Kitchen Knife

I have a knife in my kitchen that freaks me out whenever I see it, and I never use it, it is a murder weapon, long, and pointed and tapering out to a fine point.

It gives me the creeps.

I was making Bolognese sauce, yesterday, and I pulled it out of the draw by accident and then it was in my hand, but I told myself not to be a baby, and just use it. So, I did.

I was slicing mushrooms.

Every time I look at it, I can feel it plunging into my back, over and over, or feel it piecing me between my ribs. No, it's into my back, piercing my kidneys that I feel it. I shiver in anticipation. It's like a bad horror movie.

Within moments, there I am bent over the kitchen bench, face down on the Bolognese sauce, my back peppered with multiple bleeding puncture wounds, pumping blood into the air like the United Nations fountain.

David would say that it was probably something that happened in a past life, and he never really seems to accept that I don't believe in past lives, as most of those new age spiritualist types tend to do.

"Ah." I put the knife down on the bench.

After that, I'd kept sneaking looks at it, I guess, just to make sure it was still on the bench where I left it, making sure it hadn't moved, mysteriously.

When I'd finished constructing the Bolognese sauce and had put it onto simmer for an hour, and I was washing up those things I couldn't put in the dishwasher, I washed that knife and dried it and put it away back in the draw out of sight, first.

I know, get therapy. Pfffff! Get rid of the knife, is the cheaper option. But, how do you get rid of such a weapon?

Hospital

Today is the day. Hospital, sweetie.

8.33am. I leave home for my 9.10am appointment. I walk down my street to Victoria Parade. A woman walks up the street towards me clutching what looks like a big box in her hands held out in front of her covered in geometrical print material, as if the contents were precious. Of course, I imagine cream cakes, or French pastries.

Actually, the best pastries I ever had were in Belgium, when we were crossing the border to catch a ferry back to England, and we spent all the change we had, to get rid of the currency, and it turned out we had more money than we thought, and they gave us an enormous box of pastries, and we sat them on the bonnet of my Citroen and gorged on them.

I cross Albert Street.

I’m listening to The Rolling Stones Loving Cup.

Should I wear my Hoody or not, was the question before I left? It could’ve gone either way. It’s nice and sunny and warm in the sunshine, but kind of cold in the shadows. I would’ve been good either way. I’ve been wearing shorts for such a long time recently, it is difficult to get used to jeans again. Shorts are addictive with their superior air circulation, I guess that’s it? They feel better once you’ve been wearing for a time. Free and easy. Jeans feel restrictive.

I walk through the Fitzroy Gardens.

What do these sudden health issues mean? I don’t know? Getting old, I guess. I don’t feel it, not for a minute, I don’t feel any different to how I have always felt. 

An old woman with tanned leather skin, in active wear leggings and a white top, jogs towards me, as I get to Powlett Street. She’s attempting to fight inevitability, I think. 25 years and I’ll be with her.

8.46am. I arrive for my 9.10am admission time.

The receptionist doesn’t want to take my medical referral. She points to some place off in the distance and says, “The referral is for the doctor.”

I take a seat and wait.

'Today' is on the large flat screen. A Pizza Hut is having throw back 25 year lunch deals $4.95 pizzas, which apparently have gone viral. Those in the studio have a selection of pizzas to eat, of course. I tune out to it.

8.50am. I listen to Black & Blue next, well, I have listened to Goat’s Head Soup and It’s Only Rock and Roll recently, and I’m choosing Black and Blue in anticipation of its Deluxe release, apparently in the new year. 

A woman with post-middle-aged-woman-henna-red hair arrives. She’d be 70, I'd guess.

Not long after, a 60ish year old man arrives in triple white striped black track pants.

They are both over weight.

She pulls out a novel as fat as she is.

He stares down at his phone.

She has bags she rifles through. I see she has enormous breasts that she looks like she has trouble seeing over. Imagine lugging those things around?

His is a study in stillness.

9.15am. My 9.10am admission time comes and goes.

9.27am. The nurse calls me, but I have music in my headphones. My two waiting room companions make it obvious to me I am being called. I’m ushered in behind the door.

9.46am. I’m processed by the nurse who collects me. She asks me many questions and fills out many forms in a folder. At the end of which she says, “Get changed into your hospital clothes. I’ll close the door, when you are changed, open the door again.”

9.55am. I’m in hospital clothes. Strange see-through knickers that would be more at home in a Chubby Chasers Delight video. Blue shoes and a blue hat. An open at the back gown and a towelling robe. I wonder how many people have a fetish about this getup?

10.05am. More questions from a nurse, confirming all the previous questions. Back over the information. There is one person in front of me.

The anaesthetist comes into the room. She is like a ray of sunshine, really lovely. She reminds me of Jessica Chastain. Kind of. What a wonderful bed side manner. You can’t help but instantly like her.

I’m really hungry. I can’t wait to wake up in recovery and eat the sandwiches.🥪 

I sit quietly.

I remember when the backs of my hands were unblemished.

I get out my headphones again and switch The Rolling Stones back on.

10.24am. I see my doctor. He is very charming, with cold hands. He explains the procedure to me. He’s going to go into my bowel and have a look around. 

“Any questions?” he asks.

“No,” I say. “I think I get it pretty much.”

“20 minutes now,” he says. He gets up and leaves the room.

Music back on.

10.45am. A nurse arrives. “Follow me.” We head out of the room. It seems like we pass through 3 doors and we are in the theatre.

“Hop up on the bed,” she says.

The nurse puts a tube in my nose. “This is just oxygen,” she says.

Joan Armatrading is playing in the theatre as I am prepared. I think it was Someone Who Loves You. I make a comment. One of the nurses says, “Yes, it’s my favourite.”

The anaesthetist is then next to me. She is still a ray of sunshine, you feel better to have her around. “I’m going to make you comfortable now.” She puts a canula in my arm. “Roll over onto your side.” So, I do. “It won’t be very long now…”

11.45am. I’m in recovery, feeling fine. I think I am observed for a short time. After which, the nurse observing me says I am ready, I assume to nurses off in the distance chatting to each other.

They don't move immediately.

Come on people, I think, I have food to eat.

They are in no hurry to come and get me.

Ah, come on, I think. A guy could die of starvation over here. I haven't eaten for 36 hours.

I will them over, as I watch them talk about what they are going to do on the weekend, or that hot new doctor who just started recently.

Eventually, one of them saunters over. And I’m wheeled into the next room. I get food. Sandwiches. Cheese and biscuits. Apple juice. Coffee.

Sandwiches and coffee, never tasted so good. I don’t care about anything else right at this moment. I go into a carbo bliss out.

Sam has been called, I’m ready to go in half an hour.

The doctor comes in. Everything is fine. He thinks I am suffering from constipation, from the Ozempic, rather than diarrhoea. The constipation eventually leads to diarrhoea, but it is the constipation that needs to be treated. You know, that makes sense as there were days before the diarrhoea where there was just nothing back there.

Midday. I ask for more sandwiches. Oh fuck it, I have no shame. I kind of like the sandwiches

Nurses come. And nurses go.

I’ve still got a Canula in my arm.

12.04pm. The 70 year old woman from the beginning of the day is wheeled in. She seems nice, as she jokes with the nurses.

12.10pm. Sam says he is on his way.

Strangely, I fancy minced pies. You know, the bakery will still be open when we get back.

There is a 30-something Asian chick opposite me, who was in recovery before me, who is now dressed and waiting to leave. She has put on brown socks and sandals. You might want to rethink that, I think.

She has a barcode sticker affixed to her glasses, which I find annoying. Take it off your glasses, luv. Come on.

12.25pm. My doctor comes in and talks to the 70 year old, everything is fine, she had some bowel polyps which he has removed, but everything else is fine, about which she seems to have great relief. “Happy Xmas, here I come,” she says. “Excellent, thank you.”

12.30pm. Come on people, I’m ready to go now.

I find my headphones and switch on Black and Blue, Slave, thinking as soon as I do that, they’ll come and say get dressed. Which of course they do.

The nurse comes to talk to 70 year old, who I think is Denise. She may experience bleeding due to the polyps being removed. I try not to think about that.

12.36pm. I’m getting dressed.

12.40pm. Sam is getting impatient in the waiting room.

I have to go to the toilet before I leave, I assume, it’s a criteria of leaving, I guess it has something to do with the anaesthetic, getting things working. I see they say it to all the people who are leaving.

A nurse walks me out to the waiting room.

There’s my lovely Sam. Truthfully, it is probably my grumpy Sam by now, but I don’t care.

I head down in the lift with him, telling him all about what has just happened.

12:45pm. I’m out and on my way home. The sun is shining outside, it is a warm day.  Sam wants lunch before we go home. I’m feeling fine.

I had a very nice hospital experience thank you very much. I don't know what the news is on about our failing health system. I have private health insurance, does that make a difference? I guess it does make a difference?

1pm. We’re eating Japanese in Smith Street, Papirica. We have Okonomiyaki Japanese pancake and Giang Tran, eggs with mushrooms. 

1.23pm. We’re still waiting for food. Grrrrr. There is a big group in, to be fair.

Still, it is a gorgeous day, I’ve got the all clear, we don’t have much to complain about. Sam and I have nothing in life to complain about. Everything is great. Life is good.

The Japanese food was very nice, though, I'd recommend it.

1.38pm. We’re walking home in the sunshine.

We get gorgeous mince pies on the way home from Fatto A Mano, our local bakery.

1.43pm. We’re home. Otto goes nuts. “Ah, you have claws in your paws, my little cherub. Ah! Ah! Ah! But, you are such a lovely boy." I look over at Bruno, "It wouldn’t hurt you to get up.” He is lying in the sun coming in through the lounge room window and he doesn’t move a paw. “Look at the difference between the greetings of these two, will you?” I say to Sam.

I make two coffees.

Let's Have A Clean Out

Blue Eyes is out of here in 2 days. As pretty as you are, good riddance, mate. What an insipid waste of space, you really are. The head of HR, off you go. What is it they say, the fish rots from the head.

They are giving him a bloody big payout to send him on his way, not sure why? What's he done to deserve this over anyone else? I ask you? I'd like to believe it is the only way they felt they could get rid of him. The way it has been done raises questions.

And he has proven himself to be as self serving even on the way out. He has a slight tax problem, which amounts to $1000, and he is pushing for the company to pay it. This is a man on 500K a year. Me, me, me, everything for me.

I remember when I first met him, he was suddenly next to me unexpectedly, "Hi, I'm [name]" 

Oh, well, "hello," there. Goodness me. All that blond hair and those dazzling blue eyes, I'm sure they have helped get him to where he is in life, perhaps with less merit than his good looks warranted.

Speaking of rotting from the head, it's a pity he hasn't taken his side kick Fillet of Fish with him on his way out. I don't hear much from the buck-toothed, peroxide-haired cow any more, thank to Lordy do dah day, but true to form, I heard from her lately and it was all dramas and recriminations and a big fuss over absolutely fucking nothing, as it usually is. I just think she is stupid and that is the only way she can operate in the world. If she was in American, she'd be wearing a red cap and dreaming of sucking the orange one's cock.

Maybe, the HR department can become unfucked with his departure, here's hoping. The young members of it are all quite good. They just have to weed out the old dinosaurs, and Blue Eyes departure is a bloody good start. Just a couple to go, Fillet of Fish, what a nightmare, and Ponytail, not a fucking clue.

Of course, the secret to life is kindness, and I might not sound too kind here. Sure. But, you have to draw the line with people who are toxic. Besides, if I say it here, I'm less likely to say it to them. You know, while Blue Eyes is history, I may still have to deal with Fillet of Fish, and if I get it off my chest here, its so much less likely to colour my communications with her, when and should they occur. That is, if I can't avoid her altogether, which is the best strategy. Naturally. If you can avoid the shit on the footpath, your shoes will stay clean. Life is too short to be wiping shit from your shoes.

Buddy's Birthday

It is Buddy's birthday, he would have been 14. I still miss him, the big Snuffleupagus. Lovely Bud.

It's now weird to think he was my dog for 12 years, and that that is all over. I wanted another 12 years with him.

Good To See You

I don't know why I thought of this, but it suddenly came to me, at the Xmas party a number of the girls in the team said a lot about not having seen me for ages. At the time, I kind of thought it was nice, sort off, but unnecessary. I was a little taken a back, thinking I never thought they cared that much about seeing me in the office. 

Today, I am thinking they were trying to bring up why I wasn't in the office like they had to be in the office. I think they were questioning why I was working at home more than I was supposed to.

We're all now expected to spend a percentage of our time in the office, for me, working 3 days a week, I am supposed to work 1 day in the office per week, which I don't do. No, I don't.

I think I have proved I can work efficiently from home over the last 4 years keeping the SS Legal Firm afloat, so I don't see why I should go back to the office now that I have had a taste of the very excellent thing of working from home. 

I think they were questioning that?

Bitches! (Ha ha, that's human nature, I guess)

Oh, maybe they were being nice, missing me. Ha ha, no one is that nice.

There was a part of me that was kind of uncomfortable with their questioning at the time, but I just thought it was me finding it hard to take, what was effectively, a compliment, if you know what I mean, but it suddenly dawned on me recently really what that feeling was.

They weren't complimenting me, they were bitching with a smile.

I don't know how this is going to end, and frankly I don't care because, you know, life is too short to be unhappy trudging into the office when I don't want to.

I'm prepared to chuck the job in. Life is just too fucken short, I learnt that from working at the awful law firm before this one.

Delivery Boxes

 

Do you ever wonder what happens to all the boxes from all the on-line shopping now a days.

This makes me laugh.

They have hundreds of dollars' worth of toys, and they love nothing more than a good old cardboard box.

Hot Air Balloons

Heading over to the shops this early morning, I heard the kaperrr, kaperrr, to look up an see that hot air balloons were in the sky. They are so majestic against the blue sky, they always look so beautiful, big blotches of colourful wonder floating away. So beautiful, really. I love seeing them. I love the noise they make.

I'm sure it would be a beautiful way to see Melbourne, but I have a problem with heights, otherwise I'd do it in a minute. Early morning, all that stillness and calm, it would be serene, I'm sure. Gorgeous. Spectacular.

Xmas Cheer

We take the dogs through a walk. The sky is blue above our heads, the sun is shining, there’s a bit of a breeze.

Ah, Xmas celebrations are in full swing. The place is full of annoying types, clearly from elsewhere in the city, being loud and drunk.

Because our area is a destination of choice now a days, the streets are over run by obnoxious people being loud, people, people, people. Oh, so many people, who are only interested in themselves, fuck everyone else, they just don’t give a shit, and you know what, it just makes me feel that I am so not interested in them.

I mean, as a race of people. 

(Oh yes, sure, you could mount an argument for me moving somewhere else, there is that, but I have lived here for a long time, going back to when it wasn't the place those following fashion thought of as fashionable. And, you know, there is a part of me who thinks it is exciting, so deal with that contradiction, a very small part. It's just that I see a lot of behaviour that the people who are committing it wouldn't accept in their own back yard, which is irritating. I'm just being irritated, sometimes you just have to feel it)

Then wild thoughts just materialise in my brain. Why would it be so bad if the human race ceased to exist? Really. The human race is the main threat to every other species on the planet. If humans ceased to exist, every other species on the planet would have a much better chance at survival. Every other species is under threat of extinction because of us. We are the problem. (A lot of that threat is due to our over population)

And facing the existential threat that we are facing, there are as many people fighting to save us, as there are denying the problem to stop any interference to their indulgent lives. Not sure how they think that is going to end?

No other species shits in its own nest, like we do.

We are the threat to every other species on the planet. It is true. What else is true, is that the planet would be far better off without us.

(The reason I have such thoughts is not because I wish it to happen, because I don't, some of my best friends are, after all, but because I don’t think the human race is going to survive, there are too many people actively working against that survival for their own selfish reasons, so I find it easy to have these thoughts, as I think our demise is now inevitable)

Access At Rear

 

Good old Sam, always accommodating, as they say. We're not talking about my Sam, but that Sam. Yes, him. He was always good for access at the rear, with his nice smile, and curly hair and his forty shorts wearing hips and those thick thighs. His year twelve book said, the boy most likely to accommodate.

Ha ha. He takes his girlfriend to the footy on the weekends, he looks good in shorts, and a singlet and cool sun glasses, and he makes jokes and slaps the blokes on the back on the work site up Smith Street during the week.

Ha ha, well, that's what I thought when I saw this sign attached to a building site in Fitzroy. He's a guy’s guy, he always has been. Mental pictures of him dressed up, in a suit, crisp white shirt and tie, maybe at his sister’s wedding. Images of him hiking shirtless in the hills, perhaps with the ‘mate’ from school. He is clean-shaven, curly-haired, often flashing a bright, white grin, for which he is known. Smiley Sam. A six-pack from hours spent at the gym competing with the ‘other’ guys. “An endless photo shoot” running through my head.

The simplest thing, a sign on a shop window boarded up for renovations and suddenly wild thoughts are escaping. Not that I am complaining, it is good, it is interesting, don't you think? You are never alone, or bored, for that matter, if you have a fertile imagination, I've always said that. The things people have done in my head...

Ridiculous Moments

 

Don't you love this? Ridiculous moments that somehow make the world just a little more interesting than it was before that moment. Anything that makes me laugh can be at all bad.

The road work speed limit has been set at 40 kph while the road work is in progress, but because The Yarra Council is absolutely insane, our speed limits are 30 kph.

So, while the road works is on, you are able to drive 10 kph faster than you would otherwise be allowed to do.

It has got to make you laugh.

Bellissimo

Sam made home made focaccia which was good, it was really good.

Olives, a mountain of olive oil, then prosciutto and mozzarella cheese as a filling when it was done.

It was really good.

He disappeared off into the city to pick up another set of those goggle things, I'm not sure how many he has now, or why he even needs them, but once an IT nerd, always an IT nerd, I guess, and left me home to cook the focaccia. 

"You are doing what?" I said. "I have to do what?" I said. And he disappeared out the door.

I reckon he was nervous about it and wanted me to do it. Maybe, or he just didn't care? I don't know. I contemplated which as I read the instructions he left me, and observed the oven nervously.

Anyway, it turned out fine, more than fine, Bellissimo.

The Rolling Stones

I’ve always been a big Rolling Stones fan. 

You can kind of divide the Stones music into roughly 3 periods. From the beginning early 1960s to 1967 and Their Satanic Majesties Request album. The second period is from Beggars Banquet to 1981 and the Tattoo You album, their most successful and creative period. Then the Undercover album to present day.

I've always liked the second and third period, even if I have always said they have never put out a dud album.

I never really cared for the early period, I always preferred the newer stuff, but suddenly, just lately, I have really got into the early music, so I’ve been buying early albums to fill in the missing gaps in my collection with my newly discovered passion for the early stuff. 

I bought 12 x 5 and Singles Collection, the London Years. Lovely. So, then I was lost to creating new collections for the afternoon, after that. (Love working from home)

And back when they were releasing their early stuff, in that era it wasn't customary for the singles to be included in the albums that followed. So, even if you collected the albums, you would be missing, what were essentially, the big tracks/singles.

I love electronic collections, you can add any tracks you want, in any way you want. You can build up the collections you want.

So, I have now added the Rolling Stones singles to the albums they should have been added to in the first place. Not only that, I have added the B sides to those albums as well.

And that is how you get a complete collection.

Having said they have never put out a dud album, My least favourite album is Their Satanic Majesties Request

Sunday

Sunday, we walk into the city to have haircuts. We take the dogs, of course. I don’t really need a haircut, but Sam seems keen to have one so I do too.

It is a lovely day for a walk, the sun is shining, it is warm and fresh and a joy to be out in it.

Sam has first haircut, I wait with Bruno and Otto for the second haircut. Bruno lies down and makes himself instantly comfortable, as he always does. Otto jumps up on the seat with me and observes the people passing by. He's more restless, ah the young, he doesn't settle quite so easily.

Sam is out again way quicker than I expected, so then it was my turn. There was only one guy in front of me, so my turn came around relatively quickly. Then I was done too.

I want to JBHiFi afterwards looking for a Rolling Stones live album that I just don’t seem to be able to find. They don’t have it, but they do, of course, have their latest live album, and its track listing is relatively different to their previous live albums, so I buy that.

Then we go to David’s Master Pot for lunch in Russell Street and eat a large bowl of soup, sitting out in the street under the shade of the trees is nice.

We head home after we’ve had lunch via Melbourne Central and the second JBHiFi just to check if they have the CD I really want. We run into one of those endless Middle East problem protests, I'm still not exactly sure why they are protesting in Australia? If they are really serious about protesting about the events in the Middle East, why don't they go to Gaza, or Israel to protest.

Anyway, we take a slight detour, and we go around the back way, in a sense, to get inside Melbourne Central.

They don't have the CD I want. When I come out to meet up with Sam again, Sam decides he'd head into JBHiFi to have a look, so I wait for him while he does that.

As I am waiting, a cute 20-something Irish boy walks up to me. He directs my attention to the bottom of his shirt where he pulls out the waistband of his shorts and I see his black jocks with their thick white elastic and he says his belt is too loose and he needs to get a new hole punched in his belt and I look like just the kind of person who could help him. What, I think? Immediately, I wonder if it is a scam and that an as yet unseen, by me, accomplice will be going for my wallet any second? He is adorable and, sure, I want to look down his pants, however. I direct him to the sewing shop not far inside Melbourne Central.

I'm still shaking my head when two girls stopped to pat the Bulldogs. 

A short time later, the cute Irish boy comes back. He got a new hole punched in his belt at the sewing shop, to which I directed him. He pats the dogs, and for a fleeting moment, I wonder if he is trying to pick me up, but he thanks me and heads off.

A short time after that, Sam was back.

The protest had moved on when we head for home, so we can just walk directly towards home.

We meet (neighbour) Jackson Wag just before home. "I know you can't help but have matching dogs, but the matching outfits are a bit much."

"What?"

"Look at what you are wearing?"

I look at Sam and for the first time realise, we both had on blue jeans and black t-shirts. We laugh.

Jackson says he called his pot dealer to get some 'gear' to be told his dealer has lung cancer and has shut up shop. "Dam it," says Jackson. He laughs. "Let's hope that's not a sign of what's to come for me?"

I contemplated giving him Guido's number, but didn't. Oh, I don't know, there are some things it is best to stay out of, don't you think?

Then we're home and it is feet up for the rest of the day.

What's Not To Like?

Rainy Saturday, time to lie on the couch with the dogs and YouTube and perhaps a blanket if it gets too cold, which isn’t likely in the humid weather we’ve been having lately.

Still, the day smells fresh, and the air is warm from the previous days being hot. It's nice, wet, warm, luscious, shorts and t-shirt weather despite the rain. Lovely.

What's not to like?

Do fuck all, feet up, pillow for my head, laptop on my lap, my arms draped off the side of the couch patting my dog’s tummy, my favourite kind of day.

Do nothing? It is my life’s work. Chuckle. Of course, the secret is to be perfectly content doing nothing, that is the key. There is no point being dissatisfied doing nothing, on no that would never do.

Looking After My Sister

My sister went for Xmas drinks with her work colleagues and she left her car at my place and like a good brother I am going to pick her up, in her car and she'll drive me back to my place and then she'll drive home. You know, so she's safe.

She was confident she'll want to leave around 9.30pm. It is now 9.40pm and not a word from her and I'm now getting sleepy and don't feel like driving anywhere.

But what can you do?

I just drank some coffee, hoping that will pep me up.

Sam and I just watched Silo. Now we are watching a Japanese animation artist, Hayao Miyazaki talk about making The Heron.

As it turned out, somehow my phone got switched to do not disturb, how, I have no idea, but my sis had just messaged me when I was writing that post about her not messaging me, it was just that my phone didn’t let me know.

Good thing I was pissing about on my laptop while I was watching TV and I saw the red 1 come up on my phone/message icon.

Good job.

Hot Night Sleep

Nothing I like more on a hot night than sleeping tucked up under my doona with the air conditioning on. It is good for the soul to have uninterrupted sleep every night.

I have an expression I use, “If I were Oprah, I’d have…” a Japanese chef, one that could also cook vegetarian food. And, I’d have my bedroom at a constant temperature all year round, so that I could use lush bed clothes every night of the year.

Xmas Lunch

I went to my team's Xmas lunch. It was in Glenferrie Road. I rode my bike there in the heat, a lose shirt, and the fresh breeze, the only way to travel on a hot day. Better than having to find parking when I get there, even if there was plenty of parking where we were going. I try to ride my bike whenever I can.

I sat next to our Irish temp who is just adorable, seriously adorable, that smile. Boris sat on my other side, of course. 

The three 20 something boys sat to my left, D, M & J. They were being such boys all afternoon drinking their paints of beer, laughing and messing about, it was a bit of a turn on. (When I say turn on, it made laugh more than it had any other effect) D, as I said, is simply adorable. M had on an elf’s hat in which he looked adorable and I called him elf all day, which kind of made me smile too. J is gay and isn’t a looker, nobody would say that he is, but, I guess, hanging with two straight boys that doesn’t matter.

The loud American chick, who I usually find obnoxious, sat opposite, and I found I quite liked her, so the lunch was good for the two of us, of course she wasn't to know that.

She sat with L, senior finance guy, I guess 2nd in charge of our team, who told stories all throughout lunch which were amusing. They sat with T who just lately has lost any neck definition that she once had.

I ate beer batter fish and chips. I ate Crème Brûlée for dessert. And mango ice cream, my big boss didn't want his.

I drank red wine, maybe 4 glasses. Too much. You know, I don't normally drink. I had my own bottle which I don’t think I actually finished.

Later that night at home, I wish I hadn't, drunk the wine. I remember thinking, I feel like I might like to throw up, if it would make me feel better. Well, 'like to' may not exactly be the right expression, I’m not Diana Spencer, after all.

The others were kicking on, heading off somewhere looking for margaritas so who knows where they all ended up. They asked me to go but I declined politely, I didn’t want to head out with all of them to get legless, no thanks. Lunch was enough of a commitment.

Sleeping In The Afternoon

We worked all day. I was done by mid afternoon. Sam and I had a sleep in the lounge room. Sam on the couch, me on the floor with the big orange cushion.

Such a nice way to spend a hot afternoon.

Working from home, you have to love it.

When we woke up, the cool change had blown through, and when we threw the windows open a lovely breeze blew in.

It was a great change. I think I love it the most about hot weather, the cool change.

It Was Hot

It was hot, an indication for a hot summer? Maybe? I'm not looking forward to a hot summer. But it was hot today.

30 degrees, 31 degrees when we took the dogs for a walk. It was nearly too hot for them, if it had been any hotter it would have been too hot.

Pain In My Stomach

I’ve got a pain in my stomach all morning. I’m suspicious of it being caused by quitting Ozempic, which I had to give up, maybe temporarily, because it was giving my diarrhoea? It’s been 3 days since I stopped. Well, they say it works on some stomach enzyme, so surprise, surprise.

I'm having some tests, check things out. A colonoscopy, up the arse, just to make sure there isn't a physical reason for the diarrhoea.

Then we'll review the Ozempic.

We walked to Victoria Street to do some shopping, and I felt kind of sick all the way there. There’s no point in saying anything now is there, though, just get on with it.

Still, it was a lovely day, nice for a walk. Sam did shopping, and we walked home with pork rolls for lunch.

I Saw An Old Friend Died

I saw a family friend died who, admittedly, I haven't seen for years. She and her husband used to spend a lot of time with our family once.

She was one of the loveliest people you'd ever meet. Smart. Stylish. I felt sad, despite the years.

He was the guy with the cool cars. A blue Mini Cooper S. Then a white 1750. Then a silver 1750. He was funny and nice. He had the coolest house. He had a multitude of stories about how he lost the end of his thumb.

He was my dad's friend. He didn't seem like a dad type.

Then one day he bought a beautiful girl to our house, and he introduced her as his girlfriend. She was gorgeous. She was funny and nice too. She laughed easily. She loved animals.

They eventually got married. They had the nicest house in Canterbury and Basset Hounds.

But, one day they made a tree change to the country and I never saw them again. I wonder how life paned out?

I felt an ache, at her dying.

Get A Dog

A nutter comes up and touches the Bulldogs while I'm waiting outside the supermarket. Long fingers, crazy eyes. He tells me he wants to get a wolf. 

"A wolf?" I say.

"Yes," he says.

Idiot, I think.

Then he tells me he wants to catch a fox and domesticated.

"A fox?"

"Yeah."

"Domesticate it?"

"Yeah."

"I don't think that is possible."

"We'd find out, hey?"

What world do some people live in, I think? Get a dog, you idiot, I also think.

He walks away fingers twitching.

Black Friday Sales

People are expected to spend 7.5 billion dollars on the Black Friday sales.

What cost of living crisis?

Sam Is A Team Player

Sam works for a client in Queensland, and it was decided that he and his team should go and share in their client's Xmas celebrations in Brisbane.

Sam was thrilled.

"Three days playing mini golf, kill me now," were Sam's parting words.

Seeing The Doctor

I went to the doctor about my on going gastro-like symptoms. I rode my bike there, so, you know, I couldn't be feeling that bad. I see one of the other doctor's I have never seen before.

Now I am going for a colonoscopy.

Yay.

In a couple of weeks. I'm sure it will come back negative.

I was just reading about the stuff I have to do before hand. Dear god, a litre of liquid, powders and potions, drunk on a strict schedule. If I make it through that, the thing up the bum will be easy as.

Monday In The Office

I'm up at 6am with a coffee signed into work. Boris has asked me to go in to sort out the fuck up, actually, two fuck ups now, they are piling up.

I'm not gong in early though for that, but I still want to start early and leave early, and this way I can.

8.25am. I leave for work. Of course, it is raining, as if to drive the point home, of the misery of going into the office. Drag yourself to the office in the rain getting wet, or pull up a chair in your study at home and get on with your work? Oh boy, it’s a hard choice.

I catch the tram to Brunswick Street. There is a Brunswick Street tram waiting when I get off.

All the miseries are on the tram this time of the day, usually I come in much earlier when I go to the office to avoid their sad faces. We should all have held out longer for working from home, we’re idiots.

What am I going to do about working from home? I don’t know, just refuse to come into the office.

I take my jumper off at Spring Street. I’m beginning to sweat on this rainy, overcast, muggy day. It’s humid and inclement, not a combination I hate so much.

8.43am. I get a seat at Russell Street. At least the aircon is working on the tram, the cool air feels good.

I’m a fraction too early, considering Boris doesn’t get in until 9.15am. I can’t even dawdle because of the rain.

We get together with the big boss, 10am. He seems cool with it all. We have suggestions for both problems, strongly disputing that the second problem is anything of our doing. We have proof of that.

It goes fine. Big Pooh Bar is fine, CFO of the Southern Hemisphere, isn't pissed off.

I leave at 3pm, as normal.

Wash The Heat Away

It rained today, washing all the heat away. You have to love that when it has been hot, we can breath again. We can go outside and feel the air fresh and gorgeous on our skin.

I love our changeable weather, I wouldn't change it for the world. Heat us up, cool us down, it is the way the world spins around. We just don't want cake, we want the cream as well.

I love it, it is the way it should be. All the bells and whistles. If you are going to have weather, let's feel it, that's what I say. If it is hot in Melbourne, there is one thing on which you can always depend, there will be a change.

Stomach Bug

I can't eat, I'm sick. I feel like I have a stomach bug. Not to put too finer point on it, I’m expelling gas out both ends. Diarrhoea and farting as well as belching up gas. I don’t feel like eating. I ate some toast for breakfast, but tandoori chicken curry for lunch, or juice, or anything else, I have turned down. I even turned down tiramisu, which Charlie bought home from the upmarket restaurant in which he works. 

Halfway through the afternoon, I sneezed and woke Sam up, so I went and had a hey fever table. While I was doing that, I thought he said he’d have a hey fever tablet too. When I handed it to him on the couch he just looked at me blankly. Then he asked, “What?”

“Hey fever tablet,” I said.

“How sick are you?” he asked. “I said I wanted Tiramisu.”

“Oh. Really?”

So, I got him the tiramisu. On the way over I took a taste. It tasted good, to me with my sweet tooth, even feeling as sick as I was.

Sam started eating it.

“Here, give me some more,” I asked. Being brave.

“I thought you were sick.”

“Apparently, I can fit in a taste of tiramisu.” 

Sam laughed.

“I think it is a life truth, you can always fit in a mouthful of tiramisu.”

“Life according to Christian,” said Sam.

 

Yes, it was a mistake. The tiramisu. It didn’t make me feel great, later on. All that cream, I guess. Surprise, surprise, I hear you say.

Hot Saturday

It's hot, hot for spring. 28 degrees at 9am. We go for a walk, we see a number of our neighbours also going for an early walk. We chat in the street, everyone in shorts and short sleeves covered in a thin film of sweat, even this early. It is not the first hot day.

Then we come home and disappear in doors. It is languorous, with the urge to call out "Stella," intermittently, but we don't, of course. (I love that image)

We have the fan whirring, fresh air blows across us. The whir of the fan is the sound track for the day.

The dogs are panting. The dogs are stretched out across the carpet.

It is the perfect weather not to do nothing at all. Yes, nothing. I catch up on some of my YouTuber car guys. (No more American politics)

Sam falls asleep on the other couch, legs akimbo.

Hot Friday

It was hot, I took the dogs for a walk before it got really hot. 35 degrees was forecast. So, we got the walk done while it was still 22, 23.

Everything we had to do we got done in the morning.

I got up to the attic and dragged out the fan. Still no air con, much to Sam's chagrin. It's not good for climate change, no it's not. I set the fan up in the lounge room aiming it at me on the couch.

The air turned to soup outside. We stayed in doors for the afternoon.

Sam got a new screen for his home work desk. It came in a huge box. It is like commanding The Enterprise.

We watched the new season of Silo. Definitely, Sam's choice. He loves all those post apoplectic shows. Yeah, I was sucked in, it was good.

It's My Day Off

I got up early. I took the dogs for a walk. The sun shone, the day was gorgeous.

By the time I got home, Boris was messaging me about some mistake I'd made at work, oops. Yes, I had stuffed something up, and it was a big fuck up. Damn! Oh yes, it would need to be discussed, and discussed, and no doubt discussed again. Anyone who knows the corporate world would know exactly what I was talking about.

But, and it is a but to my advantage, I'm off work until Monday, and I'll deal with it then. And when I managed to get myself to the gym, I stopped answering her. Nyr? Even if I have made a mistake, she's the manager, she can work it out. It's my day off, go away, I thought, as I gazed up the leg of a pair of gym shorts, gazing at the full, red jocks, of a guy doing weights at the gym, looking before I even knew I was looking, you know how that happens. Shake of my head, oh, erm, look away. Still, it reminds me there are more important things in the world than work, hey? (He was a good sort, nice muscular legs, lying on his back on a weight bench.)

Work it out yourself, I think, when I think of Boris again, after the chest press, after the leg press, after the lateral pull down, after the cable pull down. Stop for a drink of water, and all that other nonsense comes back into my head.

Grrr!

I gulp down my water and look for the next exercise machine on which to work out.

The Grim

I haven’t been to the gym for the last couple of days, oops. It’s a grind, I’m not enjoying it, really I’m not. I used to once, when I used to do it when I was younger, but not now. I call it the grim. I guess that doesn’t help, you know psychologically. Well it can’t, can it. 

It is the first day I have missed since I started these shenanigans. That's pretty good, huh? Not missing a day, but having only missed one day. I have to take something from this, and I can take that, something to hold in my hand, metaphorically, of course, pin to my chest as something positive.

Ah, what can you do?

The Day Sparkled

 

The day sparkled. The sky was a picture in blue. The sun was as warm as you'd want it to be. That building sparkled on a sparkly day. I love it. Like a great big block of ice cream. Or a tiny bit of Santorini in the inner suburbs. Whatever you want to call it, it has style.

Milo's Chair

 

Just lately when I come back to my office chair, Milo is on it. It seems that I am now in competition for my office chair with him. And I am pretty sure the reason why is that Milo has realised it is one of the few places where the bulldogs can't get to him. The bulldogs bully him terribly, and now it is often the two of them teaming up, but bulldog legs aren't that long so they can't, actually, get Milo on my office chair, and he can hide in plain sight of them. But it means I am continually showing him off it.

Isn't He Cute

 

Isn't he cute. Actually, he is the most delightful little guy, he really is lovely. He is so cute, and so funny, and he just loves to be with you.

So Relaxing

It is so relaxing to lie out on the floor flat on your back. Your shoulders, your back, your calves, your mind, they all release.

When was the last time you lay out flat on the floor? A carpet angel. I bet it has been a while.

Try it. It is great.

Flat out is super relaxing. Almost instantly. There is just something nice about it.

Every part of you feels supported, kind of rare in modern life, perhaps.

The strong, hard floor, is somehow comforting, I have to say. (Like a tall, dark stranger)

It's solid, strength, permanence, powerful.

Parallel to the earth’s surface, feels like it does us some good. On the horizontal plane, it is a powerful therapy.

Workout App

My personal trainer is over and I am now on my own with the gym. Even my workout app has stopped. I don't know why, I thought that, without really thinking about it at all, would continue, but no. I'm going to have to get a new work out app.

I've asked Sam if he could find me one, but he was, shall we say, less than enthusiastic about the idea. Seriously, I thought. Isn't that why you have an IT guy as a boyfriend to find you stuff like that? Surely that is true? A life truism? But he just looked at me and didn't engage at all. Twice. I asked him twice. But no. Blank.

At present, I am cycling back to previous weeks for my workout sessions. Not really idea.

Anyway, I guess I am perfectly capable of getting my own workout app? Hmmmmm? (Another truism, to be sure) Where to start?

Anyone know a good workout app?

Thursday

I didn't go to the gym, I should have. Isn't that what they always say?

I'll go tomorrow. Isn't that what they also always say? I still don't love it. 

I took the dogs for two walks though, that's two hours of walking.

It was a beautiful day. 

I stayed inside for most of it. I lay on the couch for most of the day. What a lazy arse. I know I am. Lying on the couch should be a national pastime, oh, yes, I guess it is. Good thing I am down to 80 kilos now, so I can claim lying on the couch does me no harm. Do you like that?

Morning Rain

I was up early. It rained. Morning rain is quite lovely. It reminds you of everything good in the world, and that loveliness exists.

The only thing I would have liked to do, but didn't, was to head out side and raise my face skywards to feel the drops fall on my face.

That is the closest thing to magical that I know.

Monday

Wow! it is a beautiful day, far too nice to be inside working at the salt mine. 

I was up at 6am, as per usual, so by 9am I'd done 3 hours work.

Then I went and walked in the sunshine, breathed in the fresh, spring air, paid some bills. I did some shopping, not that I ended up buying anything. 

Otto wanted to come with me but you can't take them into every shop. We should be able to take them into the shops, why not? You know in Italy you can even take them into supermarkets. I wish we were a little more chilled out like the Italians.

I think my company is gearing up for us to all be sucked back into the office. I think I am going to resign if that happens. I haven't quite decided, but I am leaning that way. It would make me unhappy to have to trudge back into the office on a daily basis when I know the better way to work.

What will I do then? Write something?

Anyway, it's Monday, not a lot else to say. But, it is bloody beautiful weather today. Of course, the fucking flies are back, but I guess you can't have everything, hey?

I've been out watering my plants on my breaks from work.

My LG Vacuum Is Shit

Sunday is cleaning day.

We have a cordless LG vacuum. It is a terrible vacuum. I can only say, never buy a cordless LG vacuum.

Actually, it is worse than terrible, it is not fit for purpose.

It has a turbo button that gives you the power you need to do the vacuuming, it has always just switched off, leaving you with the lowest power.

And other than that, the vacuum itself just switches off, inexplicably. Continually. It switches off. Do you know how frustrating that is?

We had it back to the manufacturer to be looked at and they charged us a service fee because they couldn't find anything wrong with it.

And as soon as we got it home again, the turbo button continually failed, after which the thing switched itself off altogether, again.

What does that say to me? It says to me that, what, LG is aware of how it works, and they deemed it to be working properly capitalism is fucked.

So, I do all the vacuuming, and I complain about this piece of rubbish continually. But, recently, I realised I still have my plug in Dyson vacuum, so I have stopped using the LG altogether. I told Sam I was going to put the, what was it, $1200 LG, I can't quite remember, in the rubbish, but Sam wouldn't let me.

It is such a relief to use the Dyson again. It works. No issues. So little to ask for. Okay, I have to pull it around, and change power points when I move, but that is so little to have to do when it, actually, works.

There was something that I forgot that Bruno does, with this vacuum he always gets up and comes and stands in front of it, I am really not sure why. What a scamp.

The Great Orange Clown

What can we say about the US election? It is a great shame for everyone that evil triumphed.

It is even a bigger shame that the people opened the door and let evil in, in such numbers. It is a testament to that old expression.

“You can fool some of the people all of the time, and all of the people some of the time, but you can not fool all of the people all of the time.”

(Well, the last part is yet to be proved)

― Abraham Lincoln

I think the media going for ratings, rather than facts has something to do with it. Reporting on the great Trump clown act and the outrageous, bloated persona, rather than refuting his compulsive lies with truths also had something to do with it.

He's a cheat. He's a liar. He's a (court determined) rapist. He is a fraudster.

Will good ultimately prevail? Who knows? Shrug.

I Had A Dream

I woke up at 2am and had a piss. I could hear Charlie downstairs still awake, what is he pissing about at this time, I thought. He is one for staying up late, and getting up late, and now that his uni exams are over, I guess he can do whatever he likes.

I hurried up in the bathroom, as he often seemed to have a shower in the middle of the night and I just wanted to get back to sleep.

I couldn’t sleep, after that, I tossed and turned. I was too hot, for some reason. I don't know why? I have a sore shoulder, which I may, or may not, have strained at the gym, I am not sure about that, but it seems to feel more painful if it gets cold, so I was keeping that under the bed clothes which didn’t help with the temperature thing.

I found myself thinking about the US election and the injustice of not only that the orange criminal is getting away with his crimes, but now he had the opportunity to destroy a fair and equitable America in the process, especially for minority groups. 

You know, unless you are white, heterosexual and christian in America now you just won't count.

It could be argued that his election win will cement the extinction of the human race. The climate scientists are already saying that without immediate and drastic action there is a good chance the human race is not going to survive, and now you have this right wing simpleton opportunist who is about to destroy all American climate change measures.

The world is actually doomed.

Oh, this is ridiculous, I told myself, the great thing about all of this is that I am not American, stop thinking about it. Then I turned my mind to what I would do if I won 20 million dollars in lotto. First thing that came to mind to get my mind off the other.

(with that thought, I checked my lotto numbers just now and I won $101)

I don't know if I dozed off, or not, but then I heard Charlie in the bathroom, so I looked at my watch and it was 4am, so I must have dozed off.

Bruno climbed up onto the bed and sat in the very middle, and I sat up and hugged him in the dark and he pushed his muzzle into my neck. His rhythmic breathing was comforting.

Then I dreamed. I was in the office, I think I may have even been in my last days with the company. I was chatting to a colleague, I think, about how good it was going to be to leave, to get out, when an exec came and collected me, who may not have liked me so much.

“Can you come with me,” she asked.

When I looked quizzical as to why, she said, “You wrote a really good attack ad recently.”

I was taken into and office with a few other execs and they were doing some advertising for a private jet hire for which they wanted a bi line for the advertising they were writing.

They showed me what they had. Then they all stood back and waited for my ideas.

The new way to travel, was my first thought, but I didn’t think that was strong enough.

There was a row of windows along one wall, through which a corridor was visible. Dev Patel came and stood outside the window, waving at me as he appeared to wait, I think, for me.

My next idea was to tie it to all those things we don’t like about corporate culture, but which would resonate with corporate types none the less. I remember taking my bottom lip between my fingers and gazing at the assembled faces waiting patiently for my answer.

Then Tom Hiddleston came in and kind of nudged me out of the way with a sideways push of his body and he bent over in front of me in a snug fitting blue suit kind of pointing his arse at me, resting his hands on his knees sucking up to the execs clearly wanting something. I looked down and thought, I know what I am going to do if you keep pointing that at me.

And at that point I came up with the line. “Upwardly Mobile,” I said.

One of the guys looked at me and thought for a minute, and the other guy and girl said they loved it.

I was pleased they liked it. I was just about to take Tom Hiddleston by the hips and move him sideways and I woke up.

6.05am. I got up. The house was still half dark, just lighting up in each room. I headed downstairs, and the house seemed to get incrementally lighter with every step that I took.

I made coffee and Milo came and cuddled up with me on the couch as he often does in the morning when the coast is clear of bulldogs.

I’ve never thought about Tom Hiddleston’s arse before, and I don’t know what possessed me, but I googled it, and there are lots of images to look at when you google Tom Hiddleston's arse.

US Election

Wow! America really is that stupid.

The bloated orange one tried to steal an election he lost, and in the process had no qualms about destroying democracy in America and when he didn't get his way he sent an angry mob to attack the govt and his own vice president. He has been found guilty of fraud, rape and lying and dishonesty by multiple courts in multiple court cases, and now the American people have made him the most powerful criminal in the world.

Good job America.

US Election

Surely, the smart and honest people of America are going to say, Not today, Satan, to the big orange monster.

Monday Morning

We've had a spate of women changing their names at work.

I said to HR, "I don't understand why women change their names in this day and age, they will only have to change them back when they get divorced."

Apparently, the girls in HR didn't like my comment.

To which I responded, "Oh come on real world, let's live in it."

Apparently, they didn't like my response either.

Oh, yeah, sure, I said it a little controversially.

But having said that, I really don't know why women are still changing their names. Aren't we all equal? So why are women giving up their names? Why are they still giving up your identity to marry.

It's pointless and it no longer makes any sense, if it ever did.

I'm listening to Bob Dylan.

Sunday

It was a beautiful day. Really beautiful. The sun shone down brightly like warm honey on our skin. Not scorching like mid summer. Or seemingly unnoticed climate change fever pitch of which we are all now just a little fearful, but not frightened enough to make any meaningful changes. The sky was one unbroken blue tile overhead. Sky blue.

We walked into the city with our recently washed dogs, as recent as yesterday, and didn't their fur shine. And if you got down close enough and rubbed your face against them they smelt pretty good too. It was a lovely day for a walk too.

There is something magical having a dog on a lead and being two. It's really relaxing gliding through the perfect Sunday air.

Once in the city, one of us waits while the other gets the snip, then we swap.

We walked through the city and ate soup for lunch afterwards.

We strolled home through the park.

Sunday. The tourists invade our streets, but who cares when the sun shines.

Then it was the afternoon indoors, you know, as you do.

And the last of the weekend drained slowly away, like the end of camp, or a week away.

Nancy Wilson Naturally

My Nancy Wilson, Naturally, CD arrived. I'm pretty excited about it, being the first CD copy I have had of it. It is arguably the first, or one of the first, albums I ever had, but I have never had a CD copy of it before.

As a kid, and a young adult, it was my migraine music of choice when I locked myself away with the unbearable pain in my head in the dark, I'm pretty sure it was good because it doesn't have a hard percussion track, on my own, but I have mentioned that before, I know.

I decided a few years ago... let me digress for a moment. David says that if I die before him - him being 100 kilos and addicted to prescription drugs, doesn't bode well for him, however - that he's going to hold a religious/spiritual funeral for me... let me digress a little more. David continually asks me what would change my mind about god and heaven and reincarnation and the like? How could my mind be changed? What would it take?

He likes asking me this question because deep down he couldn't accept I was an atheist. You know he teaches this stuff, he lives this stuff, with his sycophants of is his guru life. He asks often and repeatedly.

So, one day I gave him my answer. "Okay, you want to know what would change my mind?"

"Yes," he said.

"If you die before me. This is what it would take. I'd be in some sort of square, or public place. And as I am standing there, I can see from the other side of the square someone who looks remarkably like you, approaching me. Our eyes would be connected as this person makes it from one side of the square to me on the other side. The people in the square would just naturally part to allow this person through. They would walk right up to me, they would lean in close to my ear and whisper, "You are wrong."

David smiled.

"That's what it would take."

David has often asked me, "So what sort of funeral do you want with your atheist beliefs?"

The implication being that if I don't specify then it would be wide open for a spiritual/religious affair.

So, I decided a few years ago that my funeral would be held in some room, hall, whatever? The people would be ushered in and sat down. Then Nancy Wilson's, Naturally, album would be played from beginning to end. Nobody would speak, or say anything, and when the album finished everybody would be ushered out again. Funeral over.

I told David of my funeral decision, and he said, "What?"

"That album is all that needs to be said."

So, my first CD copy of that album arrived yesterday. I'm very pleased about that.

Friday

I lay on the couch yesterday and did nothing. Really nothing. Absolutely fuck all. Thursday off. I'm suspecting I spent too much time on the couch. 😬 But, what else is life for? I ask you? Time spent on the couch is time well spent, I have always said that.

Oh, I did prune the creeper on our side wall over the pond, which has missed its annual prune for a few years. I did that.

It was hanging down in long tendrils. More than tendrils, to be completely correct. Like many arms of an octopus hanging off the wall. It was all full of dirt too, and as I was mostly cutting them off above my head, they were raining down shit, and debris into my hair. The shower after I was done was very satisfying.

I filled the green bin and the dog pooh bin with the cuttings.

But, after that I lay on the couch, again, and watched YouTube. Mindlessly. Oh yes, I know, wasting my life. I could have been writing a novel, or out marching for climate change, or feeding the poor, or writing a peace manifesto, cleaning up the creeks of the northern suburbs, or graffiting photos of Elon Musk - loony eyes, or his tongue hanging out as he pulls a micro penis, you've got to wonder - or restoring a 65 VW Beetle, or baking bread, learning a new language, or taking part in an interpretive dance ensemble, or going to the gym, as I had scheduled, but I kept thinking about putting that off until tomorrow, which I did successfully, until it was the next day. Ha ha.

Late morning, I take the dogs for a walk. The sky was overcast, the sun stayed behind it. The bulldogs trotted along happily, sniffed about in the undergrowth, and then trotted along again.

I’m listening to Janis Joplin Live at the Carousel Ballroom 1968. The bulldogs were good lads.

There is still the matter of the gym, which I put off from yesterday. Grrrr! Exercise shouldn't be this hard. Should it? I'll go later.

(I did go later, just for the record)

Lazy Work Wednesday

Apparently, if you put your dog shit in the bin it goes to landfill and causes methane, I read recently, adding to green house gasses. Oh, that is disappointing, I thought, as the rubbish man has been taking away my dog's shit for years.

In the long, distant past, there was a bin left on the front footpath that nobody claimed. It just sat there and sat there for months, until one day I had the bright idea to claim it and put my dog's shit in it, and I have been doing that for years now, and the council has been collecting it.

The article I was reading didn't actually give what you should be doing with your dog shit? Other than, if you compost it, you shouldn't put the compost on edible plants.

Good thing we are past the point of saving ourselves, climate change wise, I think, we're done, we didn't fix it when we had the opportunity, as I justify what will be my ongoing actions with the dog shit collection.

I think if people put as much effort into climate change as they do these pointless Save Gaza rallies, or Trumpian style political rallies, or self driving cars, or robots, even, we may just save the human race, but nobody seems to get that passionate, not at all, about the most clear and present danger of climate change.

Oh, of course, some people do, but they are effectively ostracised by the community for disrupting their travel to work, or getting in the way of their shopping outings, or are branded 'radical' by the anti-climate change forces. (and we all know that 'radical' is the antithesis of conservative belief)

Climate change protesters are more likely to be called nut jobs than saviours, funny how that works?

I wonder how history will view them? Much more kindly, I would suspect.

The New Fridge Arrives... Finally

 9am. The new fridge arrives. Yay. The guys are no nonsense and get straight to work. They get the old one out, by taking the lounge room door off by unscrewing it at the hinges. And they get the new one in, obviously, the same way. Sam supervises, I continue to work and it is all done in no time. The dogs are locked in the front hallway, and Otto keeps barking, unusual for a bulldog, as if he is demanding to know what is going on.

Finally, after all this time, the fridge is replaced.

I do work for most of the morning.

I first remembered the gym at 11.30am, a bit late to go before lunch, I think. Ah, there is always tomorrow, is my next thought.

I ate 3 sausages for lunch and some salad, with different types of olives and fetta and sun dried tomatoes and soft, marinated capsicum, my favourite type of salad.

It was an easy day. A bit of work. A bit of YouTube. Just how we like working from home. Oh yes, before you get into me, remember, I signed into work at 5.45am, so I have some time up my sleeve.

2.12pm. I finally get my shit together and I go to the gym. I really have to make myself go. I’d been putting it off today, and putting it off, and putting it off, and putting it off, even with the vague though of doing it tomorrow, but then I’d only have to do it tomorrow, is the thought I kept coming back to.

The guy who runs the place, who signed me up, who looks like Jesus, was in the office at the desk. He walked through the gym a bit later, and his black shorts were so short you can practically see what he was having for lunch.

The big serious muscle bound guy is in the gym. He always seems to be in the gym, I guess that is how you get big and muscle bound. He has what I’d call a weather beaten face. He has his hair pulled up into a bun on the top of his head – actually, does he? That is what I am seeing in my head, but I’m not really sure now if that is true? He is always in track pants, which he always has pulled up high on his waist giving him what resembles a girl’s peach of an arse, rather than a bloke’s square butt.

There is an old guy too, looking kind of desperate, like his doctor has told him to exercise. He has spindly white legs and knobbly knees, which shake a little as he uses the machines. His shorts and t-shirt hand oddly on him as if his body is not used to wearing them. He looks at me like bunnies-in-the-head-lights, or rabbits-caught-in-the-cross-hairs inbetween exercise machines. In my mind, he looks terrified of something, quite possibly the tough of death reaching out to him.

2.45pm. The sad faced chick with her cast down eyes works out in the gym. She has on tight, green track pants that show off her sagging middle-aged arse, the crack in her butt resembling a mouth facing downwards puckered to suck water from a creek. When she has finished in the gym, she gets on the bike next to me with her slumped over style, and permanently defeated expression, just as I’m getting off my bike. I’m always glad when the bike portion of my workout is over, it is the hardest part, the weights are easy.

There is a cute young guy with lovely, luxurious hair who looks like he’s got a hardon in his light coloured shorts. No seriously, I don’t think it is my imagination. He keeps adjusting it as if he is trying to hide it, which just draws my attention to it. And it is impressive. He keeps pulling his t-shirt down over it, but his t-shirt is anywhere long enough to do that.

2:48pm. I’m listening to Bruce Springsteen’s Working On A Dream, a CD I picked up cheap just recently. It’s pretty shit. 

3.11pm. I’m home.

3.30pm. I’m showered 

Sam takes the dogs for a walk, I decline the invitation to go with him. “No, I’m exhausted from the gym.” Even I’m guessing that is not the spirit. Too fucken lazy my still small voice says in my head.

“Ah, shut up,” says my little-miss-evil voice.

I lie on the couch. “Lovely,” says my little-miss-evil voice.

4.30pm. Sam is back from the walk with the dogs, and he then goes straight to the supermarket.

I sign out of work. “Ah, back to the couch,” I say out loud. I stretch my arms over my head for effect.

Sam is back.

I’m lying on the couch. Yes, I am very comfortable thank you.

The sun is shining, it is a lovely afternoon.

 

They were quite partial to lying in the shade of the lovely green MGBV8, which made me a little nervous with heir harnesses being so close to the car's paintwork, but I am sure we were okay with that.