha ha, those weather reporters. 😬

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I just love seeing the two of them together.

Back To Apple Music

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

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

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

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

Pedestrians Have Right of Way Over Cars

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

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

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

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

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

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

The van still isn’t stopping.

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

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

I pull the bulldogs to me.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"It can happen so quickly."

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

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

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

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

Burning Down The House

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

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

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

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

"Charlie's bike," Sam replies.

"Charlie's bike?" I question.

"Yes," said Sam.

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

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

"And what did he say?"

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

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

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

"Ask him," said Sam, seemingly irritably.

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

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

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

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

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

I couldn't really concentrate on anything else.

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

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

Grunt, from Charlie, which means no.

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

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

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

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

Charlie looks at me.

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

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

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

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

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

"Once every two weeks," says Charlie.

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

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

I really need him to agree.

"Okay?" I say.

"Okay," he says.

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

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

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

Kim Visits

I am settling in for a lazy day on the couch. Oh, I know, there are so many things I could be doing. Sure. What of it? Sam has to work, I can piss about for the day.

My mate Tim Madoff drops in. He’s back from working in Bass Strait and he’s dropped around to say hello.

Okay, sure, he kind of disrupts my plans for doing nothing on the couch for the morning, but it was nice to see him.

I know! what am I like?

He’s got possession of his new house, so he’s moving some stuff into it while he’s in Melbourne. He’s going to live bi-costal, as Peter Allen would say, except it is bi-capital city in this instance, with a house in Hobart and now a house in Melbourne. He’s hired an Uber van which has Jim’s mowing decals all over it.

“What’s with the van?” I ask.

“Oh, I think people just buy these old vans specifically to put them on Uber Car Share, you know, kind of like Air BnB,” says Tim. “They just don’t bother taking the old decals off them.”

Kim calls while I am saying good bye to Tim. I intend to call Kim back as soon as Tim leaves. I’m walking back in from seeing Tim off and Kim texts saying he wants to drop around. He’s in the area, he’ll drop around with morning tea. Did I want a donut?

I’m not even back in the house from one mate dropping in and another is on his way.

Sure, drop around. No, to the donut. 

(Have I told you guys that I am having high blood sugar problems? So, I am pretty sure donuts are now off the diet. I must go and have another blood test.)

Kim arrives with coffee and sushi. 

Bruno humps Kim’s leg, Bruno often does when new people arrive. I think it is a dominance, pack order, thing. Oh yes, I know, great welcome.

Kim laughs. “Oh, don’t stop him, that’s the best offer I have had all year.”

Kim is still his naturally happy self. He slurs a bit. Kim has been a highly functioning drug addict for years. I’m not sure if the slurring is from continuing drug use, or the effect of past drug use. I don’t ask.

Kim says we haven’t seen each other for 7 years, and then it was probably longer than 7 years the time before that. 

At one point in our lives, we spent nearly every day together, all of us when we used to party hard in the 90s when we were all kids.

And of the old crew.

He tells me Dante was down on his arse, with no future to speak of living in housing commission in Frankston (I already knew that, but it was Dandenong) with health issues. 

His parents died and left him nothing. He took it to court and fought the will. He got 1.2 million. He bought a house in Eltham for $650 and in typical Dante style a convertible BMW.

Dante’s financial disasters are legendary. I think he has gone bankrupt 3 times. He’ll blow the money and the BMW eventually. Let’s hope he doesn’t start borrowing against the house, but he probably will. Prediction, he’ll lose the lot, 5 years tops.

“I’m not keen to catch up with him,” said Kim. “You know what Dante is like. He’d laud it over me, as I don’t have a million dollar house.”

Kim has run a successful business ever since I’ve known him. Dante has no reason to laud anything over Kim. I remember why I don’t see Dante any more though, that mean streak. It's all an inferiority complex, sure, we all know that, but it doesn't really make it any better. We were all the good looking, successful friends, and he wasn't either of those things, and Dante developed a thick skin and a mean streak to combat his perceived deficiencies.

“Getting money from parents who didn’t even want to give it to you hardly makes you a success,” I say.

Apparently, Kim thinks Mark is broke and living off his boyfriend, as Kim put it. “What’s his boyfriend’s name again?” That is kind of true, but not really true. Mark did lose his two hotels in Hanoi during covid.

He thought I been left money and was living in the lap of luxury. Nah, no such luck, mate.

He thought Mark’s son, and my stepson, Fen, killed himself with a gun. He seemed to be genuinely upset when I tell him the truth. Fen died of a heart attack, from years of doing illegal steroids with his body building. He was in a halfway house, having just split from his partner and daughter, he was in some other guy’s room, there was a group, I assume they were doing drugs. The other guys there carrying Fen back to his room and dumping him on his bed rather than calling an ambulance.

“Heart attacks are very survivable,” says Kim. “As long as someone calls an Ambulance. That makes me feel very sad. Poor Fen.”

Where do these stories come from? People and gossip, and their need for it.

We laughed and chatted as though no time had passed in our relationship. He told me stories, most of which I remembered. Kim loves to tell stories, I wonder if it made a difference that I was someone who was there for a lot of them.

“And what about all those Italian girls we used to hang with?” he asked as he was heading out.

“Well, Lolli has 20 old kids of her own now and living happily with her husband. Dolly went to Greece and was never seen again. I haven’t seen Adriana in some time. The last time I saw her she had split up from Charlie after all these years.”

Kim had to go back to work, which was close by at present, hence the visit. I walked him out. I showed him the bonnet of my recently vandalised car. He headed off with us making noises about catching up again.

I take Bruno and Otto for a walk.

Adorable, Aren't They

 

They love that soft, plush carrot, both of them love it. It keeps the two of them entertained for hours. Otto even seems to give the carrot to Bruno through the bars of his crate. And Bruno is always very pleased to get it.

I love my two bulldogs together, I can watch them all day. I can hardly wait for Otto to be house trained so we can get rid of the crate and they can play freely together.

Old Mates

I go out to check the mail. I'm between meetings. Deadlines. I'm waiting on an Ike & Tina Turner CD being delivered. It's not there. 

As I am walking in, a car backs back to my front gate. I hear a voice say, “Is that Christian Fletcher?” I turn to see the business decal on the side of the Tarago. 

Oh, I’m not thinking catching up with old friends, I’m thinking quiet week. All that endless chat, oh, er... I am terrible, I know.

My old mate Kim was in the area, apparently, reliving the time he was chased home by a car load of lads in a road rage incident when we lived together, with one of his work colleagues.

Kim says he often thinks of me with nice thoughts. He says he wants to catch up. We haven’t seen each other for quite some time.

He got me to call him, so he could make a time to catch up. He suggests he has stories to tell me, I assume, he couldn’t tell with his work colleague in the car. Oh, that’s probably not true, Perry and Kim traditionally don’t have a filter when it comes to their work crew, it was probably due more to time constraints.

I head inside. Kim, hey, I think? You know, like you do when you see someone for the first time in ages, when your past comes stumbling into your present, where most likely everything has changed and not much has changed at all. And some memories flash through your mind, as you get back to your present day.

My Lovely Mouse

Sam takes away my mouse.

"You don't use any of the functions of that mouse, and I will use them."

And in its place, I get this miserable piece of black plastic that is too small for my hand and which is inaccurate in the way it points.

You know, when you are getting off with a guy, and you are kissing him and you slide your hand down his pants and he has a big dick. Then think about it when you slide your hand down his pants and he has a small dick? That is the difference between how these two mouse feel in my hand.

It slides around on my mouse pad, which is actually Derek The Dinosaur, one of my favourite kid's books, like a twink with a well lubed arse, not quite able to pick a spot to settle on with any great feeling.

Grrrrr! Not happy

I'm threatening to go and buy my own mouse.

Sam just looks at me like, go on then, go and buy one.

I shrink back into the study, I hate it when he does that.

(update – Sam buys a new mouse and gives me back my mouse. He's lovely, my boyfriend. Can't help wondering if I am just a whinger)

I Cave, Weak As Piss

I'm in the office today.

Boris has sent me an email saying that Big Ange wants to know if I am going to our department team building cooking Xmas function, lunch with Kriss Kringle.

Oh, kill me now, I think. I don't answer.

Boris comes in, not a word about the stupid department cooking Xmas team building function lunch with Kriss Kringle.

We work all day, Boris doesn't ask again.

I am ready to leave, and Big Ange is standing in Boris' office door way chatting, I hang back in my office.

Next thing, Boris is at my office door, oh, here we go, I think. No, nothing, just a chat about something we're working on.

"Okay, see you."

"Bye bye," says Boris.

I have my hand on the door handle to head off the floor - of course it was a false sense of security, I was never going to get away with it, they are relentless about this kind of thing - "Oh, one more thing," says Boris.

I nearly got clean away.

"The department Xmas cooking team building lunch with Kriss Kringle (Of course she doesn't say all of that), are you coming..."

"Oh, seriously..."

"Yes," says Boris.

"Do I have to?"

She smiles. "Yes," she says. I can see her thinking if she has to, then so do I. "You do." She smiles again.

I cave, weak as piss. "Okay."

Boris looks genuinely pleased. (What do you call people who get pleasure from giving misery to others? 😬) "Oh good," she says. "I'll tell Ange."

The People We Lose

Paul Auster described the American obsession with “closure” as being “the stupidest idea he'd ever heard of. When someone who is central to your life dies, a part of you dies as well. It’s not simple, you never get over it. You learn to live with it, I suppose. But something is ripped out of you...

Days Off

I've lay on the couch and watched Dashcam Disasters for the last couple of days. I know!

I've lay on the couch and watched Dashcam Disasters for the last couple of days. I know!

They are kind of addictive, watching stupid people doing stupid things. It is addictive.

Some people? Seriously? You couldn't make this stuff up. If you wrote about such cretins, readers just wouldn't believe it. No, they wouldn’t.

Stupid people, doing stupid things... (It's how American's vote Trump into office)

I am so lazy sometimes. Still, sometimes it's nice to be lazy. Big stretch.

And the weather has been gorgeous.

The inspiration to write comes and then it goes. I think I have to waste a certain amount of time until the inspiration to write comes back. Is that what they call the muse? Ah, maybe.

I was really creative for the last 3, or 4 months before November. I got a lot done. 

And then, not so much.

It hasn't come back yet, I must need to waste some more of my life so it will. Come back.

It always does. Come back.

People Are Annoying, Especially Old People Who Are Convinced They Are Right

Bruno does his slow walk along the front of Woolies, stopping every step, resisting going on. It is really frustrating when he does it. I think it is something to do with the smells of a wall close by, him not being able to get enough of the piss aroma, I don’t know? He is a dog. He does it from time to time. The solution is to pull him away from the wall, away from all the smells, and then he walks normally. 

So, I am telling him to move it along, but we are nearly at the Woolies door where we are going to stop, so I don’t pull him away from the wall, I just try to coax him along. It’s not working, but we don’t have far to go.

“Bruno, come on!”

Suddenly, I have this old woman in a mask telling me Bruno is worn out. She is shorter than me, so she is right next to me looking up at me.

“Oh Bruno, will you move.”

“He’s worn out, he can’t take another step,” she says.

“He’s fine. Come on Bruno,” I say.

Bruno takes a step and then resists again.

“I’m telling you he’s worn out, he can’t go on,” she says. She is getting up in my face. “He can’t go on.”

Through gritted teeth by now, I say, “Bruno, will you come along.

Bruno takes a step and then resists, again.

“He’s worn out. He can’t go on. He’s struggling, can’t you see that,” the old woman says.

“Bruno!”

“Oh, jees,” she says. She is very dramatic. “He’s tired. He’s worn out. He can’t take another step. Can’t you see that?” She is like an 80 year old blow fly.

“He’s fine.”

“Oh, no, he’s not…”

Our eyes locked, she is a wiry little whippet with lank grey hair parted in the middle, with beady blue, rat eyes. Her face wore a look of total belief in what she was saying. 

I wanted to slap him. I wanted to slap her.

The thought that flashed through my mind and then was gone, as quickly, if I just pushed you over, you and your rat face you annoying little busy body, I’d be the villain. Go figure. 

I almost smiled at that, but fortunately for all concerned, Bruno got a wriggle on, and his lead took up the slack and he led me away by the hand from Beryl of the blue polyester frock and yellow pinnie. I could hear her tut tutting as Bruno and I left.

Enough Already

You know what, I could very easily not hear any more about the Gaza/Israeli conflict. I feel sorry for everyone concerned, but that is not going to change anything, is it? 

I just skip over it now when I read the newspaper to the rest of the news. Straight past it. I hit the mute button when it comes on the TV. Or tune out.

When is it going to ever stop? It is like listening to two kids having a continually temper tantrum.

What is the population of that area? Are you telling me there is not one single person who can come up with a solution to the conflict that has been going on for, what? 75 years now?

Oh, enough already. Get back to me when you guys learn to get along.

And now the never ending conflict is infecting the rest of the world with protests in cities around the world.

Yay.

Work Place Blah Blah

Monday morning, a joy in itself.

I am having to sit through the Work Place bullying, sexual harassment and discrimination training. Again! 

Why do we have to listen to this every year?

Oh, kill me now!

How many times have I sat through this? Wow! It is compulsory. This must cost companies money, as they are really hot on us all watching this every damn year. (pity they don’t take climate change as seriously)

At least I can now just let the training play in the back ground sound off as I do something else.

I can fudge the questions at the end, as I have done this so often. (They don't change)

I'm never really sure why religion is a Protected Attribute, I think it is just left over from the 1950s, when people were deludedly religious. All the other protected attributes are aspects of someone that they can't change. They are natural attributes.

Where religion is a chosen attribute. Religious people chose to be religious. In effect, it is always religious people inflicting their own choices on everyone else. Religious people can just choose not to be religious. Problem solved.

It's online. No questions, lovely. Just a complete button. That's because the company cares less about the employees and much more about the company's liability. The company doesn't really care if you watch it, or not, I guess, as long as it can claim you watched it, it will be ticketyboo.

Don't say anything to anyone at work, as your intension is irrelevant and now anyone can find, practically, anything you say offensive.

As if they haven't sucked all the joy out of work already, these laws just suck the office dry of fun. Don't say anything to anyone that isn't relevant to your job, that's the reality.

I have a pretty dark sense of humour, which is best kept to myself.

Having said that, I am never going to sexually harass, bully or discriminate anyone at work, I don't want that much angst coming at me, no thanks. I'm all for a peaceful life now a days. Head down, mouth shut, that's what they want anyway.

Say nothing.

Sunday

5.50am. I am up. I take Otto out for a wee. The birds are chirping in the tree, as the gum tree is seeding at the moment. They'll be gone soon enough.

Bruno is asleep in the lounge room at 6am. He's been funny lately, wanting to head downstairs, often in the middle of the night to sleep.

6am. I make coffee.

6.15am. Bruno and I are sitting on the couch. Otto is staring at us from his crate. That little face. Those big brown eyes.

I watched Panti Bliss, aka Rory O'Neill, Her TedTalk and then her post-show oration at the National Theatre of Ireland, the Abbey. She is so great. She brings tears to my eyes.

I watched Meidas Touch Network. Getting updates on US politics and what that piece of shit Donald Trump is up to.

Sam was up at 7.15.

I made Vegemite toast and coffee. The breakfast of champions.

Sam fed the bulldogs.

8.15am. I made more coffee.

I watched Coldwarmotors, my favourite classic car channel. The one about the radiator in the 1959 Plymouth Fury blowing out.

Mid morning, we take the dogs to the Yarra.

We park in the end bit of Gipps Street next to the Salvos, by the bridge. They are re-working the bike track there, and they have blocked in the end of the dead end with workmen-are-here barricades. 

There are no parking spots so I pull into the driveway/road of the river front townhouses intending to turn around and drive out of that part of Gipps Street. As I pull into the driveway/road, I hear what sounds like a sophisticated V8 start up and I see in my rear vision mirror a white G63 directly behind me wanting to vacate its car space, so I move forward allowing it to complete its departure, intending to back into the car space when the G63 has departed. 

So, I inch forward allowing the Mercedes to leave, temporarily blocking the footpath. Of course, we get comments from the complaints department sashaying past about me blocking the footpath.

"Oh yeah, great place to stop, mate."

"Yeah mate, I pulled in here with the specific purpose of pissing you off."

"Show some consideration."

"Show some brain power."

Sam nudges me. I shrug.

"He didn't hear my last comment."

"You sure."

"No." I can't help but smile.

We park. We head over the bridge. Me walking Bruno on a normal lead. Sam walking Otto on a long lead he bought specifically for Otto's training.

I let Bruno off his lead too close to the bridge and he gets that defiant look on his big, smooshy face, saying, I’m not sure I am going to just follow you, I might run and be free in the opposite direction. And he runs off to the nearest dog, and I run and catch him before he gets any further and put him on his lead and lead him down the path through the off-lead park where I let him off his lead again. He behaves himself from there.

It is lovely to see two bulldogs walking together once more.

We meet Woody the Staffy heading down the path with us. Bruno follows after him for a short distance but then stops glancing back to see where we are

We met Sid the 15 week old toy poodle. Same age as Otto. The two little guys sniff and bounce around together. Cute.

We walk along the river to the turn around spot and... um, turn around. Otto walking like a little champion… and Bruno too, of course.

We meet Freud the big, bouncy, puppy Goldenpoo. His handsome Asian boy and Anglo girl owners were looking for another dog to put the big cheeky lump in his place. Bruno seemed keen, but I wasn’t. Bulldogs play rough, so don't get offended went they beat your dog up in play.

An hour later, we’re walking back to the car.

It is a gorgeous morning as we head back across the bridge. We pack the bulldogs back into the car drive away to the grocery shops.

We get a good park in Nicholson Street by the shops. I have good car park luck.

Bruno, Otto and I are waiting in the entrance to The Hive. Sam heads into the centre.

Sam comes back moments later, insisting on the dogs having more water, and it spills and water is everywhere. Sam disappears back into the centre leaving me with a water mess.

Grrr.

Next, we’re at Minh Phat while Sam shops. Bruno lies down. Otto remains standing.

The sun is shining. The sky is clear blue. A perfect sky.

We head off to get pork rolls. Sam and Otto walk ahead. 

Bruno and I are walking down Victoria Street, Bruno is doing his walk against the wall stopping with every second step he takes to sniff. I tell him to get moving. A dishevelled dude walking behind me takes a drug fucked, mentally deficient, exception to it and starts telling me...

“Say something with love in it. They respond to love. Say something with love in it. Say something with love in it.

I turn around. “Huh?”

“Say something with love in it. Say something with love in it. They respond to love. Say something with love to him.”

Yeah, cheers, thanks a lot. “Mate, I am good, thanks,” I say. "I've got it under control."

“Say something with love in it. Say something with love in it. They respond to love. Say something with love to him.”

Come on Bruno, I think. Bruno gets a move on, and we leave the drug effected, mentally challenged dude behind us.

Just before midday, we’re at the pork roll shop. There was no queue when we got there but the queue soon formed. I stand out the front with Bruno and Otto.

The sun is warm. 

Ten minutes, waiting, waiting. Bruno lies down with his head over the doorway a little, as he always likes to do with a shop doorways. Otto remains standing at my feet.

People walk past on Victoria Street. Backwards and forwards, backwards and forwards.

Sam finally reappears with the pork rolls. We cross Victoria Street at the pedestrian lights right there and walk to the car in Nicholson Street.

Nicholson Street > Langridge Street > [our] Street.

We’re at home at midday. We get the second car space passed our place. Good going.

We ate pork rolls for lunch. One and a half each, always one and a half, never two. Sam won't let us have two each. "Too piggy."

I lay on the couch and watch YouTube.

Mid afternoon, I make tea, and we eat sesame balls and I cut up an orange.

I re-write my journal. It has been a while since I have done a re-write. I have to elevate it beyond what is essentially notes to something more interesting. I don’t always do that.

I watched YouTube.

I fall asleep on the couch.

We ate chicken drumsticks and salad

We ate papaya for dessert. Bruno and Otto shared the papaya with enthusiasm.

We watched Dessert Masters. Reynold wins immunity. He's my favourite.

We watched 60 minutes – The RBA interest rate rises. All those people struggling to keep the houses they could never afford in the first place, I think. And Matthew Perry's death. It's sad, apparently he was finally in a good place. And GFlip's fabulous career.  Oh yes. She’s very ocker.

9.30pm. Sam went to bed with Bruno.

I stayed up. My eyes were sore.

Midnight, I had to wake Otto to take him to bed.

What Day Is It?

This is the day when we commemorate the stupidity of man.

Isn't that what today is?

I'm sorry, but I just can't see it any other way, no matter how I try.

Oh yes, I know, I shouldn't say that, as a lot of people find it highly personal, and emotional, to remember some long lost uncle, or great grand father, who they couldn't possibly have known, but that's okay that is their right to do so. And I'm not trying to change any of that, I am just telling you how I feel about it.

Wealth

You know you are wealthy when you have someone to bring the wicker chairs in when it rains - proverb

My Day To Waste

I lay on the couch and did nothing pretty much all day.

Oh, I took Bruno for a walk in the morning, sure. He and I. I listened to The Stones new album, I have't quite got it in my head yet.

I entertained Otto on the hour every hour in the back yard throughout the day. Puppies are a pain in the arse, you can't wait for them to be house trained, but then, they are only puppies once, for a relatively short spcae of time, and they are adorable. 

In between, I watched YouTube in a reclined position.

The sun shone all day.

Lovey.

As I have always said, we should all spend more time lying on couches... and playing with puppies (house trained puppies)

2nd and Last Day Of The Week

Everybody is annoying today, just everybody. (Oh, it is Wednesday, after all)

That doesn't include Sam, no. He came down and showed me a Tik Tok clip where he is roaring with laughter at the people in the clip's misfortune. I just love watching him laugh so much, it is one of my great joys, watching Sam laugh.

You know, it is that kind of day where you just want to find your cave and crawl inside, untouchable by the outside.

The sun is shining down beautifully, as if to mock, as if to pour petrol, as they say, on the reality of being tied to idiots with whom I work, no escape into the sunshine.

One of the big bosses, who is usually very nice, wanted personal changes made, no regard for conventions, or time frames, oh no, drop everything for him. 

Grrrr. 

Don't the rules apply to one and all?

Oh, come, come, how naive can you be, Christian. How naive?

Just because he is on 1 million a year. Special treatment? No. We pride ourselves on being an egalitarian organisation.

 Sam comes down and wants to know why I closed the back door.

"Because I have blow flies buzzing around my head."

"Oh, don't be ridiculous," he says. He goes to open the back door again.

"What?" I say. "You are going to open the back door again, and then disappear back upstairs again?"

"Yes." A smile he can't hide spreads across his face, as he realises what he is saying.

I make blow fly sounds like I am the 5th air battalion of the Luftwaffe coming for him until he closes the door again.

"Okay, okay," he says. Laughing at my idiocy. And there is that laugh again, not quite uproariously, but still lovely, making me smile.

I'm listening to Tina Turner, from her Ike & Tina Turner period.

Too cute

 

What Happened With The Race?

It's hot.

Very Summery.

Walked the dogs... er, dog.

Bruno lay down in the street.

Threatened not to move.

People stopped enquiring about his health.

Stubborn like a bulldog, is not made up, I reply.

I lay on the couch when I got home.

Laptop in my lap.

I fell asleep.

Love a nap.

It can never be wrong.

Sleeping the afternoon away.

Good day.

What happened with the race?

The rain falls.

Humidity climbs.

We all survive,

In fact, we thrive,

Another public holiday,

There should be more.

Two Days A Week

Up early, into the office. Monday. It is now light when I leave home, gotta love that.

Easy day. Day off tomorrow. I'm working 2 days this week. Is that why the year is going by so fast?

It’s quiet at 6am in the morning.

I pull my shit together and leave.

6.10am. I leave home. In broad daylight 

I’m listening to Tina Turner, The Edge album which I recently modified to be just Tina singing.

There are a couple of travellers cnr Gertrude Street and Brunswick Street. They looked like mother and daughter. (The mother looks like the German chick out of Bagdad Cafe) I wondered where they were going? Had they just left an Air B&B, or where they just going to one? Perhaps, they are here for the cup?

6.20am. I’m at St Vincent’s Plaza. 

A pretty 109 comes along. Tram number 3024.

There are quite a few punters inside this tin can. The tram is overheated, of course.

6.31am. At William Street.

6.34am. I’m in the lift.

I sign in and then go get a coffee. I work through all my emails.

I took a huge dump, before anyone else got in, and wrote some stuff on the bog.

All the pretty straight boys standing at the gate, 

Drinking beer and cheering the girls on, mate!

Brendan, and Cameron, and Jack

Rob and Jeremy and Mike

David, Lewis and Carl.

Brendan’s a good bloke who everyone adores. Cameron is volatile, and shouldn’t drink at all. Jack likes his girls young, they seem to like him too.

Rob’s got a secret he’s not telling the other guys, he’s very close to his school chum Kevin, has been for quite a while.

Jeremy likes to dress up in girl’s clothes, at night when nobody else is around, but he still likes girls, something Jessica his girlfriend is please about as she peels him out of her knickers so they can get down to it.

Mike’s got several drunken nights he’d rather not recall, after doing drugs at dance parties getting out of it with a couple he knows.

David is very earnest, he finds it hard to have fun. Lewis is happy go lucky, he never seems to take anything seriously.

Lewis is a singer, he is determined to make it big.

Carl has a young son, he got his childhood sweetheart pregnant in year twelve.

9.45am. I had everything done. Pretty much. Shrug.

11am. I go and buy two cheese and bacon pies for lunch. No lunchbox from home today. Mia says she might just jump over the desk for my pies when I get back and tell her what I have. I read The Guardian.

Scott Morison and Boris Johnson fly into Israel as an act of solidarity with Israel. World War 3 commences days later.

What are those two cretins doing there, we have to ask? Must have something to do with religion, surely, I think.

12.30pm. The midday deadline has past, I upload reports. I complete all the figures, calculations, interpretations. You know, all that shit.

I’m now listening to Cher, until my headphones run out of batteries way sooner than I had expected.

12.42pm. David calls me when I am busy. I don’t answer. I text him, I am walking the dog. He hates talking to me when I am walking the dog, not that he believes me. He’s coming down from yesterday and feeling shitty, but I am busy.

The girls in the office yap on. Headphones are a great thing. Boris is wearing headphones too, I notice. The hours disappear.

2.10pm. Boris says she is busy and asks me if I want to be excused from the finance meeting, I say I do, even though I have everything finished by then

2.58pm. I’m in the lift. Yay.

Mum was having a whinge as I left. Oh, you know, the hard working single mum who has to do everything herself, for her kids. Her kids, her kids, her kids. Throw in a strong Christian faith and you have the complete disaster of delusion.

There is the smell of coffee in the street. People sitting at cafes looking bored. There is an old man in shorts on the seat further up Collins Street. A sweet boyish faced guy in hiviz walking towards me. He smiles. It is just an automatic reaction, I know. People sitting idly at the tram stop. The air is too warm for my jumper, now I have left work I can go in my T-shirt underneath. A guy has his phone on loud speaker. The sun is shining down. A pretty 109 tram arrives, there are no vacant seats inside, I have to stand. People will get off at Elizabeth Street, and they do, and I get a seat. Some young girls yabber on, on the seat opposite me. A woman and her husband come and stand next to the young girls, but she indicates to her husband she doesn’t want to listen to them. The young girls seem to be with their grand parents seated in random seats around them.

I get off at Albert Street, it’s hot, the jumper comes off. I take my jumper off and carry it in my hand with my satchel.

There is a boy in a black T-shirt and shorts walking around the front of the Eye & Ear hospital. His black shorts bulge like he’s got a substantial knob on him. Pretty face. Blond complexation. He squints looking into the sun.

Victoria Parade > Young Street > Gertrude Street

3.22pm. I’m home.

Bruno is too sleepy to welcome me home, until I call him out, then he gets languidly to his feet and comes over and says hello.

3.35pm. Taking Bruno for a walk. It was hot. 29 degrees. It felt hot.

Gertrude Street > Fitzroy Street > Moor Street

4pm. We’re in Whitlam Place. Bruno is drinking from the tap, as the water container has been removed yet again.

Moor Street > Wood Street > Condell Park, where a man enthused about the bulldog to his young son > Condell Street > George Street > Charles Street > home.

Sam walks ahead. I let Bruno off his lead for the last block in our street.

4.12pm. We’re home.

5.36pm. David calls again. I miss his call. We send each other voice messages.

5.43pm. I call him back. 6pm. We are hanging up, but Sam asks David about meeting the cast of Miss Saigon and David talks animatedly about that for a further 10 minutes.

We ate chicken curry for dinner.

We watch 4Corners about Andrew Tate, his War Room and his generals. I fall asleep a number of times during.

We watch Media Watch.

9.30pm. Sam goes to bed with Bruno.

I watch 4Corners again. Andrew Tate. He’s just a monthly subscription scheme.

Now, I am sitting up waiting for the puppy to wake up, so I can go to bed.

My cat, Milo, takes the opportunity to cuddle up to me on the couch, now Bruno is upstairs in bed and Otto is contained in his crate.

My eyes are tired. I might have to go and give Bruno a shove. He's a good sleeper. I'm not complaining. But, I think I'm done for the day.

Sunday Night Out

We went to see Miss Saigon, as David is obsessed with it and we only have to say we like it in passing and he’s booked tickets and has organised a night before you know it.

(I won’t tell you how many times he’s seen it, as you’d worry for his mental state)

It was good. Talk about a cast of handsome young men, I mean (blowing out through my mouth)

We left Charlie in charge of Otto. It’s difficult to be out for too long with a puppy without someone supervising said puppy.

The instructions were, if Otto wakes up in his crate, pick him up carefully (instructions were given for the best way to pick him up) be careful not to let him wriggle out of your grip, as he will try to, and it would be easy to drop him. When you put him down on his paws up the back of the yard, be careful to put him down gently.

Wait for him to have a wee. Wait a bit longer for him to have a poo. After, put him back in his crate, being careful carrying him.

They were the instructions.

Where in those instructions does it say, let him run around the house with Bruno unsupervised? Huh?

The house smelt like shit, as we came in the front door, so we were very please, and a little confused, when Otto was in his clean crate. It wasn’t until later when, having turned the light on, we found the shit in the front hallway, which we didn’t see as we came in as we didn’t switch on the light, amazingly neither of us trod in it.

Good on Charlie for looking after him, but a 20 year old just didn't listen to the instructions as given. Who'd have thought that would happen?

Saturday Morning

It's a grey kind of day. The brightness and the colour have been turned down to low outside. The wind blows cold. The bulldogs are snoring, well, one of them is, the big one. The little one is chewing his chew toy. Adorable.

Its early, 8am, Sam has gone to the supermarket.

I've drunk 3 coffees.

I don't know what I am going to do today?

I've run out of energy for re-writing my fiction, that energy will return, I just have to wait for it. Mean while, I guess there is always YouTube.

I can't do Facebook any more, really just too dull, either listening to a multitude of boring ideas, or never ending whinging, either way, it's dull, dull, dull.

I'm going to make some toast. And maybe more coffee. 😬 Lashings of Vegemite and butter, that should get the day going.

Sam comes in with my gay DVD Of An Age which I ordered on eBay that had been delivered to the front door, presumably, who knows when? Did we not check the mailbox yesterday? Seems odd? Maybe, I'll watch that, pull a blanket over myself and give in to the comfort of a grey day.

9.30am. The sun came out to potentially ruin my wintry Saturday plans.

What can you do?

I have no plans.

Sam listens to the theme from Zelda played on an acoustic guitar. He plays it for me, like it should mean something to me.

I Pissed Around, After Which I Rested

I pissed around all day. Not doing much. It was just that kind of day.

Bruno and I went for a walk, mid morning. I listened to Cher on my headphones. I thought I really liked her, and while, I guess, I still do, like her, maybe not as much as I thought.

When I'd finished pissing around, Bruno and I had a nap together on the couch in the afternoon. He snuggles up like a hot water bottle... I've never used a hot water bottle, I can't even tell you where that expression comes from?

Lovely, really, just what afternoons are meant for.

I've been listening to old Ike & Tina Turner tracks. Ike, I couldn't care less about. And I only know Tina from her solo stuff. I've seen her live and she was the most electric performer I have ever seen. Electricity just seemed to emanate from her as she performed. Well, it is interesting to hear all this other music she did.

Bowie had it too, sparks emanating.

And you know who else had it, and presumably still does, Marcia Hines.

Never Make An Appointment In The Afternoon, If You Can At All Help It, That's What I Say

I went to help Jill take her dogs to the vet. (in my newly vandalised car ☹️) She is not allowed to lift anything for the foreseeable future, I'm not sure how long, because of her heart attack. Nothing strenuous, for 3 months, I think she said.

She is advised not to go back to work for 3 months. 

She's always had very high powered marketing jobs, in charge of takeovers and other big corporate rebranding jobs, and the like, but she said she just didn't fancy that any more.

She took a few years off while she decided which state she wanted to live in, Victoria, or Queensland.

So, she'd started to do carer work, I'm not really sure why? Just because she wanted something to do, and it appealed to her, helping people. Practically charity work, but paid. She thought it would be, well not so much easy, as less high pressure.

"I have never worked so hard for so little money in my life," she said. She laughed

So, I'm guessing she won't be so disappointed about not doing that for a while.

"Are you going back to it?" I asked.

"Yes, sure," she said.

She made an appointment for 3pm for the vet. 3 pm, I thought. The only thing 3pm is good for is putting your feet up and drinking tea preferably with a cream cake, I said. 

Oh no, I don't want to have to get myself across town at 3pm with all those rabid mothers thinking they are doing god's work picking up their sprogs from wherever they send them during the day.

Oh no.

"Couldn't we do morning?" I asked.

"9am?" she said.

"Yeah, sure, 9am works for me." Even if I have to get across town in peak hour. Fuck it.

8.15am. Out with the great unwashed driving at 40 kph because they are too stupid, too confused, or too scared to go any faster, just in case the speed limit changes. Open your eyes, people, I think, check for speed signs. I weave in and out and get myself to Jill's barely on time, but on time none the less.

The dogs had vaccines and their nails done. At one point, I was lifting one of them down off the vet's table and I completely misjudged how short Corgi legs are and, down she went, I essentially dropped her from a height.

Jill looked at me. You know, kind of quizzical.

"Oh, oops, sorry. I thought she was on the ground."

We laughed. Me, maybe more so. The Corgi's are so furry, I was covered in the stuff by the time we were done.

And, I was home for lunch. 

Never make an appointment in the afternoon, if you can at all help it, that's what I say.

I see the house in our street where the last of the old ethnic couples, who once made up the fabric of the street, had lived. I guess one of them must have died and probably the other was put in a home where that one potentially has died too. 

And now the kids are selling off their house, a terrible 1950s cream brick place which I would have said was an eye sore in the street, but now I feel kind of sentimental for it and the old couple who used to live there who I used to say hello to in passing on occasions.

It being a terrible 1950s cream brick place it can be demolished in a street that is heritage protected and because it has this rare advantage, Sam tells me it is going for 4 million. That seems an awful lot even with its advantage of being effectively a cleared site, but that is what Sam tells me. (I think he has that wrong as, I am pretty sure, that would be something like a record sale for our street, for a shitty, out of keeping, cream brick veneer dump that no one wants, in its current form)

Anyway, I guess the kids aren't complaining about the, whatever it is, good price they will be getting.

Yeah, Good Oya

Someone keyed the bonnet of my car. They have slashed across it, and across it, with long, deep, gouging strokes right down to the metal work on the front of my car.

I wondered why?

People park those electric scooters across my gate. Literally, blocking my gate, we have to move them to leave our house, occasionally two deep. Almost, on a daily basis. We are, kind of, the first house on the street and they just pull up and park. Not giving a shit about anything but themselves, clearly. Blocking us in. Every second day.

So, I now take them to the middle of the street and give them a push, and they sail right into the gutter on the other side of the road and crash. If there is two, they become a pile of those fucking scooters.

Maybe, one of the neighbours have seen me do this. People are weird now a days, maybe one of them felt they had to make a stand for the scooter companies, even if they have nothing to do with scooters themselves. You know that type?

But, they would have to know which is my car, as there is no connection when I give the scooters the heave ho from the mid point of the street. I am a car enthusiast and one of those people who knows whose car is who's in the street and I don't know who owns what car.

Was it because that side of the street is timed parking, where my side of the street is resident's permits only, and my car was in one of the scarce timed parking spots while it had a resident's permit.

Well, a resident wouldn't do this because they would have a residents permit themselves and I would think they wouldn't even notice. And would any casual, random person looking for a parking spot know the difference? Unless, it was a resident who had more cars than allowed resident's permits. But that seems unlikely.

Was it because I'd left it park at the very end of the parking spaces at the end of the street where all the drunks just naturally congregate on Friday/Saturday night. We've become very popular ever since whichever marketing dickwad declared us the coolest suburb blah, blah, blah. The downside of that is that we now get the bogan tourists from other suburbs coming to our suburb now that the great unwashed have, essentially, been told where to go if they want to be cool. No thinking required. The irony is that their very presence diminishes any 'coolness' we may have had, real, or marketing-moron imagined.

You know those people who, if we did the same thing, yell and holla and yahoo, in their street as they do in ours, they would be complaining loudly and bitterly.

"It's not ryght! It's just not right!"

Some piece of shit, probably so drunk, or out of it on whatever, mindlessly just did some art work on the bonnet of my car.

"I'dn't that preeeeety."

That one I can imagine, sadly.

He's my gorgeous boy

 

I'm sitting up waiting for the little guy to wake up so I can take him out for a wee before I take him upstairs for the night. It's every two, or three, hours that he has to go out for a wee, so going to bed later means fewer times one of us has to get up and take him outside.

My big guy is keeping me company. As is Milo my cat, although, I suspect, he is angling for food in his bowl.

The little guy has been to his first puppy training class tonight, his first trip out of the house, his first time with a collar and a lead, his first time meeting other dogs, his first ever experience with dogs with long noses, and he did well. His first long walk on a lead home. He could sleep until morning after all of that.

I was watching YouTube, but now I'm listening to Norah Jones. I got tired of Norah Jones and started listening to Karen Lee Andrews, she's great.