Wednesday

The last day of the week for me.

I had everything done and was ready to sign out, when Boris asked me to correct some system stuff, the same system stuff she'd got me to do when she was away, that she had just done again but somehow she'd messed it up.

What?

Oh Jasus! I've slept since then. I don't remember what I did? I remember I had to break out the instruction book to get it done, at the time. Really?

Nah. You do it, is all I could think. I could smell my weekend it was so close.

No, I really can't remember off the top of my head. I’d have to go back and think about what I did. I'd have to go and do the research again on what to do. No.

And I signed out. With out a skerrick of guilt, I might add at this point.

We take the Bulldogs for a walk. It’s not hot, it’s not cold. It’s just the porridge in the middle.

We turn at the main road. The sky is full of grey clouds, that look like rain clouds now that I look at them, although the son, er, sun is peeking out a little from behind them. (I’m picturing the son peeking from behind the clouds)

Otto growls at the black dog in his front yard, as Otto always does. The two of them spa up and down the black dog's fence. (I kind of know the black dog's owner from the dog park, he is really nice. I saw him recently, he laughed about the two dogs antics)

We’re at the corner of the two side streets we always walk down, which I always, rightly, or wrongly, think is the halfway point of our walk. It’s grey and overcast, although not cold.

We walk through to Smith Street.

The once handsome aboriginal boy, now in a long state of mental decline, is outside Woolies throwing his things around, smashing things up, and dribbling from the mouth. I just don’t know why someone can’t help this guy.

Brun, Otto and I are waiting outside Woolies while Sam shops. They both lie out on the paving at my feet. Even I have to say, they both look adorable when they do that.

A lovely girl stops and pats the bulldogs. She has on a really low cut, electric blue top, which oddly I find rather distracting. Even my eyes seem to be drawn to her ample cleavage, and I wonder how straight boys cope? She says she has a staffy at home, but she’s travelling at the moment and so she misses her dog terribly. As she leaves, she thanks me for letting her pat the dogs. She was really nice.

The woman with the beard, and missing a number of teeth, with the enormous arse, comes out of Woolies leaning heavily on her trolley as she always does. She makes her Jake and the Fatman comments, which she always does.

A (big) boy with wild wavey hair, leaves Woolies in dusty work shorts and the grey T-shirt, wearing explorer socks and leather work boots, the pale leather kind, I always call Cum-Fuck-Me-Boots. He has a great arse on him, which I gaze at as he walks away, diagonally across the road seemingly without a care about oncoming traffic.

Sam reappears.

A guy gives the Bulldogs pastrami off an unwrapped, white paper, deli package as we walk off.  You have to wonder about such things, really, and I’d normally say no, but he was eating pastrami as well, so I figured it was okay. Sam questioned me agreeing to it as we walked off.

“He was eating it too.”

“You can never be too careful.”

“Are you telling me he cunningly had a separate stash of poisoned meat on the same unwrapped paper that he was cleverly avoiding eating himself?”

“You never can tell.”

“He was using the same hand to shovel the meat into his own gob as he was picking it up and giving to me to give to the dogs.”

Brun Otto and I awaiting outside the Bonds shop whilst Sam shops in Coles. Otto walks under my legs and sits between my feet, like, I have to admit, I like him to. He really feels like he is mine when he does that. Does that make sense?

A gorgeous athletic, 20 year old boy with floppy blond hair wearing grey jeans that fit in immaculately walks past. Oh, to be young again, I think wistfully.

A gorgeous Indian girl tries to exit the sliding doors at Coles across the road and they don’t open automatically for her and she looks confused and steps back. Another woman coming from the street enters Coles and activates the sliding doors to open. The gorgeous Indian girl smiles so beautifully at the woman as if to say thank you for opening the doors for me.

Brun is lying in the middle of the footpath, as he likes to do, and, what I am going to call, a Somali woman in a headscarf comes along, hesitates, takes one look at Brun lying there, and turns around and retreats not willing to risk passing a dog on the footpath, apparently.

Sam reappears.

A jogger in tight red shorts that show off his assets perfectly jogs out of the laneway on one side, in front of us, and then jogs down the laneway on the other side, my eyes just naturally watch him go.

And then we’re home. unclipping clips, and emptying bags.

“Your weekend begins,” says Sam.

“It began almost over an hour ago,” I reply.

We ate a lamb kebab wrap with coleslaw for dinner.

We watched Dogs Behaving Very badly. It was the humping bulldog episode.

We watched Shaun Micalef’s Eve of Destruction.

10.40pm. We go to bed.