Sunday Lunch

The rain continues to fall for most of the morning. Around midday we pick our moment and we walk to Lygon Street to get takeaway Indonesian food.

We walk to the gardens with our neighbour Jackson Wag, he's off to the football. He veers off at the gardens and heads into the city.

We keep walking. The sun shines a bit, in fact, when the grey clouds part the is really warm, and with the cool breeze, the day is quite nice. 

We meet up with a greyhound, which the owner says is a bit snappy. I wonder if it is going to bit Bruno's face, with the owner repeating that often repeated line, "She's never done that before." Otto and the greyhound play for a bit until Otto gets over excited and does a somersault and lands on his back.

We're in Lygon Street at midday. The food doesn't take very long and we are heading home. Sam buys us some sweeties to eat after our main meal. 

"Lovely," I say.

As we turn to leave, two cute guys ask, "Can I pat your bulldogs."

You can pat anything you like, I think. "Yeah, sure," I say.

"They are big boys," one of them says.

You can guess what I thought.

We meet up with a Cavalier at Rathdowne Street. The dogs all sniff arses on one side of the pedestrian crossing.

We meet up with a lesbian neighbour, Cathy Carter, and her posse of women and babies. Cathy and I used to party together years ago. I'm always surprised about how fat she has got whenever I see her now. I wonder if she thinks the same about me?

As soon as we get home and start eating, the rain starts to fall again.

Good timing, hey?

Saturday

It's a rainy Saturday, so you can understand how pleased I was to see that the fire from last night was still hot with red coals as I ate my Vegemite toast and drank my coffee for breakfast. So, I slapped on a few sticks, in between bites of toast and sips of coffee, and it was burning with flames in no time.

I'm on the couch, I pull the big pink blanket over me, the one we keep on the couch for those nights when we don't build an open fire, and then Bruno comes and sits right up against me and I am starting to sweat. But, you try and teach a bulldog about personal space.

Oh, too much, I suddenly think, I have to throw the blanket off. Phew! Bruno hold firm, of course. He gives me that look that says, What? I was beginning to feel as though I was being engulfed in my own vapours. Oh, yes, I wear thermals under my track pants around the house in winter, then I never worry about the cold. I think I need to go and take them off now.

Otto has been really feisty this morning, you know, like how puppies are.

Bruno has been cuddly. Up close and personal cuddly.

We ate pies for lunch, which are such a rainy day kind of lunch. Comfort food on a grey day. Just what the universe ordered.

Winter is funny, I don't really feel the cold, and I hate to be over-heated, which I often feel in winter with overheated houses, more so than I feel in summer. I often think that is funny.

Then it was screens on the couch for the rest of the day as the rain fell outside.

Oh, The People

I take the dogs for a walk. We leave late in the morning, around midday. There are a lot of people around at midday, the place is crawling with them. I'm used to going earlier and having relatively empty streets. Note to self, don't go late again.

The sun is shining, the sky is blue. There is a breeze as we walk down Brunswick Street. It's a nice day, it's a nice walk.

Suddenly, someone yells out, blood curdling disgust, mixed with HOW DARE YOU!!!!. A guy on an electric scooter yells at a van driver for doing something, I’m not exactly sure what, I didn’t see. Cutting him off, I guess. Then the electric scooter takes off and goes straight through a red light of a pedestrian crossing where people are crossing, who stood there incredulous with their hands in the air, questioning.

I mean, seriously?

Men's Behaviour

Recently, I have had a guy with possessed eyes in one of those big utes not giving way to me as a pedestrian. I pulled him up on, and he denied it, and I insisted he was in the wrong. Then he suggested he might get out of his ute and 'teach me a lesson' when I continued to tell him he had to give way to me as a pedestrian.

I had one of those guys paid-to-stand-around-and-watch-traffic saying he would 'teach me a lesson' after I didn't take his complaint seriously when Bruno pissed on one of his dirty old witches hats that had spent its life on the road in the dirt. Yeah, sure, I should have probably just apologised for that one, but seriously, threats of violence?

And then a day, or two ago, another guy said to me, did I want him to get out of his car 'and show me,' when he also didn't give way to me as a pedestrian and I pulled him up on it telling him it was the law that he did give way to me. He said he didn't have to, and I said that maybe he should learn his road laws if he wants to drive a car on the road. Green P plater, nice looking, school prefect type, thought he knew everything.

Three times, three guys recently went unnecessarily to threats of violence to settle a perceived dispute in a very short time, which surprised me. No, it shocked me, and I live in the inner suburbs of Melbourne to where all the cunts from the suburbs gravitate.

You know, maybe it is men's behaviour that is the problem in domestic violence situations. 

If these guys were such snowflakes in these relatively benign situations, how would they react with something more serious in their lives?

I could see all three of these guys beating up their wives and girlfriends. Yeah, sure I could.

Fighting Bulldogs

The annoying thing about my fighting dogs, and they are still fighting, although things are getting better, slowly, this was them last night. Savage looking, aren't they. Grrrr! 

What goes through their heads?

The fuckers, they are both so sweet and so lovely, what gives?

Oh Groan It's Monday

Oh groan...

It is that Monday morning thing again. They should be banned. can we get an online petition going about it?

It's cold and it's Monday and as if that couldn't be more depressing, we are having an EOFY reset and I can't really do anything as Boris has taken over and she is doing the wind up.

So, I have work pilling up but I can't do any of it while Boris ties up the year, so here I am sitting here on my arse having fallen down the Facebook rabbit hole, which is always tantamount to doom scrolling, or not so much doom, as endless, mindless, which kind of amounts to the same thing. 

But at least I am at home.

I have just managed to drag myself out of the black hole that is Facebook, post lunch, but as they say it's better late than never. It's kind of like a vortex that just sucks you in and it is very hard to escape, but I have, so a pat on the back for me. Now, I guess, it's time for YouTube. As a species there is little wonder to the fact that we are not going to survive. And we're not.

Did you know that 40% of Australians don't believe climate change is caused by man? 40% of The Australian population is stupid, anti science. Just wishing it wasn't so, doesn't make it so.

I did spend the whole weekend writing, so there is that, not so much time wasted, like I am clearly going to do today.

Ha ha.

Wish me luck.

I'm listening to AeroSmith. Steve Tyler, now there is a rock star.

Guess what Otto's latest trick is? There is a couch next to my home office desk on which he, or Bruno, sleep during the day. Otto climbs off the couch onto my office chair behind me. I'm not sure why he does this? But, he is a big lump now and I end up perched on the very front edge of my chair.

The Bulldogs

The dogs had been doing so well the last few days, to the extent that we thought maybe, fingers crossed, they were over their agro business, but no, this evening they got agro a couple of times and we're, seemingly, not so further along. 

Damn them. 

What is going on in their doggie heads?

Grrrr!

Saturday Is Okay

We washed the dogs in the morning. They both smelt like popcorn, which is the sign they need a wash. Sam took Otto to the dog wash centre. I washed Bruno in the shower.

I re-wrote stories from my fiction blog for the rest of the day, pretty much. The continuing process of taking my shitty stories and trying to make them better. One day, they may be good.

We watched Godzilla Minus One after dinner. I guess it was period correct, that's all I took from it. Those big monster movies aren't really my thing.

Tomorrow is Sunday, sad face. Just one more day to go, before it's back to the salt mines.

My cold is better.

Heading Out Into The Cold

Fuck, it's cold today. 

We changed internet service providers and the internet has been dropping out intermittently ever since.

Now, we are off to pick up a WiFi router to prop up our WiFi system so as to lessen the dropping out.

"But, the internet provider is different to our WiFi?" I suggested.

"I think the changed provider has drawn attention to the problems with our WiFi system, which is now using old technology."

"Old technology, you say?" Remember, Sam is a gadget nerd. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," says Sam. "It will smooth out the system, fill in the problem areas where the signal runs thin." These are my words, and not exactly what Sam said, but my interpretation.

Something about our house being tall at the front and long out the back, or, um, something, oh, I don't know. Sam never explains things very well, it's as if he has to keep the secret code of IT professionals, or something. You know, I wouldn't understand because I am a finance guy. Anyway, we have a new gadget which pleased Sam.

Now, we are going for a walk in the cold to pick it up.

And then, at the very mention of taking a walk in the cold, the sun came out all nice and bright. Lovely.

The Mouthy Road Worker

I walked down the street with Otto. As we headed down to Smith Street, the same two guys paid to stand around and, well, I'd say direct traffic, but all they seem to be doing is gossiping like a couple of old blokes at a loss at what to do with their lives, one of which who threatened to 'teach me a lesson' last week when I, guess I, refused to take his complaints about Bruno pissing on his dirty old witches hat seriously. 

A smart arsed cunt, I think he called me.

Well, anyway, I entertained the thought of telling him I didn't have a clue what he was talking about, if he bought it up, as we passed by. And he was someone who liked the sound of his own voice, voicing his opinions, I knew that.

"Hey, you?"

"Are you talking to me?"

"Yeah, you smart arsed cunt."

"I'm sorry, I think you must have me mixed up with someone else."

"You and your pissy fucken dog." 

"Nah, sorry mate, I don't know what you are talking about."

"You let your fucken dog piss on me witches hat."

"No, mate, as I said, you must be confusing me with one of your other friends." (Do you like what I did there?)

"Last week, or so, walking up here."

"No, mate, you are confused. My dog never pissed on any, um,  witch's hat, you say." (Remember, I had Otto with me, not Bruno.)

"You were real smart arse about it."

Return a look of concern for his mental state. You know, grimace, and look sorry for him.

That's the scenario that raced through my brain when I saw his ugly mug yapping onto his mate at the end of the laneway there as Otto and I headed down to Smith Street. It made me chuckle.

They have been standing there for weeks, well at least one week, doing nothing.

But, I crossed the road instead. I don't want to waste any breath with a dope like that. He reminded me of Fred Flintstone. In fact, his buddy in standing around was a bit Barney Rubble.

I told myself I must walk back up one street sooner on the way back, and I did.

This is life at the moment. Sam and Charlie and I all have it. Boris tells me everyone at work is coming down with the same cold.

 

Tuesday

Today was smooth, it just drifted away, like Tuesdays should, like all Tuesdays should. I started at 7am.

Boris is going overseas on a holiday, did I tell you? 8 weeks away. She asked me, a few weeks ago, if I'd do her work while she was away. She said she had to ask me before she booked her tickets. I said yes. Since then, I have kind of been regretting that burst of selflessness.

I spoke to my big boss today about other things. After our discussion he asked me how I was?

"I was sick over the weekend, and while I'm feeling better, I still have a cough and I can hear my voice is a bit weird."

"How are you feeling about Boris' imminent trip."

"I hope I remember what to do?"

"You feeling okay about it though?"

"To tell you the truth, I'd rather not do it at all, but that's what you do isn't it, you help people out."

"Wow. I think that attitude is dying out quickly around the office."

"Oh we'll, you do what you can do."

He seemed pretty pleased with my attitude. I didn't say it to please him, I just told him the truth. And hopefully I banked a few points in the process, well, I mean, better than not, I guess, but, again, I didn't say it for that reason.

My big boss is nice. He is a really nice guy. Pretty much always up and positive and seemingly cares about his staff.

Oh, fuck, 8 weeks is all I can think. Oh, I so don't want to do it.

I signed out of work before 3pm, gotta luv working from home. Otto and I cuddled up on the couch. I watched YouTube car shows as I gently dozed off for an afternoon nap.

I'm taking Olive Leaf extract, Apple Cyder Vinegar, Metamucil, with a touch of orange juice and water every day.

Sam's giving me some tablets which I just throw down unquestioningly, also. I presume they are vitamins? 

You are probably meant to take all of this before you get sick, never the less.

Monday

I used being sick to work the day from home, when today was supposed to be my day in the office. Well, why waste a couple of days off sick? I ask you. Even though I felt better, not completely well, but better than I did on the weekend.

I had computer problems, first up. Grrr! Good to be home for computer problems, I told myself.

Then the first thing I read once my computer was up and running again, was an email from the rather over bearing receptionist, 

"Your apology is accepted."

I apologised for something, for what I couldn't remember today. I'm sure it was just something you say.

I laughed out loud and said, "You actually think I meant that? Well, there you go."

I mean, not that I didn't mean it, either, even if I couldn't remember what. But, it wasn't hanging on an acceptance.

What was it that Grouch Marx said? If you can fake sincerity you will go far in life."

I just googled it, and he actually said,“The Two Most Important Words In The World Are Honesty And Sincerity, If You Can Fake These You’ve Got It Made.” — Groucho Marx

I felt cold all day.

Otto played with his chew toys at my feet all day.

Feeling Better

Sam says now that he'd got a sore throat and he is blaming me for giving it to him. Well, I guess, there isn't too much I can say.

Sam hasn't been cleaning up the kitchen each day I have been in bed sick. So, I have been doing it when I get up in the morning.

He got up this morning catching me herumphing about the kitchen not being cleaned up.

(Remember, Sam cooks, and I clean)

"You could have cleaned up the kitchen while I was sick," I said.

"What? You want me to cook and clean and look after you as well?"

He'd already told me he had a sore throat, so as quick as I flash, I thought about what I was saying, and going purely with the logic I was currently pursuing, it would mean if Sam was sick, I would have to cook, and I didn't want to be doing that, no siree. 

"No, you are right," I said. I hoped my sudden about turn wouldn't be too obvious.

Sam had looked after me, bringing me honey, ginger and lemon drinks at regular intervals, directly to me in bed. So, as it was, he had sick credits built up that I would have no choice but to live up to.

I did go to the chemist and get the throat gargle, I guess.

Of course, the dishes he did  put in the dishwasher were all wrong and I had to completely repack it for my own sanity.

 

For The Boys

How gay does this sound?

I have over 1000 movies in my movie collection and over the last few days being sick I have really struggled to find a movie to hold my attention, and none did until I put on Bette Midler in For The Boys, and I just floated away immediately.

I should have known to go for the big guns when I couldn't decide on a movie.

Otto lay across my right leg snoring away.

In the evening Bruno takes Otto's spot

Still Sick

I stayed in bed all day. That's what my mum told me to do when I had a cold.

"Go and get into bed."

I spent the day in bed watching YouTube and short films, as I couldn't find a longer film to watch.

I just couldn't settle on any one film. 

I watched Bugs Bunny for a while. And it made me laugh. (Any Bugs Bunny DVD for $1 is mine)

I took the opportunity to watch A Clockwork Orange for the first time. No, I have never watched it. I made it to half way before I switched it off. What a lot of shit, I thought.

I watched an old Judi Dench film, but that was crap too.

I tried Eating Out 2, and while it was watchable, I just wasn't in the mood for that fluffy cliched gay nonsense.

Short films seemed to be more to my attention span.

In the end, I settled into watch Wildside. When that series first came out I watched it avidly because of Alex Dimitriades and Aaron Pederson. I can't tell you how many times I imagined the two of them together. So when the DVDs came up cheap, I bought them. This is the first time I have watched them. Just perfect for a day sick in bed.

Calm Down, Buddy, Some Of Us Have Real Fucken Problems

It started with a sore throat on Monday. Last night it escalated quickly into a full blown cold. I had trouble sleeping due to my blocked nose. Oh, I don't feel good.

I got up this morning and made coffee and toast.

But, pretty soon, I just want to go to bed, I was feeling cold, but I had to get my tablets. Oh, when did I become that person? So, I rug up in a coat and proper shoes, and I take Bruno and head down the street.

Bruno and I walk down the street to primarily get my prescription filled, but also to do my TattsLotto.

It’s sprinkly rainy and grey and overcast

I have to drag Bruno down my street. He just doesn’t want to go for a walk. It is days reminiscent of Buddy not wanting to go for a walk.

A postman driving one of those buggy things up the footpath says, “hello handsome,” to Bruno in Smith Street.

First of all, I’m in my TattsLotto shop doing my TattsLotto.

Then, I’m in Chemistwarehouse getting pills. The stingy cunts will only give me two of the boxes of the three I have left on my script. Fuck them, I’m getting my doctor to sign the script next time.

We walk back down Smith Street, where Bruno has a huge dump just before Charles Street, all across the footpath. 

We walk up Webb Street. The rain is starting to fall slightly heavier.

We pass two guys standing at the intersection of Little Smith Street, which is blocked off, and Webb Street. They are building the world's ugliest building in Smith Street, it looks like a scalloped pink brothel, and it backs onto Little Smith Street.

Bruno pisses on a traffic cone blocking off Little Smith Street. One of the guys paid to stand around says, 

“Don’t let him piss on that, mate.” 

I should’ve said, oh sorry, that’s what I should’ve said, but it seemed so ridiculous, the rain was falling, and I have to admit, momentarily, I thought they were kidding, you know how, shall we say, guys who stand on the road and direct traffic try to tell weird cutesy jokes about dogs. But he wasn’t kidding. 

“It’s out in the rain,” I say.

“We have to pick that up.”

“It’s getting rained on. What’s the big deal? I say.

“You’re a smart arse cunt, now aren’t you.”

I turn and walk away, or kept walking which would be a better description. I’m not feeling great and just wanting to get home,

He started abusing me, telling me to come back and he’d teach me a lesson for being a fucking smart ass cunt.

What is wrong with people now a days? I guess, I dared not to sympathise with his story of having to touch a dirty street cone that has spent its life literally on the street in the dirt. Is it me, I wondered?

Half way up Webb Street, after a continuing diatribe, I turn around and respond to the abuse being hurled at me. “And I’ll report you to the police and they will arrest you for assault, do you want that?”

“You smart arse fucken cunt come back here and say that.”

Bruno and I walk to the corner and turn into the next street and away from them.

10:55am. Bruno and I are home.

I make coffee and get into bed. Bruno comes with me. Milo is already asleep on the bed.

Why didn’t I just say sorry, I think.

The Human Remains Are Agitating Like It's The Night Of The Zombies

AH! Ever since last week when the Sydney HR genius couldn't work out at what rate her unpaid leave was paid, HR have been at me. I don't know if it is their natural Borgian instincts to find and kill anyone who has, or even perceived to have, cast ill will in their direction. Or, maybe they are on a seek and destroy mission to get anyone who has recognised their general ineptitude? But the questions have been coming thick and fast ever since. I couldn't even tell you if the bitchhood had a meeting about me, but, ah! I hate having this much contact with the enemy!

Get on your brooms and go. Leave me alone! Is all I can think. I feel like Tippi Hedren in The Birds. Or to coin a phrase so often used by the young now a days, back off, you are making me feel unsafe. The air is filled full of all that inane chattering that HR does so well, like the plague of locusts have arrive in your paddock.

Early On A Wet Tuesday

Today, it's raining. I'm up early because I get up early anyway, but this morning I was busting and I knew I'd never get back to sleep if I got up and pissed, well, I got up and pissed anyway, because I needed to get up and piss and I couldn't go back to sleep after that, as predicted, well, when I say predicted, I guess I mean, well, predicted.

It's miserable outside, windy, and rainy, and just thoroughly objectionable really, so I have sat and drank coffee with Milo, getting a cuddle before the bulldogs spoil it, and read the online news, none of which really interests me anymore. The conservatives are ditching the world climate agreements, oh so predictable and people will still vote for them and I guess that is what I am no longer interested in, the general stupidity of people.

I read about how charming Martin Amiss was and although he is dead, it is the anniversary of his death, actually, it is pleasing there are still people like him inhabiting the world, albeit not him.

‘He made every sentence electric’

Not piss heads like Barnaby Joyce who talk shit and are only in 'this' world for what they can get out of it for themselves.

I read about the hot rodent boyfriend who is in this summer. It’s about famous men who look like sexy rats.

Yay? There are more of them than you could possibly believe, too.

There are? Oh boy, there sure are. Timothée Chalamet? Total sexy rat. Barry Keoghan? What a sexy rat that man is. Jeremy Allen White? Sex on four tiny legs. Josh O’Connor? He could scurry up my drainpipe.

Ever since someone on the internet said that this was going to be the summer of sexy men who look like rats – hot rodent boyfriend summer – it’s become impossible to unsee. What’s really amazing is that they all look like slightly different types of sexy rat.

What the fuck?

Chuckle, at least it is interesting, I think, as I sign into my pathetic little job once again. Oh, what do all the stupid people want of me today?

I wish I had the guts and the gumption to just throw it all in and write poetry for the rest of my life. Write beautiful paragraphs that please me, if no one else. You know, do nice things instead of always wanting more. I probably have enough super to live a modest life, surely that is preferable to... I've just never been brave enough.

And when I was bored, I could curl up in front of an old movie, let's face it everything artistically that needs to be said can be found in old Hollywood movies, let's face it, the current proliferation of reality TV shows is a testament to the bankrupt nature of our modern artistic ideas.

Anyway, I've got arses to lick...

Oh? What? Grrrr, my big screen isn't coming on. WTF? Oh... what? oh don't you hate this. Sam won't be up for at least an hour... more. Oh, Jesus fuck! Oh, hang on, it's just a loose cable, panic over. Anyway, 6am. I guess I need to tune into all the nonsense of the office, sad face.

And then my emails come up, and there is a lot of them, and I groan at how pathetic it all is. I want to go back to hot rat boyfriends. I go and make another coffee to get myself ready for the morning dose...

Chalamet looks like a rat from a Disney film. White looks like a slightly tranquillised rat. O’Connor looks like a sort of sexy henchman rat, the sort of tall and lumbering rat employed to maintain the personal safety of the Rat King. The Rat King is obviously Keoghan, who looks like the sort of rat that would have your face off if you cornered him.

I'm listening to Marcia Hines albums from the first one all the way through.

I have a bulldog lying on my feet keeping them warm. The two of them seem to be calming down with each other. 3 days without a growl or a fight. Cross your fingers. Bruno is presently upstairs with Sam though. We're not pushing it, but the signs are encouraging.

Doctor Michael Mosley

It can't help but be said, that I read about Dr Michael Mosley’s death and I read everyone who knew him, describe him as a brilliant, warm, funny, kind, generous and humble man. Every one of them say Michael will be so greatly missed and that the world is a poorer place without him in it. Many people claim him to be their hero. He spent his life making life better for people.

And then you have a lying, cheating, narcissistic, petty, revengeful, bloated, orange, obesity like Donald Trump still breathing who, if given the chance, will destroy America as we know it to satisfy his own child like ego.

And you still believe there is a God?

Still… it’s nice that it is a long weekend. The King’s birthday. No matter what you think of him, he is someone else who has dedicated his life to the service of his people. And we get a day off because of him. I’ll take it.

Wet Sunday

Sunday. It is raining. We fed the dogs and I took Bruno out the front for a wee, as he usually likes to go for a walk out the front once he has eaten. I was surprised to see the rain, when I opened the door. I think Bruno was surprised too. We both stood there and gazed out at the wet day, side by side, for a time. Two faces at the open door. I think we'd have looked pretty cute together peering out on the day side by side in the doorway.

Eventually, Bruno looked at me, and I looked at him. His expression said, I'm not going out there.

"I agree, bud."

But, he hadn't had a wee since before going to bed last night, so I grabbed the handle on his harness and walked him to the gate, which I opened with my other hand and then I manoeuvred him out onto the footpath. He lifted his leg against our front wall and pissed for the longest time.

"See," I said.

He looked at me as if to say, I feel better after that. He gave a dog shake and then I followed him back inside.

I've been on the couch ever since.

Bruno headed back upstairs to bed.

How Long Has This Been Going On?

Oh, I don't normally comment on these things, because what's the point? I'm a pacifist, and this conflict certainly, and the people probably seem to be, the complete opposite to that, however...

The Palestinian and Jewish problem? How long has it been going on? Years? How many years? I don't know. I guess I could google it, but I'm not that interested. Hasn't it been an endless conflict?

I don't know all that much about the situation, I know some, but not much. I can see that the Palestinians started the current rouble, and now the Jews seem intent on committing genocide on the Palestinians.

It seems fair that there should be a two state solution, that each, let's call them sides, should have their homeland. 

But, to tell you the truth, all I really see is the problems and the hatred of the Jews and the Palestinians have now been imported into a peaceful country like Australia, and others. That's what I see.

The Palestine and Jewish anger/aggression/tension/hatred has now been bought into peaceful countries where we don't have this trouble, well, not until now. I don't really see what it has to do with us? 

If these protesters really want to protest, why don't they go to Gaza and the West Bank and try protesting there.

A Day To Myself

The sun is shining today. The sky is blue. It is a gorgeous winter's day.

I took the dogs for a walk. They are funny, they are fine to walk together, it's just when they get home that they get growly.

They are even fine to eat together. Sam still feeds them next to each other and they are fine.

Sam went to our physiotherapist. He says his dogs had the same problem, they fight some times too. He reckons it is just jealousy and they'll sort it out.

I went shopping, sniffed around a few shops. What else do you do on your day off, I ask you. I bought a Paul Kelly cd.

Jill called me, she had a shift cancelled with in 15 minutes of starting it. When she said she hoped she'd still be paid, they said they weren't sure.

"If I'd just turned up at the address they would have paid me."

Jill is now doing care work, where she was once a really senior marketing person.

"Never have I worked so hard for such little money, she said to me.

Now I am eating noodles for lunch.

Wednesday

Wednesday? What are you good for?

Oh, HR, How I Have Missed You So... not

This is the calibre of HR people.

This is true, I kid you not.

An HR chick from Sydney applied for a fortnight's unpaid leave before a pay rise, but it wasn't authorised and then processed until after her pay rise, that's because someone further up the incompetent HR food chain had failed to authorise it.

Why she came to me, is another mystery, but she did, as she couldn't find anyone else to help her, so she asked me to investigate it for her.

So, she just wanted someone to confirm for her that the unpaid leave was deducted at her old rate and not at her new higher rate. She felt that it being deducted at the higher rate was unfair.

"Unpaid Leave," I questioned?

"Yes, that's right, could you help me?"

Could I help her? I doubted it.

Could anyone help her? The thought made me chuckle to myself.

 

A new jar of Vegemite is always something to celebrate. I said a few words over this one this morning before I spread it on my toast

Sunday Morning

I got up early, because I just do. That is what happens.

It was still dark, and a bit cold.

I made coffee. Of course I did.

We are out of dry cat food, so Milo is semi hysterical about his dry food bowl being empty, as it is rarely empty. He might as well of had flags and been performing semaphore from his cat food table, such was the state he was in.

I think, perhaps, I was supposed to go and get a new bag from the pet shop in the last few days, but I didn't, so now we are out completely.

Sam told me last night he'd ordered some dry food online, so I am guessing it will be here today, tomorrow at the latest, so Milo will just have to wait until a bit.

Sam buys lots of things on line, surely that must combat Woolies and Coles price gouging at this point in time somewhat? He gets tissues and toilet paper and tooth paste and detergent, to name just a few, delivered in boxes.

We even had some pet products delivered late last night.

"There is a delivery this late on a Saturday," I asked Sam when he returned from the front door.

"Yes, pet vitamins, just delivered."

I looked at the time, it was something like 8pm.

Milo is now acting sentry on the couch next to me. I'm guessing he doesn't understand his bowl sans food at all.

I'm never really sure what this is, but I like it. It is dramatic.

 

Saturday Lunch

Winter has come. There were lots of people out and about on a sunny winter's day. 

We walked into town and I had a haircut. My hairdresser has bleached his hair blond, which really hasn't helped his, shall we say, um, er, well, there are no other words for it, average looks. It has somehow made his eyes look more, um, 'buggy' than they did previously. At the best of times, he has what you might call aquatic eyes. Is that terrible of me to say? He looks like a fish. He's a good hairdresser though, so that is what counts. He doesn't say much, which I really liked in a hair professional. I can't stand constant chit chat when I am getting my haircut, when I am trapped and can't escape.

We went and sat outside the State Library and ate pulled beef rolls, which tasted like they had been toasted more than once. They were really awful, cardboard in consistency, which was disappointing. When the dogs had an altercation we walked home, that was disappointing too.

We grabbed some more food at our local bakery. I told the nice lady behind the counter of the awful roll we'd just had. 

"It was probably yesterday's. I don't know why they do that thinking the public can't tell, because people can always tell."

She gave me the last of the day before's fruit loaf she had saying, "Take that and toast it, it will be nice with a cup of coffee." She said tea, but I prefer coffee.

We ate a veggie pie and a pizza slice. And I got two muffins both of which I ate when Sam said he didn't want his. I know, piggy me.

I had to turn down Rachel's birthday invite to South Australia because I just don't think we can go anywhere at present as we can't leave our stupid fighting dogs with anyone. It wouldn't be fair.