Friday

I took Otto to the dog park again today, but I hung onto the end of that long lead with both hands. I wasn't going to fall flat on my face again.

There was a woman who let her chihuahua off its lead, but every time Otto went near it she rushed over to protect it. Why bring your dog to an off-lead park, I thought. If that is how you are going to behave?

I kept re-writing my fiction blog for the rest of the day. It was a good day. Otto and I sat up almost to midnight. He is funny, he is such a sleepy boy when I wake him up to go to bed. I have to actually stand him up on his paws to wake him up.

In The Dog Park

OMG. I took Otto to the dog park on one of those super long leads to start training him for being off lead. 

He didn’t really get it to begin with, he just hung around me. But then I threw the ball and he charged off after it and when he got to the end of the lead, he literally pulled me straight off my feet and I took off through the air like superman. 

There were a couple of other people in the dog park, but they were looking the other way at the time.

I landed hard on my knees and my right arm. And we hobbled out of the dog park embarrassed.

Tradies

The roof guy with the two hot sons was supposed to be here today working on my roof. 11am and they haven't arrived.

Tradies?

I called him not long after and he couldn't even remember telling me he'd be here today.

Sheesh!

"I'm not sure how that one got through to the keeper," he said.

He said he wasn't ready to come to my place yet?

What can you say?

Get someone else, I hear you say? Well, these guys come recommended.

I have enough trouble finding tradies, I guess we all do in this world where profit is all anyone cares about, without them doing this?

It is annoying.

Er? Reality TV

I hate Taskmaster as much as I hate Lego Masters.

Taskmater is just puerile rubbish, with terrible production qualities. It really is just selling us the D list of entertainment.

Lego Masters is inane, with terrible production qualities. Usually, I love Hamish, but I think he is some of the problem. He is trying to be the funny man, when I think the compare needs to be the straight man.

Both shows are cheap and nasty.

I didn't think I'd get into MasterChef's 10 season. And admittedly, I have turned it off as much as I have watched it, but I have got into it when I have watched it.

And that's not to mention all the other ones, The Farmer Wants a Trike, Red Roses For Everyone, Married at First Bite, Shipwrecked, Lovewrecked, Bodywrecked, I'm A Loser Get Me Out Of Here and Fuck Island. All just a lot of shit.

One of the naughty bulldogs enjoying the sun

 

 

Since the box is still relatively full, can we conclude you can't even give these old books away?

Saturday Home In Front of the Fire

We took the dogs down the Yarra River for a run, and they were fine.

We took them op shopping, and they were fine.

We took them grocery shopping, where they got growly for the first time.

We ate pork rolls for lunch.

I re-wrote the stories on my fiction blog all afternoon.

David got us to watch a bipolar episode of a series on Prime called Modern Love, episode Take Me As I Am, so we'd understand him better, I guess. I think I understand him pretty well after all these years.

I turned off the TV and wrote some more. Short fictions. I like writing them. It's like a stream of consciousness which I make have a point once I am done.

I listened to Laura Nyro all night. Otto snored like a champion behind me all night on the couch as I sat on the floor at the coffee table.

Sam was with Bruno upstairs no doubt glue to TikTok, which he loves.

I lit an open fire. Every now and again I stopped and kissed Otto's face.

I Don't Really Get It

I don't get the dogs and this 'sibling rivalry' at all. They are perfectly fine to go walking together. They are perfectly fine meeting up in the hallway on the way out for a walk. In fact, they are still perfectly fine to be fed together in the kitchen, well, the atrium attached to the kitchen, like normal. But, if they meet up in the lounge room, or other parts of the house, at other times they will start to growl and will fight if allowed to.

It's annoying.

Our perfect dogs.

It hasn't got any better yet.

We took the dogs for a walk early this morning when it was still dark, we're taking the dogs for more walks as a kind of therapy, and a fox ran past us in our street and then down Little Victoria Street where it turned and looked back at us, it’s ears and it’s tail silhouetted against the rising morning sun, and then it turned and ran off down to Smith Street.

A Fox In Smith Street? It sounds like the title of a short film.

Nuclear Power

You have the CSIRO, the best scientific minds in the country, telling the conservatives that their nuclear power proposition/policy won’t work, that it is too expensive, take too long to build and result in permanent higher energy prices for the country. And then you get the masterminds of the Liberal Party doubling down like ignorant fools, or duplicitous con artists, telling Australia that the peer reviewed Australian scientists don’t know what they are talking about.

The usual suspects, Voldemort Dutton, Matt I-have-no-family-ties-to-the-coal-industry Canavan, Dodgy Angus, Jane my-cunt-smells-like-roses Hume, and Bridget no-truth-is-too-great-to-be-twisted McKenzie

I know who’d I believe.

The Dogs Get Their Balls Removed

Bruno and Otto had their nuts lopped off yesterday for their bad behaviour. There is no guarantee it will solve the current problem, but it might. Cross your fingers.

We went back to our old vet, he is a man who says what he thinks, and I like that in a person.

His parting words were,

"Good luck, I'm glad it is your problem and not mine."

Yay!

We'll see.

And true of life, that is what happens when you are a bad boy.

There are no guarantees this problem will improve. It's weird that we can walk them just fine, like nothing has changed. But, put them together in our lounge room and they will fight, just like that, out of the blue.

Dumb Engaged His Mouth

A guy abused me in the street accusing me of dog cruelty for owning a bulldog. He was really angry about it.

I turn around to see who it was and he says something about dog abuse, or abused bulldog puppies, bloody disgusting, 

Whatever, I think.

That is a new one. I've had people ask me about their breathing, and if it is a problem for them, but I've never been abused.

Another one that drank the stupidity cool-aid without bothering to read the instructions.

He was with a buddy. I referred to them as Dumb and Dumber. They crawled back into their van and drove away.

They are weird these people, they feel that they are entitled to say anything they want to you. And if I'd said, why don't you fuck off you ignorant bag of shit, he'd probably have got upset.

I didn't say anything, what is the point of engaging with a moron?

I'm In A Mood

I made a mistake today and kind of demanded something, in a nice way, of course. I got my days wrong, thinking it was already Tuesday.

The person involved questioned why I wanted it today, and I realised my error and sent them an apology email. 

"Apologies, I'm not thinking straight. Of course it is tomorrow. Sorry about that."

Anyway, their supervisor is Gabriel Chung, a pernickety, duplicitous, lying, smarmy, detestable individual, who is the person in questions supervisor.

He was cc'ed onto the email I sent.

He couldn't help but send me, what he thought was, a funny email.

"You should come into the office, obviously, being home is not making you think straight. smiley face."

I so wanted to send this reply.

"Why don't you go and fuck yourself, Gabriel."

Oh, could you imagine? HR would crap their panties. (Oh, I can almost smell it on the nylon)

I am really in the mood to do it today.

This Is Upsetting

Bruno and Otto’s fighting escalated during the day today. When we were out to lunch today, they wanted to fight each other in the street for the first time.

We spoke to a recommended dog trainer today. She said what is going on between Bruno and Otto is called sibling rivalry. She says that we have most likely missed the signs of it, you know, because we didn’t know what to look for. All I know, is that I had two dogs two days ago that were sharing a bed to sleep, even last night after the fighting they slept side by side, to two dogs now who seem to want to kill each other on sight today. She says we must get both of them de-sexed immediately. Then in a few weeks, we will pay her a large sum of money to train whatever it is that is making them behave like this out of them. 

In the meantime, we need to keep them separate as we don’t want the fighting to imprint, become something that they do and is difficult to stop. She didn’t specifically say it, but reading between the lines there is a chance that this cannot be cured. She didn’t say that, let me say again, and I know I can drama on, but I think that is what was implied.

Sam went upstairs with Bruno tonight. I'm in the lounge room with Otto, lying up against my right leg.

I tried to watch TV, I got as far as The Project but everyone’s drama just seemed so trivial and quite frankly annoying. So, I switched the TV off. Now it is just the rumble of the open fire.

I Have No Idea What To Do Next?

In the last two day, Bruno and Otto have started fighting to the extent that they went from sleeping in adjoining beds yesterday to not being able to be in the same room today. It is very upsetting, not to say mind-blowing.

In amongst all of this, we have walked them to lunch, with no problem. We also walked them late for a second walk after all the fighting, and they are fine together on a walk.

I'm watching Bridgerton after Sam took Bruno to bed early, 8.30pm. I had never watched it before. Those Bridgerton boys certainly are cute, but that Duke of Hastings, now there is a handsome man.

I'm sitting up with Otto, not really knowing how we were all going to sleep in the same room, tonight, which we did up until last night. There is no Plan B at this point, 10.30pm in the evening. 

Bruno is my best guy.

Otto is the loveliest little man.

I don't know what we are going to do?

No sooner had I written that, than Otto headed to the back door for a wee and then he headed off upstairs. Sam was still awake, so I took Otto to his puppy pen which is still set up in our bedroom, but which he hasn't slept in in months, many months.

Bruno appeared to want to go for a wee, so I proceeded to take him downstairs, but he changed his mind on the stairs and went back to bed. He walked past Otto's puppy pen twice with no incident.

I asked Sam if he wanted me to go to bed now, he said he didn't care, that he'd be fine. The trouble with them fighting, it is very hard to grab either one of them, we really need to leave their harnesses on, then they are much easier to grab.

Charlie is Going To Gym

Charlie is doing the whole gym thing. When I get up there are dirt dishes in the kitchen from where he is eating how ever many times a day they eat to get whatever it is that does. 

He's going to a 24 hour gym at all times in the night.

It is like having my stepson Fen back.

Are all 20 year old boys the same? Is this the same cliched pathway they all head down? Gotta get bigger than the other boys then no one can hurt/beat/win/dominate/succeed me/over me.

Of course, Fen's gym habit ultimately killed him in his 30s due to his steroid use. Separated from his girlfriend due to aggression - now with what would that be associated - dying of a heart attack in a men's boarding house in a bong-smoke smokey room, quietly slipping away from the accounts, such as they were, while the next guy passed him a fresh cone. The guys present carrying him back to his room and putting him on his bed, rather than calling an ambulance. A very sad end to someone who was underneath all of that a very smart and lovely boy. What a fucken waste.

Or was that stupidity that killed Fen?

I'm never really sure about that one any longer?

Anyway, it is kind of difficult/sense of deja vu watching Charlie seemingly repeat the same story. Mr 3 word sentences, that is certainly a difference between Charlie and Fen.

Hard as a Rock

It didn't feel that cold this morning, but the butter told a different story, when I got it out of the cupboard to butter my toast, it was as hard as a rock, as hard as it would have been had I got it out of the fridge.

Up Early

I was up really early, 5am. I just woke up, don't know why. 

There were gentle flashing lights blinking through the slight gap in the Venetian blinds, and I stood at my balcony door windows and watched a guy in hiviz with muscular arms pull a trolley loaded with milk to the shops around the corner in the dark. I have no idea why he was parked his truck in front of our place.

Then, I went back to bed, and of all things, I was too warm to go back to sleep. Ever heard of that? So, I got up again.

I don't mind being up early, it's like having the whole world to myself.

I made coffee and sat on the couch with Milo my cat. He doesn't get much of a look in when the bulldogs are around. and he likes pats too. He is soft and small, He rolls over onto his back and lets me pat his tummy.

6am'ish, I sign into work.

Still love working from home.

There were no emails waiting for me, so I went back to writing stories and patting Milo.

6.50am. Bruno was up, and Milo made his exit. Mr Snuffleupagus quickly climbed up onto the couch where Milo had been moments before. He proceeded to lick my hand as I typed.

7am. Otto was up.

7.05am. Sam was up.

Monday

Monday morning, sad face.

Actually, it was a pretty easy day. I got all my work done and then I wrote a story, just how it should be.

I've been re-writing all the stories on my fiction blog. I have now done all of the more recent stories. 

Now I have done March, April and have just about finished May 2010. Yeah, I know, most likely no one is going back to read them, but what the fuck, it isn't that hard, and I'm getting through the months pretty quickly.

All I want to do is write stories. I just need someone to discover this aging wonder kid so I can do just that. I'm the equivalent of a middle aged house wife in a Deb dress, but I who cares about that.

I don't want to work, pay bills, get the roof fixed, or take the car to the panel beater, I don't want to do any of that, I just want to sit on my arse and write stories. Good, bad, or indifferent stories. And in between just sitting and stare out into the back yard like those greek philosopher's sitting under trees.

Driving to the Burbs

11am. We head to Glen Iris. The sun is shining, it is a lovely day. It feels like it is going to be a nice drive to Glen Iris. You know, practically back to where I grew up, it will be nice to see the old place, if only for the short time it takes us to grab the standard lamp we have just bought on Ebay and return home.

There are lot of angry drivers out in the burbs.

On the cnr of Langridge and Hoddle, I am in the right lane at the lights and the cunt in a silver Range Rover in front of me puts his fucking indicator on when the lights turn green, pet hate, so I put my indicator on and went to move into the left lane, to go around him, but I don’t as I saw a Honda 4WD was in that lane at the last minute and stopped, but the driver of the Honda 4WD still had to blast me with his horn and stop next to us and have a huge drama about it.

Oh, just have a heart attack and die, I think.

Then the Honda 4WD drove at 15 kph in front of us down Langridge Street to Nicholson Street, I assume, because the lobotomy behind the wheel felt that that gave him something up on me. Who the hell knows?

I do the back streets through Abbottsford where you can let the horses rip. Nice and clear, reminds me of the old days when I first got my licence.

Once we have re-joined Victoria Street, they are all doing practically zero kph because the average driver is too stupid to work out what the speed limit is at any given time due to the plethora of changing speed limits now a days in Melbourne, and the average driver drives in a complete state of bamboozlement because of it, so the default speed is now grandma Yeta behind the wheel.

They do all tend to collect in the right hand lane through the suburbs, though, so if you grab the left lanes at the lights – something I hate, personally, but it is a matter of self preservation now a days though the inner suburbs on a Saturday morning, when every halfwit and their more stupid spouse are looking for some purchase to brighten their miserable lives – and if you smash that big pedal on the right when the lights turn green, you can usually make good headway in front of the general befuddlement.

Anyway, I’m driving down Barkers Road, there is a car turning right into Elphin Grove. I’m coming down in the left lane, there is a red Subaru Outback in front of me, and a white Mazda CX5 coming down in the right lane, just slightly behind me, but there really isn’t much in it. There is a grey wagon turning right. There is a car parked on the left hand side. I think I am going to sneak through between the car parked on the left and the grey wagon turning right, behind which the white Mazda CX5 in the right lane has to stop. The red Subaru Outback squeezes through in front of me, but the grey wagon unexpectedly makes their right hand turn in front of the traffic coming down the Barkers Road hill towards us, there is tooting from the cars coming down the hill, just as I am going to slip through behind the red Subaru Outback. The white Mazda CX5 in the right lane gets the shits up when it appears as though I slide across in front of him. He tries to accelerate to get up on the right side of me, but I just slip across in front of him. It is a perfectly timed manoeuvrer, nothing to do with my skill as a drive, just purely dumb luck. The white Mazda CX5 blasts his horn all the way up the hill to Auburn Road, he just doesn’t take his hand off it. The red Subaru Outback in front sticks his hand out his window and waves it about, not really sure why. I am assuming he is team white Mazda CX5 for some inexplicable reason. I assume the white Mazda CX5 driver has a penis that hasn’t grown since his kindergarten days, and I, childishly, give the white Mazda CX5 the finger, just because I wanted to push his buttons as he blasts his horn non stop all the way up the Barker’s Road hill. 

I stop in the right hand turn lane to Auburn Road which has banked back into the right land of Barkers Road. 

The doofus in the white Mazda CX5 stops on my left hand side intent on having a really big drama about it all. 

Oh, just have a stroke and die, I think. His bulbous red face appearing to swell up and take up the entire surface of his driver’s side window.

But there are cars behind him, as it is only the lefthand lane of Barkers Road which is now clear to proceed and he has to go, as cars start tooting him, and off he goes.

The sun is shining.

A white Mercedes 4WD turns right into Auburn Road straight into the path of a Toyota Yaris, how they didn’t collide I’ll never know. I close my eyes momentarily and wait for the bang, but the Mercedes 4WD miraculously slips around unscathed, probably something to do with Mary fucken Mackillop, still performing miracles from the grave 100 years, or so, after her death, or some bullshit like that. The Toyota Yaris driver has come to a complete halt in the middle of the Barkers Road/Auburn Road intersection laying on his horn for an extended period of time. The cars behind him lay on their horns due to him unexpectedly stopping in front of them.

I think The bells, the bells, the bells and chuckle to myself for the first time since I got in the car.

The cars clear, we turn into Auburn Road. We come down to the Rathmines Road/Auburn Road intersection, where the lights are red for us, and everyone is in the right hand lane, and the left hand lane is clear, because people are generally stupid with little talent to even drive a well lubed finger up their own arses, so I slide over into the left hand lane well back from the gathered cars and proceed to travel down to the lights in the clear lane, just as we get to the back of the traffic, the red Subaru Outback is at the back of the right hand lane, he puts his blinker on and starts to change lanes, just as I come through, and he lays on his horn due to his belief in whatever he believed just happed,

At which point, I think to myself, these people are just fucked! I am well pleased that I don’t have to drive too often.

We make a left into Burwood Road, slide right into Camberwell Road. Gasp audibly when we come around the corner into Toorak Road to see they have demolished the entire south side of Victorian shops in the Hartwell Village shops which is now one huge vacant block. “Idiots,” I say out loud.

Then it is an easy drive up Toorak Road to Beryl Street and our destination.

Bread For Breakfast

The sign out the front of the shop said, "Freshly baked sourdough bread inside," as we walk past taking the dogs for a walk.

Yum! Freshly baked bread inside, I scampered in to get myself a loaf.

But, they only had white sourdough. (It wasn't a bakery, it just had bread on, I guess what you'd call, consignment, from a bakery in the northern suburbs)

"Do you have wholemeal or rye?" I asked. I guessed Spelt was probably a bakery too far.

"No, just white."

I considered it for a moment, but decided, at that point, I don't really like white bread any longer. It is interesting the things you learn about yourself, on a daily basis.

I don't like white bread, there you go. I won't buy white bread any longer. How about that? That is a fact about me I didn't fully realise before I enquired about their bread.

Getting The Job Done

Winter is coming, as they say. And my leaking kitchen roof isn't healing itself, we know that.

I decided that I had to do something about it. I agonised over it all morning. (I have agonised over it for a month since getting the quote, I have agonised over it since my neighbour gave me this guys number last October. I have agonised over it for a years since the roof started leaking) I find to make any of these sorts of decisions, I just have to over think it to a point where I just auto-pilot-like pick up the phone and call and say, "Do it", or I get to a stage where I just say, to myself, AH AH AH AH NO MORE! I can't think about this any more. And then I am done with it.

I wish I was decisive. You'd think I would get more decisive as I get older, but sadly the opposite is true.

So, early afternoon, I picked up my phone, called the roof guy and told him to do it.

The quote is more than I expected, but he comes with recommendations from two people. 

Otherwise, I'm going to have to get more quotes, and who can you trust, all tradies now a days are suss, until proven otherwise. And, if I went this route, I'd probably let it slide through another wet winter.

This way it is fixed. What he has said needs to be done, makes sense to me, just stop agonising about it and get it fixed.

So, that is what I did at 3pm this afternoon.

(Of course, he is no cute Josh standing up on the roof above me with his wide legged blue work shorts and his red jocks hugging, all of, him wonderfully, but his two sons who, apparently, do all the work, are kind of sexy, pity it won't be hot weather when they are doing the work)

Gotta Luv That

3.40pm. My weekend starts. You've gotta fucken luv that.

As much as I might complain, it is right about now, I say, Suck on that, bitches!

Ha ha, I don't really say that, well, maybe if I have had a bad day, I might whisper it.

It's just nice to be able to enjoy my time off. I'm grateful for it, for me.

Why Is It Always The Same People?

Why is it always the same, er, losers for whom we have to make allowances?

It always seems to be the same people who are the problem, who continually suck up all the energy in the room with their issues.

Already this morning, my time has been taken up by the same problem people who are yet again having problems that I have to spend my time fixing.

Why is it always the same people?

Really, they should be charged a greater attention required tax, like HECS, it could be taken out as extra tax.

You know, actually, my job is pretty easy, generally, pretty slack, even if I do say so myself, but boy, have 'they' been at me this morning.

All the dopes. Was it a full moon last night, or something? Never have there been a lesser collection of brain cells than what I have been subjected to today. It seems to ease off around midmorning, they must have crawled back into their holes.

Monday in the Office

Monday in the office, what is there to say? I got in early, hours before anybody else, and I got out early, mid afternoon. I fucked off at 3pm. And I survived the ordeal. 

Ha ha.

It was a great shame, great shame, he says, it was a tragedy what happened in Mexico to those two boys from Perth. Their parents will never get over it. My bitch aunt’s son was killed, the good son, not the shit son, and she never got over it. Never. My dad, who never said a bad word against anyone, said my bitch auntie didn’t need a tragedy to make her a bitch, and she was a right cow. Fucken hideous, really.

I asked my mum if she was going to get in touch with the bitch sister when they were both old and the last ones left, and mum said, “Oh, no, I’d never have chosen her for a friend, Christian.”

Never the less, you can’t help but feel sorry for the parents of those two boys.

Oh, Shut Up

We're out eating Nepalese for lunch in Brunswick Street, the sun is shining beautifully, the day is gorgeous. We are sitting next to a woman at the next table who is speaking in a loud nasal, bogun, ocker  Jennie Little type voice (If you don't know who Jennie Little is look on YouTube) minus any of Jennie's charm. And Sam thinks I am being difficult to get along with when I raise my eyebrows, as though I should want to go and eat anywhere else but there. 

OMG! And she never stops talking, either, not even to draw breath. OMG! She is truly THE WORST. Her bogan nasal rasp continually crescendoing to a screaming/laugh. And, as I said, she never stops talking.

We’re sitting outside, of course, and I am now chanting for a car to lose control in Brunswick Street and take her out.

She has the worst voice I have ever heard. And loud. And clearly not giving a shit about anybody around her.

I said to Sam. "I really am this close," thumb and forefinger in the air millimetres apart, "to asking her to tone it down."

"Don't ridiculous."

"Nyr."

Saturday Lunch

The sun is shining. Time to walk the dogs to the shops for groceries and a little lunch.

There is a Vietnamese restaurant in Richmond we used to take Bruno to, with whom the owner's were always fascinated. I don't think we have taken both of them there yet. I want to see the looks on their faces when they see tow of them.

The magpies sing in the garden.

I stopped off in Victoria Street at The Salvos and bought a couple of CDs and Sam went on with Bruno and Otto and ordered lunch. The owner of the restaurant was more concerned with my absence than the new dog. We hadn't been in to eat for a while, it is true, and he must have thought the reason was because we split up. He questioned Sam as to where I was? When I got there, he gave me a big squeeze with both his hands on my arms from behind, saying he was pleased I was there. It was nice.

Cute huh. He's the only bulldog we've had that jumps up onto the bed in the middle of the night and slides under the doona. Puppies, you have to love them, as you watch their personalities come out

 

That Was My Day

Okay, I didn't get anything written today.

The toilet seat broke, so I removed it, no mean feat if you have ever removed a toilet seat, the screws attaching it rust, and I went to the toilet seat shop and bought a new one. 

I walked, I didn't drive. I try to walk, and not drive. It's my bit for the kids. You never know, it might help. (he looks doubtful)

That was my day.

Some days are just like that.

I'm going to bed.

Sam and Bruno and Otto are already in bed.

Sweet dreams.

1st of May

May Day, the 1st of May.

The is a beautiful Bee Gees song called the First of May. Mark and I used to sing it to each other, I guess it was our song, I guess. It has gorgeous imagery in it. 'Tired & emotional' we'd often sing it to each other crying. Oh, that was always Sunday morning, maybe even Monday morning, after the night/nights before. Oh, I miss those long, cathartic weekends. Or we'd sing it to each other out in the sunshine on a beautiful day.

I'm going to listen to it now.

I love Mark, my favourite person in the world.

That song still makes me tear up. Your entire life is captured there in that song.