Hump Day

I dreamt last night I was with David, in a big dimly lit warehouse/show room, and we were inside a new luxury Toyota Crown which David was enthusing about. It was dark blue with a lighter blue interior. 

I told him that I wanted to see it in black and he said, 

“That’s okay, they can change the colour of the car from the office computer.”

The black sales guy came out to the driver’s window and David had trouble telling him we wanted to see it in black.

Then we were signing up to sell the Toyota Crown, the Toyota Supra and the Toyota Corolla in the business that the two of us had, that sold crushed velvet.

(We sold crimson, royal blue, emerald green and gold crushed velvet)

I was wondering where we would put the cars

I woke up. 6.20am.

I made coffee.

The security system for my work only works because it uses all of the employee’s private phones. And we all think this is okay? Really, is it okay? When companies renege on pay rises for their staff. And particularly, because my rich law firm reneges on giving its employees, for instance, the increase in super every time it happens. My rich law firm doesn’t give us increased super because it says we’re on total package contracts rather than salary plus super contracts, and that’s how they get away with not giving us increases in super. And yet they use all of our private phones to keep the company safe.

They make something like $1 billion per year.

That's what was going through my mind as I signed into work at 6.45am this morning.

Funny the things you think, hey? As the coffee was waking up my taste buds first thing. (Have I ever mentioned I make myself two coffee at once in the mornings) As the stupid security code was coming up on my phone. As my own laptop was firing into action in my peripheral vision.

It was an easy day, really, despite the whinge first thing. End of my working week, and you have to love that. 

The dogs slept at my feet all day. 

The postie is pretty used to the bulldogs running to greet him at the door when he delivers Sam & Charlie's parcels, practically, on a daily basis. IT guys? Sheesh!

That is so much how Buddy and Bruno used to lie together

 

Tuesday

Back to a much more sensible work arrangement, at home. Lovely.

I made coffee and signed into work at 7am. I'd answered all my emails by 8.30am.

I made porridge and a second coffee. I read the online news about Trump. he really is like that proverbial car crash that never stops giving.

When I was done, I checked my work emails, I'd received no more.

So, it was a gorgeous morning, so I headed outside and trimmed the creeper on my side wall. The two bulldogs lay on the dog bed near by and share chewed a big stick.

Now I am back at my work computer with more coffee and Bruno and Otto are lying side by side on the carpet next to me in my study.

Sam has been upstairs working since 9am.

You've just got to love working from home.

I re-wrote some of my poetry lately, I should do more of that, while I wait for all of my, what is the modern corporate terminology, internal customers to cough up their data. Waiting, waiting, waiting... 

I had all my work done by lunch time. 

We ate curry chicken Laksa for lunch.

It was a gorgeous, sunny day. I mean really gorgeous, crips and bright and warm. Sparkling, it was sparkling.

I decided to write more of my story Sam & Cameron two straight boys who have a fascination with a couple of gay guys at a dance party. 

It doesn't matter what I write as long as I'm not staring at YouTube mindlessly.

Monday Morning

5:55am. I leave the house. It’s still kind of dark, even if the sky is just starting to turn blue. It’s crisp, nice, I like it. I’m daring to wear a T-shirt today for the first time, but I’ve seen Jason Jones and the Irish guy wear T-shirts too, so fuck it why not. It’s comfortable.

I’m walking up Gertrude Street, the only people around are gym boys going to the 24 hour gym and Indian cleaners cleaning all the businesses this time of morning.

I walk up the middle of Gertrude Street nonchalantly. Not a care. It’s clear in each direction.

5.58am. A tram comes up Brunswick Street. I have to run a bit to make sure I catch it. I get my Myki card out just in case. I’m sweating from the small amount of exertion I’ve just applied. Grrrr. It’s a bit humid, so I was just naturally a little sweaty anyway. I hate it that I sweat with such ease. I get out my trusty Barack and Michelle Obama postcard fan I keep in the pocket of my satchel. I don’t care what people think. Fuck them all. 

There is a handsome guy with a backpack the straps for which across his chest look like a bulletproof vest. It makes him look hot.

6.09am. We’re at William Street.

I’m going to be at work even earlier than last fortnight.

I’m still sweating.

6:10 am. Oh thank God, do you like how I use that ironically, I’m out in the fresh air of the morning and it feels good. Some loon comes across Collins Street, rapping loudly as I cross William Street. Don’t give up your day job, buddy. Chuckle, like he’s got a day job.

What am I doing here so early? I’m an idiot. Is it because I’m getting up at 5am instead of 5:30am? I guess it has to be. I should review that change. I could have got up an hour later.

6:13am. I’m in the lift.

I make coffee.

I’m listening to Adele’s 25.

7am. I make more coffee. The day is light outside.

Listening to Adele, somehow makes me think about me dying and Sam living on his own, and Mark dying, and I can’t see to work with the tears in my eyes. Funny the things you think.

Who thought I’d end up here? I think to myself, as I get a tissue and wipe my eyes.

Ah, that Adele, what a trip. Her voice is gorgeous, as are her lyrics.

Monday morning.

Eventually, everyone came in, of course.

And I had to share my morning with them.

It was kind of a shame.

In Bunnings With The Bulldogs

It's a gorgeous Sunday, the sun is shining, the sky is blue. We walk to the shops, bulldogs on leads, recycle shopping bags over our shoulders.

I’m in Bunnings with the two Bulldogs. 

Sam goes to look at shower screens, to update his rental bathroom. 

Bruno, Otto and I go and look at plant pots, I’ve got two Japanese Maples I have been keeping alive in pots for quite a few years. After we’d looked at the pots, Bruno and Otto and I head to the plant section just to browse and pass time until Sam is done. 

When we get close to the back door leading out to the outside section, there is a fat Asian kid (Oh, all twelve'ish, thirteen'ish year olds are shapeless rectangular blobs of flesh, before you get all squeamish about my characterisation) in a yellow smiley face t-shirt, his equally blobbish younger brother was in a matching shirt, with a frog clicker. He realises that he gets Bruno’s attention when he clicks the frog noise, so he keeps clicking it. 

He stands at the end of the isle with a smug look on his face.

I’m trying to get Bruno out the back door into the gardening section and the kid keeps clicking the damn frog noise making Bruno turn around repeatedly and head in the wrong direction. Remember, I have two bulldogs on leads. As soon as I get Bruno to do what I want, the kid clicks the clicker again.

There is a dog-leg in the aisle right there, and people just naturally gather and bank up, and with Bruno blocking the isle they bank up even more, as I’m trying to get Bruno to move. The kid continually clicks the frog noise, Bruno continually resists going out the door, more and more people bank up, and I really want to slap this kid's smug face so badly.

But, then, I can't be wanting-to-slap-his-face too much because I have two beautiful dogs and I can help but admire, just a little, him wanting to play with one of them, have fun with one of them, you know, once I got the two of them out of that bottle-neck of people in that isle of Bunnings.

I like playing with them too. What can I say? In a calmer moment, it's funny. Chuckle.

We bought groceries and walked home with multiple reusable shopping bags over each shoulder in the sun shining down.

Saturday

We did more house things today, of course we did. If you put stuff on Market Place for free, it saves you having to haul it to the tip, not to mention paying for the privilege. We've got rid of a bed, a mattress and a (huge) barbecue that way. 

I'm sick of doing house things now. And, of course, Sam doesn't drive. But what can you do? I haven't written anything for weeks because of it.

I stay up late watching car shows on YouTube. Late Brake Show with Johnny Smith and an Audi AU Quattro, a MG Maestro Turbo, and (handsome) Greg James M5 BMW.

Sam and Bruno went to bed some time ago. Those two are nanas alike when it comes to going to bed early. Bruno gets up at practically the same time at the end of each day with his time-for-bed look on his face. And Sam gets up and goes to bed with him.

Otto is a great little sleeper, my 3/4 bulldog (6 months old tomorrow) still fits width ways on the couch seat, snoring like a bull dog, his tongue hanging out as he sleeps just like a bulldog. He's recovered. from his illness, I think, so far so good these last few days.

Saturday night on the couch.

And now I'm watching Andrew Scott and Paul Mescal, they are both kind of perfect. I want to see their new movie, All Us Strangers. It opened yesterday.

Australia Day

Woolworths stops stocking the Australia Day landfill because the sales for which has been in steady decline over recent years. It was an economic decision.

Peter Dutton feigns moral outrage to get his ugly face in the news publicly shitting his pants calling on people to boycott Woolworths for this outrage. 

Funny how the conservatives are all for a market economy unless they see votes in it.

Dodgy Angus comments, but who listens to him? Mate, you were wiped out at the last election, pretty boy, I think. Who cares what you think. 

And Susan Ley squawks like a parrot but won’t confirm that the Liberal party will reverse Labor’s extended tax cuts to a far greater percentage of the population than those earning $200 thousand a year if they were elected.

I don't care about Australia Day. Nyr, whatever. I think the people who care about Australia Day, or at least, those people who are belligerently stuck to the existing date, are the people who have probably never left the country. Travelling overseas teaches you what it is to be Australian. 

No matter where you go, or who you see, or what you do, you know the great southern land is waiting to take you back into its embrace. And that is what it means to be Australian.

Walking The Dogs

Mid morning, I go have a shower. I look a fright, I haven’t had a shower for a few days, one of the delights of working from home. Dirty undies, scratch your arse, no one cares.

I take the dogs for a walk, like I did yesterday morning, when I don’t have to work, and Sam does.

We met Apollo the Groodle as soon as we leave our gate who rolls over prostrate for the Bulldogs. The owner, with her two daughters, exclaims, “What does that mean?”

“I guess it means he’s not afraid.”

“He’s going to be big,” she says when I say Otto is 6 months old.

“I hope not, I say. “Just the same size as Bruno, please.”

We met Bronski the French bulldog before we get to George Street. He’s a live wire, as French Bulldogs often are.

“He’s going to be big,” she says when I say Otto is 6 months old.

“I hope not, I say. “Just the same size as Bruno, please.”

I hear the magpies call at Napier Street.

It’s warm enough for shorts and T-shirts. Even if the sky is grey, the Sun is trying to shine.

There’s a line of girls lined up down Young Street to Gertrude Street, like I imagine Taylor Swift fans to be, fat and plain with nothing much else in their lives. I have no idea what they’re doing. I'm guessing there must be some sort of pop up clothes shop, but I'm not interested enough to work out where.

Brunswick Street > Johnson Street. We cross the road and walk on the north side of Johnson Street so we don’t have to keep saying hello to [name] every time we walk past her shop. I like [name] and all, I do, but we don’t have to do the hello thing on every walk.

I like tuning out on dog walks, I like clearing my mind, it is sort of meditative just me and my dogs. I don't even take headphones and listen to music any more, just clear the mind and hear the sounds of the day.

We meet up with the small curly-haired dog that comes out his front door barking and hangs out in his front yard sticking its head through its front fence to say hello. He’s quiet as we sniff noses, but barks as soon as we walk away. His owner comes out. She apologises for his barking.

“That’s okay,” I say, “I quite like seeming him every day.” And I do, on Bruno and Otto's walks.

I chat to Jackson Wag, my next door neightbour, at my gate. He’s off to the pool for a swim.

11:41am. We’re home.

In the afternoon, we head over to Sam’s rental so the guy can measure up for new carpet before he gets new tenants.

So, we worked on the house all day. Our day for working on the house consists of about 2 hours, 1pm. to 3pm, usually, maybe a little longer.

Sam had bought some venetian blinds which were the wrong size, which we took back to the store nearest home, but Sam had forgotten a part of the packaging so we had to drive all the way back across the northern suburbs to get it, and then back again.

Two thumbs up, Sam. “Good job,” I said.

I've Never Had Trouble Sleeping

I stayed up late, after Sam went to bed, falling asleep on the couch.

When I finally woke up and went to bed, I lay in bed for some time, the last thing I remember was my watch on my bedside table saying 2am. It kept lighting up in the dark as if to tell me how long I hadn’t slept for. Taking an hour to fall asleep for me is unheard of. (Of course, I had slept for a few hours on the couch in the lounge room, before this)

I was worried about losing friends, because I am good on my own and I don’t need constant contact, which, I have found, friends don’t like. And I find that I’m not really interested in friends just for the sake of it. I think about conversations with friends and I think who cares, you know, I'm not really interested in discussing Married At First Sight, or the latest gossip about whoever. I’m sure that’s not going to do me any good in future, whatever future there is.

(But then I lay on the couch and watch When Karen’s Attack, we’re a contradictory bunch, now aren’t we)

I miss Tom, and I miss Simon and I miss Anthony and I even miss Fergus, all those smart, interesting guys, I've lost. It’s like I lost the A team and now I’m left with the B team. It hardly seems fair. Is that terrible?

I regret the fact I haven’t really done anything for 20 years, you know, nothing really fabulous, nothing amazing. I've just worked like everyone else. Oh, if only I could go back to living in the first house I bought when I moved out of home and change my uni course to the Arts. Oh, if only I could go back to having just left school and take singing lessons. Oh, if only I could go back to my school days and change to learning piano.

I worry about the future and that it is only going to get shittier from here, that the best bits are probably behind me. I worry about not having very much motivation in life . People have left me because I just don’t do anything (amazing). Mark did, if the truth was known.

I wish I'd done amazing things.

It’s all negative thoughts now a days as I lay in bed. It’s not the happy, joyous thoughts I used to have as I lay in bed when I was younger. I used to look forward to going to bed because of the things I’d think about when I pulled the doona over me. And then I worried about that.

Obviously, eventually, I fell asleep.

I Dreamed

I dreamed I was in a hotel, or maybe it was an apartment, and we’re all heading to Luna Park and Oprah Winfrey was with us dressed in white and I was the last one down to meet everyone out the front of the building. Everybody else was waiting in the street for me.

I came downstairs and the stairs stopped on the first floor and to get from the first floor of the ground floor you had to get in the lift to do the last floor, so I get in the lift and two other people get the lift with me and push buttons, and the lift goes up instead of down. I can see everyone waiting for me at the front from the balcony of the first floor out of the lift.

I go to a floor above where I get put in truck, or car and I’m a part of a tour that goes up Canterbury Road near to where we used to live.

I’m trying to send a message to Sam and Mark and Luke (Mark and Luke seem to often be in my dreams lately) and Oprah Winfrey, but my phone won’t work and all my messages turn into pictures and photographs and I can’t get my phone to work.

I go on this tour with all these other people and it takes forever, but finally, I’m delivered back to the foyer of the building, and I jump out of the truck and I run to go out the front fully knowing that no one‘s gonna be waiting for me any longer and then I realise I’ve dropped my phone and I have to go back to the tables in the lobby of the building and asked the people I was on the tour with if my phone was there and they all say no, and as I start to walk away, finally defeated, knowing I can't contact my friends, one of the girls picks it up and says, “Unless this is it?” And she hands it to me. And I wake up as I take the phone in my hand, but I can't feel it.

6:26 am, I’m awake. 

Monday

Monday? What can I say? Rye bread with Vegemite and coffee.

White supremacists attack a Slovakian gay bar chanting "they will not replace us." The gays won't replace you? No. But they might restyle your hair and help you with your wardrobe.

It was revealed the Queen tried to hide her wealth. Really? Doesn't everyone? But she got parliament to stop wills that would have otherwise been public being made public.

The Middle East is tearing itself apart. When isn't it?

Trump is in cognitive decline. The world may be saved from the orange monster yet.

I worked all day.

I took the dogs for a walk after work.

We ate spaghetti Bolognese for dinner.

That was it. Monday.

Everyone Is In It For The Money

We went to Jill's and ate home made pumpkin soup with pumpkin seed toast and lashings of butter.

The bulldogs played with the corgis in the back yard.

Jill had reflux tablets for me which I usually get on a script, but somehow I'd manage to run out of repeats and I can't get an appointment with my doctor untill 29th Jan. 

Oh, I know, I couldn't be bothered arguing with the doctor's receptionist, she is a nazi. It is like all those professionals now a days, it's all about money.

"You will have to make an appointment with the doctor to get your scripts renewed."

"But it is a script I get all the time."

"You'll still need an appointment."

For which I pay $80.

You know the vet said to me on the last appointment with Bruno, after he had attended to a couple of the needs Bruno had. 

"That's your time up, anything else and you'll have to make another appointment."

I was really taken a back. I'd never had that before. But that's what they do now.

That Fucken Hurt

10.18am. I message Jill for lunch, I hadn't seen her for some time.

Jill

       Love to, but already having lunch with a friend in Templestowe

10.19am. We’re in My Pet Warehouse getting tins of digestive care food for Otto, who has nearly recovered from his illness. There is a beautiful brown Border Collie in the shop at the same time as we are. The bulldogs and the Border Collie were all waggy tails and snif snif sniffing.

10.20am. Jill replies, Sunday?

10.34am. I’m in Faraday Cafe buying Rye sour dough loaf for breakfast. 10% surcharge for the weekend is really a bit much.

Christian Fletcher:

  I'm not sure about Sunday, so I message back, I have to go to church

Jill Willson:

Very funny

Christian Fletcher:

(I was dictating a message into my phone to send to Jill, I was looking down at my phone when I hit my head on a tree branch over hanging the footpath, and nearly knocked myself out)

With the rest of the delusional... shit fuck, I know, I know it’s bleeding, I can tell, it fucking hurt, really fucking hurt. Shit!… and my dictation was still dictating what I said to Sam.

(I decided just to send the whole message to Jill. Then an explanatory message)

I was dictating into my phone, and I hit my head on a low, hanging tree branch over the footpath, and my phone kept dictating

  Perhaps there is a God.

We were going for haircuts in the city after we'd got the dog food.

"Well, I guess that's my haircut done," I said.

"I guess," said Sam.

But I really wanted my hair cut, you know when it gets to that stage where it just needs to be done.

"I'm just going to ask straight up. I cut my head, but I still want a haircut, is that okay, do you still want to cut it?"

So, thats what we did. We walked Bruno and Otto into the city. Sam had his hair cut first. Then it was my turn. I did my little speech. She replied, "Can I have a look."

I showed her. She said, "I can just cut around it, if that is alright with you?"

"Yeah, fine with me."

So, I got my hair cut, even with a wounded head. As I sat in the chair, I wondered what kinds of diseased heads hairdressers are exposed to?

Then we went and ate Thai for lunch.

Jill didn't reply till much later, as she'd already got into her car and was driving to her fiend's place for lunch.

"OMG! I just read your message. Are you okay."

"Yes, fine. Just had some sense knocked into me finally."

It's Nonsense

Everything doesn't happen for a reason, that's just nonsense. It always makes me cringe when I hear people say it.

Where do people get this stuff from? I think it is from a want to be comforted, you know, lull them into some false sense of security that there is a reason for all of this.

So many things just happen randomly, it makes the 'for a reason' argument just laughable.

I guess, the fact that life is pointless – other than to reproduce – doesn't give people a lot of joy. People don’t like the fact that they are essentially pointless. 

It seems to me that people so easily believe bullshit rather than face reality.

People become delusional about somethings. Delusion seems to be a very human condition. It's how Trump and the Liberal Party get elected. It's how religion is sold.

Why Is Otto Sick

I was standing in the back yard enjoying the sun on my skin. First day of my weekend. Ha, ha.

I was gazing around the garden. My eyes casually landed on the Fortnight Lillies Otto, the little bugger, had been chewing and making a mess of. He'd got right down to the roots on some of the plants.

I pulled the broken plants out, cut them up and put them in the bin.

So then it was all cleaned up, so that was good. I went back to the sun on my face.

Don't you love the sun warming the skin on your face? I know I do. Just a bit, momentarily, like a short meditation. Just to take a moment, when the rest of the world fades away.

I casually gazed back at my handy work, it was then that I wondered if I should check if the Lillies Otto had been chewing are toxic, so I wandered inside and googled them.

Lillies are toxic to dogs and can cause gastrointestinal (GI) upset diarrhoea and vomiting. The most toxic part is the rhizome.

There you go.

I should have looked after him better. I've watched him chew the Lilly, thinking I should stop him. I'm usually onto such things, dog owner fail. Poor Otto. I went in and cuddled him.

Otto Goes To The Vet

Otto went to the doctor, the dog doctor, and it was decided he had gastro and he was prescribed probiotics and Hills Digestive Care canned dog food. That's it. He should get better in day, or so. As per usaul, if it persists, bring him back.

He is to stay home, so he dosn't give it to any other dogs.

Sam took him to the vet. I took Bruno for a walk, just he and I, after I had finished for the day.

Otto Is Sick

Now Otto is sick. Explosive diarrhoea (I can never spell that work. It seems spell checkers struggle with it too) and vomiting.

I'm just waiting for the vet to open top make an appointment.

It's a weird one, an upset stomach, as there isn't all that much a vet can do, but what else do you do when your pup is sick but take him to the vet.

The vet will usually say, put him on a chicken and rice diet and bring him back if it hasn't cleared up by the end of the week. That will be $150.

Monday In The Office

My day in the office. I some how misjudge the time completely and end up getting to the office at 6.15am. The days get light so early in summer it's hard to tell the time.

"What am I doing here so early?" I say to myself across the empty office.

I plug my laptop in. I make coffee.

I pig out at the barista breakfast provided for the staff, 3 hours later, so much so that I don't eat the lunch Sam prepared for me. I take it home.

Sam hurts his back stretching on the couch during the day. 

"Strenuous day?" I say to him.

"Ha ha," he replies.

Sunday

We take the dogs for a walk early, as its going to be hot. We see all our dog owning neighbours when we go walking early. Everyone is keen to get out and about before the tourists arrive in the suburb late morning.

Sam and I go and pick up our new glasses mid morning. We both go a new pair as soon as our health benefits were. renewed for the year.

We buy new t-shirts and shorts in K-Mart, 100% cotton and on sale. 100% cotton, (you have to grab them when you see them)

After that we eat Hoi An food in Richmond. The place is full.

I sleep on the couch in the afternoon, lovely. What else is a Sunday for?

The bananas have gone black in the fruit bowl, so I make a banana cake later in the afternoon.

We watch Fool Me Once. Nyr? The plot has more holes in it than a brothel full of prossies. There are extraneous scenes that aren't connected to the story in the end.

Bruno Is Sick

Bruno has had a hotspot on his neck this week, probably cause by Otto chewing his neck all the time. A hot spot is a bacterial skin infection, it isn't terribly serious, but as with all infections you want to clear it up as soon as you can.

It was healing quite well with applications of Betadine diluted with black tea - the vet would later say the black tea did nothing, but you are supposed to dilute Betadine before you use it on your dog, so what the hell - until yesterday when the wound appeared to be wet again.

Of course, we didn't see this until 5.30pm, but I still called the vet anyway, just on the off chance they had an appointment, which they didn't, so I made an appointment for 8am this morning.

8.10am. We saw our vet. He's quite intense, and quite serious, I can't ever see him having a joke with his patients. He's a good very, don't get me wrong. 

Bruno got ointment.

He had his imunisation updated, it was over due, but I'm not really that strict about it. Puppies and old dogs need it more so. Anyway, he'll have to have a booster as it's been too long.

So, you know, $300 later, we're as good as gold.

One Glorious Friday

8am. I was awake. I thought I was the last one up until I heard Bruno’s breath under the bed as I got dressed.

I make coffee.

8.15am. Bruno arrives downstairs. We sit on the couch together and read the news.

Trump accuses judge and Letitia James of bias in surprise court address during fraud trial closing arguments.

Florida school district pulls dictionaries from class room for ‘sexual conduct’ descriptions. (We hold America up as a symbol of what?)

Melania Trump's mother Amalija Knavs dies, aged 78. (Perhaps, she died of shame)

Selena Gomez, the actress and singer has been tapped to portray '70s music icon Linda Ronstadt in a brand new biopic. (I guess they are going to make biopics of everyone? You know, screw every last cent out of the idea)

It took me 30 years to learn to love lapsang souchong tea – but now it’s all gone horribly wrong, with supply issues. (Yuk!)

8.45am. I make peanut butter toast and coffee. Despite repeated reminders Sam has forgotten to buy vegemite. Grrr.

9:13am. I leave the house with Bruno and Otto. It’s gonna be hot today, so we are getting our walk done in the relative cool.

I have some rubbish in my hand to put in the bin on the corner, bulky items that would just fill our garbage unnecessarily. It is one of my petty tyrannies against the council making our rubbish collection potentially more expensive recently. Anyway, something in my hand (said the actress to the bishop) just doesn’t really work with the two of them specially starting out. They tie me in knots. The colourful old receptionist from Biba comes the other way and comments on me being tied in knots. What can I say?

The Sun is shining. It’s a glorious morning.

The bulldogs are feisty as we walk up Gertrude Street. The two of them do synchronise wee’ing on the (large) garden cnr George Street. (The one the council replanted and which is now half dead)

A shirtless black guy with a ripped torso, just wearing basketball shorts, comes walking towards us at Napier Street, he has tattoos on his well developed chest. He smiles, and says hi, as we pass each other by.

A shopping trolley is pushed behind us up Gertrude Street with a squeaky wheel, just like in Thoroughly Modern Millie… no no no, my dictation catches me out… “Shoo Shoo, Shoo Shoo.”

Walking down Brunswick Street, a cute well-built, Italian guy comes the other way. Big eyes, toothy smile. He smiles at the Bulldogs. And then smiles at me. Yes, good morning, I think.

Straight after the Italian boy, a baby faced Middle Eastern guy in a black t-shirt and black track pants with a big bulge in the front of his track pants. He is prattling away in, I don't know, Persian on the phone as I pervert at how hung he is. Nice, I think.

There are chicks in exercise gear, boys in shorts with thick calves, women in headscarves, old women with walking sticks, a fat man in a hoodie walking with us, towards us, or away from us.

We meet a dog owner friend outside the Connie Benn Centre, she says she still misses Buddy.

9.35am. Corner of Moor Street and Brunswick Street, a cute round face, black guy comes towards us in skin tight shorts and t-shirt. He gives way to a car turning into Moor Street from Brunswick Street. I want to push him out in front of the car. It’s your right of way, sunshine, take it, claim it.

9:44am. Approaching Victoria Street, a guy in tight jeans and black hair looking like Oliver out of Saltburn gets out of his car and buys a parking ticket. Then, as the bulldogs take a shit and generally faff about, he takes out a banana peels it down and starts eating it suggestively.

After we turn into Johnson Street, a bunch of babbling chicks walks along behind us yapping on. Thankfully they turn off at Young Street.

A guy in black shorts with good legs walks in front of us. He’s got one of those strange haircuts that is cut around in the straight line on the curve of his skull.

The sun shines beautifully. The sky is radiant blue. The problem with walking at this time of the morning is none of the dog bowls are out for the dogs to have a drink. They both pant with big, pink tongues.

And the epidemic of smashed glass on the footpath continues. I think the smash glass everywhere is a sign of some sort of trouble in society, surely? At best, it’s a sign of no one caring about their environment, at worst it’s a deliberate attack on the environment they live in. And that just reads unhappiness.

9:50am. I look up Rochester Street and two chicks have parked their car in the middle of the street to unload it. Despite the fact there are plenty of car parks in which they could park. Another sign of the times. 

“I’m unloading here do you mind?” she'd say if anyone questioned her.

“Yes, I do mind, you are blocking the fucking street.”

“How dare you speak to me like that…”

“Did I add, you bitch.”

9:55am. As we approach, Chapel Street, a gormless skinny guy in a black t-shirt and white pants with a blue floral pattern, that look distinctly like girl’s pants, is vaping as he comes the other way.

10:03am. Corner of our street, the Sister’s of Charity are approaching from the distance in further up the street. They look like a couple of ghosts floating along the footpath. As we meet up, one of the nuns says that Bruno and Otto look like twins.

A woman turns out of the last street before home with a Vizsla and walks towards Gertrude Street in front of us. The dog’s golden fur shining in the sunshine.

10:09am. We’re home.

1pm. I head down the street. The building work at 131 Smith Street is really loud, I assume really annoying people live on the east side of Gore Street.

I’ve nearly got to the corner of the street when I realised I’d forgotten my wallet. What is wrong with you? I say to myself? Is it the sun shiny day? Is it the blue sky?

It is a glorious day 27 degrees.

11:14 am. I walk into Woolworths. I am interested in buying some new white coffee mugs. We’ve broken quite a few in the last while. I am very particular about my white coffee mugs, I only like certain mugs. Yesterday’s attempt to buy some in Spotlight was a dismal failure. I, actually, like the Woolworths brand, but Woolworths in Fitzroy doesn’t stock them. I see they stock them in the Moonee Ponds site, and they look promising. A four pack for $10.

So, I go down to the Fitzroy shop to see what they have, just on the off-chance that they do stock them. They don’t.

Oh yes, I know, the dizzy heights of life, yes, yes, it’s all glitz and glamour here, but sometimes you just have to go and buy new mugs.

11.21am. St Marks Recycle. I get an old James Stewart, Dean Martin, George Kennedy & Rachel Welsh Western called Bandolero (1968)

1148 films in my collection.

I get a Charlie Chaplin movie Lamplight, (1952) billed as his greatest talkie. I see it is badly scratched, but at $1 I’m willing to give it a go. It turns out to be no good.

11:35am, I leave St Marks Recycle.

I get to the bakery and see a black Subaru Outback pull up and the cute son, shaggy blonde hair, young surfer look, gets out and walks up Smith Street so I follow behind him. Just because he walks in front of me, you know as you do. Board shorts, t-shirt. Growing into an adult. I’m sure the girls, or the boys, have noticed him already. I wish I was his age again, the destruction caused by climate change in the future and his potentially sad end, withstanding. Knowing what I know now, I guess. Sure. Could you imagine? If there was a god, we would. You know, if you had a real god that actually did god shit, and not some mythical uptight representation of conservative values, that would be possible.

A muscle, I reckon gay, guy with an incredible arse walks past me in shorts and singlet. He hugs another guy he meets in the street coming towards us with more than just ‘a friend’ vibe. The muscles in that guy’s butt had to be seen to be appreciated.

11:49am. I’m home.

We ate burgers for lunch with large chips. Sam accuses me of being, oh, I don’t know what, for wanting two separate large chips.

I get to re-writing my current short story. I add the things I’ve thought of in the last day, or so. I re-write the end.

I put the fan on and watch YouTube for the afternoon.

Sam eventually comes and lies on the couch and laughs inanely to TikTok videos.

The sun sparkles outside, the day remains glorious, even if we’re not out in it. We can still see it being glorious beyond the back doors.

Toasters & Can Openers

Toasters and can openers never work. Bugger the better mouse trap, make me a better can opener, or toaster.

Who has a toaster that cooks toast evenly? There is always a side that cooks differently, at worst one side is cooked, and one side is raw, or a version of that. I don't know how many shit toasters I've had.

Don't get me started on can openers that don't cut lids off tins. And there isn't much of an alternative, now is there? Cut the top off vertically, or cut the top off horizontally, it doesn't make much difference.

Toasters, can openers, give me a break.

Last Day Of The Week

4:25 am, I get up and piss. I had full on dreams, but I seem to be forgetting them as soon as I wake up now a days. 

I was having some weird dreams which I thought I’d remember, but of course I don’t. 

After I went back to bed, my mate Jeff Titan (who I have always fancied, shh, don't tell anyone) is in his undies drinking lime daiquiris while a Filipino woman called Hilda did a pedicure with him sitting there with cottonwool between his toes? He has nice thick, bare thighs coming out of his white Calvins.

7am. I make coffee and I sign into work.

I realise the expected immanent heart attack, from the last few days, is just muscle pain from the pimple on my left tit that I keep scratching, and have been scratching, absentmindedly. Stupid me.

I'm listening to Sam Smith. I was always a fan of his second album, but I am liking his other albums now too.

Charlie was going to be overseas with his mother until he went back to uni, but he announces he'll be back soon, in a week. Sam is pissed off as he was enjoying not having to cook for him. There is a whole family drama going on with his mother and her boyfriend and it appears Charlie is now bailing on them.

I wish I could bail on the drama, but Sam is making my ears bleed with constant updates.

I sign out of work early, when I have no more work to do.

And that is the end of my week.

Welcome Back To The Real World

First day back for everyone from the break, although it is kind of quiet on that front.

There seem to be so may things that need fixing, it is just one of those days where problems come at me all day, like cars speeding towards a multi road intersection not controlled by traffic lights, and all the cars are speeding towards the exact some spot all at once, and I have to catch them all.

My head spins, and I get anxious about it all. I never used to get anxious about anything.

I wonder, later, if I got everything correct, with the stuff I fixed, which I am sure I did, but it would only take one thing to be wrong, but there probably isn't.

But it was like that all day, no sooner had I fix one problem, there was another, and another, and I just had to go from one to the other, without catching my breath in between.

Don't you hate days like that, I know I do.

Welcome back.

I wake up at 4.30am. I had a dream about Tom. We are in a pool with another guy smoking a joint. Tom is using the joint to get this other guy stoned so he can pick him up. So he is giving this other guy all the joint, and I am getting nothing, so much so, I have to say to him that I was getting none of it.

I wake up and go for a piss. I lie awake in the dark and think about work, and how I still have a lot to get right. 

I start thinking about the 3 short stories I have unfinished.

And I can't sleep.

I get up at 5am, not that I am going to do any work, that would be craazzyy.

Milo is very pleased to see me, with the two dogs he doesn't get much of a look in any more.

I sit on the couch with coffee at 5am in the morning with Milo cuddled up to my left leg. It is dark outside.

5.35am. Milo hops off the couch suddenly. Then I hear claws on the tiles and Bruno arrives in the lounge room. He goes outside immediately for a wee. It is just starting to get light outside and the sky is like one huge grey/blue tile, just starting to glow ever so slightly.

The big snuffly wuffly is making lots of noise. He sits up on the couch next to me, settles down and goes back to sleep.

Weird Summer

This is the weirdest summer I’ve ever known, and I’m talking about Melbourne, you know the city with the reputation for the most changeable weather. Not that I am really complaining, I’d rather this than 40 degrees, but it is still fucken weird.

It's been like some tropical wet season, up north. It has reminded me of Hanoi in away.

Later, I hear it has been the wettest start to summer since records began.

Climate change anyone?

Last day Of Holidays For Sam

Sam and I have been enjoying the morning, having lunch and then been leaving home for Sam's rental property around 1pm, 2pm, then we've been finishing at 4pm and coming home. 

It is a wonder we've got anything done with those hours, but we've got a lot of it done. I guess, it was a good thing that it was in pretty good shape to start with and we've just been freshening it up, so to speak.

We've been coming home exhausted, none the less, covered in sanding dust and whatever. Paint on our hands. Filer under our fingernails.

We've been getting rid of the rubbish the tenants left behind. They had stored every box every appliance they have ever bought, plus the polystyrene that came with them. There is a 5 foot stack of moving boxes sitting in the back yard that they never used. Why they'd want so many who knows? And now, of course, they are a pile of rain ruined cardboard.

It rained all day today, which is exhausting in itself when you are having to go out in it and do stuff, be productive. Good thing it was warm at the same time, otherwise it could have been miserable, but it wasn't miserable. It was quite nice, in a way, feeling the rains drops on my face.

Oh, it wasn't raining this morning when we took the dogs for a walk. Bruno has a hotspot on his neck, most likely caused by Otto chewing on his neck, as puppies do. Otto's teeth probably pieced Bruno's skin at one point and bacteria got in and voila a skin infection.

Anyway, because of the hotspot, and due to the two of them charging around the place like mad things when we've been trying to work, we have been leaving Bruno at home and just taking Otto for the days work, hours of work.

So, we've been walking both of them in the morning before we left. The usual people haven't been saying how beautiful Bruno is, when they see the big red shaved scabby patch on his neck. Well, I guess you wouldn't, hey. It's not really very serious, it just takes a little time for it to heal.

Last days of holidays for Sam, he has been complaining that he wants to chuck it in and stay on holidays for the rest of his life, you know, like you do when your holidays come to an end.

I've got another big bag of rubbish to dispose of sitting on our front veranda. It's amazing to think we might just get the place cleaned up with our doing a hard rubbish collection.

There are just 3 more TVs that we are going to drop off at The Salvos. Three flat screen TVs? Why wouldn't they take 3 flat screen TVs with them, the previous tenants? They were always complaining about not having any money. It is hardly surprising, hey?

The last thing is some new carpet, but that'll be the last thing.

Nearly there.

Vaccines

I had my sixth covid vaccine. I'd been thinking about it for a while, as the virus waxed and waned in society and news reports. It was when I heard, what was probably an American statistic, that 200 people a day were still dying from the virus, I decided I should get on and have a booster.

I do think it is anti-intellectual, and possibly a sign that our education system is really not as good as it should be, that all these conspiracy dickwatts continue a narrative against vaccines.

The best minds in society have developed a course of action to fight covid and all you have to do is turn up and have it. It doesn't really hurt. It doesn't even cost you anything. It is as easy as anything.

Why are there all these, I have to say stupid, people, who not only refuse to have the vaccine, but a lot of them are actively working against it. Why? That just seems like the most ridiculous thing.

Why would all these people choose to believe untrained and uninformed people on the internet, or wherever, rather than believe university educated people who are trained and work in the field.

It is just baffling. “Just get the bloody vaccine and stop arguing you twats.”

It took me all of about 30 minutes by the time I walked to the chemist, and the chemist saw me straight away and then I had to wait 15 minutes afterwards and it was done.

I don’t know why anyone wouldn’t do this? You can luxury in your stupidity in every other aspect of your life, if you want, but it’s free and you don’t get sick, it’s a no brainer.

I’ve had a flu shot every year and I haven’t had the flu for 20 years.

My Old Mate Dante

I heard about my mate, Dante, my old mate, Dante, my ex mate Dante.

From all accounts his life had gone to shit, not just accounts, his life had gone to shit. His life had been one long shitfest.

It’s just been one disaster after another disaster with him all the way through.

He’s gone bankrupt three times. He lost his beauty businesses. There’s been various disasters with cars that his parents have bought him. A brand new one that got written off with storm damage. Two cars that were his parents hand me downs that were just a shit show in themselves. There was a long saga about a V6 Audi he bought that ended up costing thousands of dollars more than it was even worth due to Dante's poor decisions. 

His spine disintegrated at his brain and had to be reconstructed, which put an end his beauty career permanently. Eventually he got a low paid entry level, office job, from which eventually one of the other office workers took offence to him, and he was sacked, claiming no fault of his own, of course. 

Then there was unemployment.

There’s been drug addiction, heart attacks while he’s been having drug filled sex, more heart attacks when he’s been taking more drugs.

He ended up in a townhouse that an old friend provided for him where he told me he’d sent off hundreds of resumes, but couldn’t crack it for a job with anybody, anywhere.

He then dealt crystal meth. Being on drugs and dealing drugs is never successful, so they say, and he was raided by the police. His friend threw him out of the townhouse because of the police raid. 

He went to court and very nearly went to jail because of his drug dealing, I think, only avoiding jail because of his health status regarding his heart attacks.

I saw him after all of that, and he said that he lost everything. He looked awful.

His parents disowned him, probably before this point, but certainly by this point.

He ended up in housing commission in Broadmeadows with absolutely no prospects for his life going forward.

And you know, you might feel sorry for him, you might ask me being his friend, why I didn’t help, or show sympathy for him and that’s because he was always really kind of nasty with it all. He had an over estimated sense of achievement/entitlement. I know deep insecurity fuelled his sense of being better than other people, or than he was.

He used to hang around with us when we all did drugs in the 90s in the party scene, and not really trying to be mean about it, but we are/were all the good looking successful ones and he wasn’t successful, or good looking. And you know, eventually, he was kind of nasty and bitter about it, as I guess you might well be.

He did once have a heart of gold, once, but that was a long time ago. He used to be fun and funny, albeit in the self deprecating kind, but that person left us a long time ago.

You know, Tom used to keep him in line, but Tom has been dead for a long time now.

The last I really heard about Dante was that he was going nowhere really fast, in poverty on welfare, in the outer suburbs.

So, I’ve just heard about him from my buddy, Kim, that Dante's parents died and left all of their money to his sister, so Dante contested the will and you know the courts are sympathetic towards no hopers with no means of support, and he something like a million dollars from their estate. So he bought himself a house in the leafy outer suburbs and a convertible Mercedes.

And what would I say to him if I saw him, well done Dante your life is an absolute shit show, but at least you’ve got a convertible Mercedes, well done. I would probably add dickhead in my mind. Too mean? Oh yes, too mean, I know, but this is a downward spiralling saga that has been going on for years, we all can't help but feel, What has he done now?

I told David. His first reaction was, "I thought she was dead." Actually, that might have been my first reaction, David is usually nicer than that.

But, we both laughed when I said, "She'll have lost the lot in 5 years."

"Two years," said David.

Just reminiscing, that's all. Water under the bridge, as they say. Dante is never going to contact me again, I think that is long since passed. So, none of this really matters anymore. It was just that Kim gave me the update, and you know I use this blog as a kind of journal.

It's just interesting what people do, how they lead their lives, don't you think?

It's Dumping On The Hump

Another day of work, my last for the week. I know, you can't feel too sorry for me.

I had a hoodie and track pants on when I got up. I shed the hoodie pretty quickly, and now I've changed out of track pants and into shorts. The rain is falling yet again today. The light outside is that kind of translucent grey glow. It’s one of those cool, wet, warm, muggy, balmy, unpredictable, fresh kind of days dressed up in a big raincoat of light that is cool and silvery bright. We have the windows and doors open. The glass is all fogged up. It is warm, warm for a rainy day. Muggy. I wish I had a dog named Stella. 

"STELLA!"

(Ha ha, is that a too obscure a reference to Streetcar Named Desire? Okay, sure, it isn't the unrelenting heat of Louisiana, quite yet, but it is still humid, hot, weird hot. Climate change in action. All the climate deniers are still denying climate change when we can, actually, see it happening before our very eyes. What is with that?)

Later...

I am pretty much finished by midday. Gotta luv the holidays.

Bruno lies across my feet asleep. He is better than a pair of slippers. Big furry boof.

Sam is out buying shoes.

I hope Sam is bringing lunch home, I'm hungry.

Back To Work

I went back to work, boo hoo. 1st day back. Why do holidays, even non holidays like I had, never last long enough? Why?

Having said that, work was pretty quiet and I had very little to do after, let's say, late morning. Really, not much.

I lay on the couch in the afternoon and watched some YouTube. I know, it's a hard life. Well, everyone is on holidays, so there really wasn't much going on. You've got to love working from home, remember, I have all my work done.

It rained and rained, the sky was grey all day. A very non-summer we are having, not that I am complaining, I much prefer a mild summer, to the hot summer that everyone was predicting. 

Sam tells me it is going to be 30 degrees for the rest of the week, which will be okay.

A bit of sunshine is nice too. Ha ha.

But no catastrophic bush fires yet, as were predicted. Of course, there is still time for them, of course, no use getting too cocky. 

But I really do like this mild kind of summer heat, it is what I am built for. You know that kind of temperature where you put a jumper on and then you are too hot, so you take it off again and it is almost too cold. Is that weird? I guess it is, hey? I put on track pants and I am too hot, so I put on shorts and I can feel the fresh breeze blowing around my legs. I've got track pants on now and I am sweating.

The difference now a days is that Melbourne is humid, where it never used to be.

Quiet New Year's Day

We were heading home from sanding and painting, and we were nearly there. New Year's Day, barely a car on the road, the streets almost deserted. It is so nice when it is like that, and so rare now a days.

We were approaching Brunswick Street on Victoria Street, Fitzroy (not Victoria Parade, but Victoria Street) and there were three old people about to cross, a man and two women on the left hand side.

The man set off across the intersection well ahead of our approach, like a warrior, all 190 centimetres of him, like a Doctor Seuss character leading with his neck. The two girls – truthfully neither had been girls since 1942 – stood back waiting for me to stop.

The taller one of the two, eyed me off something fierce, I could see she was no nonsense, and probably in her 70th year of marriage with he who went before them.

I'd come to a complete stop and they were still hesitating. I had my window open, so I said through the open space, "Come on ladies, give way to pedestrians, off you go." (I wish I'd thought of, Come on ladies, you don't have much time left, so get on with it, but I didn't)

The taller of the two strode across. When the shorter of the two got to the middle of the road she turned stiffly, you know how the old turn their whole body to turn to say something, she and the elasticity from her muscles and skin had long since parted company. She was chinless, thick glasses that gave her that appearance of eyes-too-big-for-her-head, like Grandma Yetta, and she had a mouth like a torn purse, which she opened and said, in one long monotone bleat, 

"You are going too fast. You are going too fast." 

If it had been a text it would have been in all capitals. Every word, and every syllable of every word had exactly the same emphasis. Pushed out with a sense of urgency, I assume, before she forgot what she was going to say altogether.

I don't know what speed I was going, it was probably 40 kph in that section of Victoria Street, maybe 50 kph, who knows with Melbourne's crazy stupid speed limits, and I wasn't going 40kph, probably not 50 kph either, because I'm not vying for social credits with the CCP. I wouldn't have been doing any more than 60 kph though. 

I had pulled up a car's length from the intersection so I hadn't got anywhere near them. I had stopped and given way to them, what was it to her how fast I was going before I got to her?

"No, not going too fast," I said through my window. "Not going too fast at all." There were a couple of things that flashed through my head to add, but I didn't.

She turned her whole body away from me, and started to shuffle to the other footpath. I think she'd just had her hair set. Would I call that blue, or purple? I'm sure I could see the edges of an incontinence pad in rear of her green nylon slacks, you know when their arse's resemble a small hatchback. Her trousers made the "ffff ffff ffff ffff ffff" sound as she waddled away.

I was driving my other car, which has a sports exhaust on it, so it is louder than your average car. (It got a road worthy last December to get club plates, so it isn't too loud) I think those who were teenagers before 1950 can get noise confused with speed. And with her bird like face and quadecker-focals, I'm doubtful I would have been in full focus even when she was criticising my speed to my face, and I could have had a chance of convincing her, at that point, I'm pretty sure, that I was riding a refrigerator bareback (my car is white) – that's without a saddle, and not without a condom, you understand, such was the age of her eyes.

But, I had to admire the wiry little terrier for having a go, I mean to say, you’ve got to respect that commitment in the face of danger, now don't you.

"Happy New Year," I called after her.

She raised her hand up to her side above her head without looking around, as if to say I am done with you.

But, I took it as Happy New Year to you too.