I've quit smoking again, five days. Good huh? Yes, I know, you've heard it all before. But, you have to admit it is still better than continuing to smoke.
Mark and the English woofa, Richard, came to rescue me from my sister's place, when it looked like I was going to be taken to watch my nieces soccer game for the afternoon. You know, lunch is one thing, but being taken to the kids extra curricular activities, with no car as a means of escape, is quite another thing.
Richard and I caught the train back to the city this morning. It's lovely catching the train some times, I get to look at the country side rather than let it rush by unnoticed.
Richard and I parted ways in Spencer Street. He was heading to his sisters in Emerald, first he was off to get his trousers sewn up, something about his penis being far too big for them... oh... no, no, no. Big smile. He caught the leg on a branch and ripped them.
I tried to encourage S to come to lunch with me. What with one thing and another, we haven't managed to get together, instead out relationship has been reduced to a series of suggestive sms' over the last five days. I've decided not to hold back - like I usually do - and we are rushing headlong into something... we'll see what. But, he had a meeting at 1pm and couldn't get away.
So, I wandered up Bourke Street to JB and added to my collection of Australian dvds. I'm buying all the Australian dvds I see in the cheap dvd bins, todays were $6. I just decided it was a good thing to have an Australian movie collection. Today, I got Hotel de Love - it's got Aiden Young in it so it can't be all bad, can it? - and Romper Stomper. I also added to my Paul Newman movies with the Hustler. Paul Newman must have been the most handsome man ever born. Really.
Now, I've got the afternoon to myself.
S is coming over after work. I can't wait to... um ... er ... blush... well, you know what I can't wait to do.
Off to a family lunch with my brother. Kill me now!
He arrived at the airport, just now and his response when my mum asked him to pick me up was, "If Christian calls and asks me himself, I'll pick him up."
"What?" I laughed. "What age group are we in now?"
"Oh Christian, think of all the things he does for you?"
"What does he do for me, mum?" I heard my voice whine like a child's. "It's okay, I don't need him to pick me up, I can drive myself."
"He's taking you to lunch."
"I'm going because you want me to."
He's such a schedule Nazi that if I'm a little late getting to my mums then he will probably go without me. Problem solved. You've got to turn disadvantages into opportunities in this life, if you want to get any where.
Ho hum. Whistle, whistle. What's the time?
Actually, I don't mind my brother because I'm not intimidated by him. How many years practice have I had? I'm the immovable force when it comes to him - recalcitrant younger brother and all that. But, I feel sorry for other people, as that's his modus de oprandi, win through force, order people around, get what you want.
He just called, he's picking me up on his way through. Goodo.
But, I was really happy to drive myself. I nearly turned him down, but I thought of mum. She doesn't need her two boys having words. Time to keep the peace.
I walked into my bosses office - I have 4 levels of boss, this was two up - and said good morning, tell her I was back. I hadn't spoken, as yet and my voice came out as a husky croak. Deep and low, a couple of octaves down from my usual tone.
"You sound shocking."
I thought I was feeling better, was better. I wanted to say, no it's just that I haven't spoken yet, just a frog, but my still small voice took over. "I felt better when I got up, but now..." I shook my head, winging it on her sympathy.
"Sometimes it's when you go out into the cold."
"And it was cold this morning."
"Do you have much you need to do?"
"I'm not sure."
"Just get what you have to get done and then go home."
"Okay, then." My voice croaked, I was sure I was laying in on by this stage, though.
I had lunch with S at 12.30, so I knew my health would last until then.
We ate Italian and held hands across the table, cute, huh? ...despite the restaurant being full of corporate types. I don't care, it's good for them, educational. If we all shy away, then nothing ever changes and the GP never gets used to two boys or two girls. We are as much to blames as the hets, too scared.
Clearly, S isn't shy either.
Of course, it was a political statement, something to finish off the cannelloni, just nicely. Ha, ha! A long mach and a fuck you! thanks. I don't care what other queers are doing, fight for yourselves. I just decided long ago not to be afraid. Of course, I don't hold hands with him at midnight at The Village Green, just the inner queer suburbs, or the CBD. How brave am I?
Then it was a little mosey through JB then a quick recy (nnoitre) around the Hill of Contentment. Then a tram home from Spring because I needed, um, er, shall we say a convenience. (for the lay folk that's take a crap) Four stops and I was home, good thing too, oiy! I wanted a walk, but it was probably best I stayed out of the cold. I don't want to feel poorly tomorrow, let's face it, it's the weekend.
I have a cold and a cold sore. This is my third sick day, I have spent the last two days home in bed. I haven't got out of my pyjamas in that time. When I looked in the mirror first thing this morning, I jump in fright. I am a wreck.
You can understand, when I say, I have not encouraged anyone one to visit, well, anyone new in my life that is. Wink. He's been keen, offering to bring over chicken soup – sweet, huh – but I have declined saying I haven't been up to it. I'm not very good when I'm sick, as I just want to be left alone. Thinking about it, I guess that, actually, makes me really good when I'm sick, as I don't require help from anyone.
I have to say that I am feeling better, the cold feels like it is going and the cold sore has dried too, not even a scab, but dry skin on my bottom lip.
A shave, a shower and a good moisturise and I should be ready to engage with the world again, um, er... tomorrow.
Let’s not rush these things.
It's soul edifying when you have someone who likes you, makes you feel good, makes everything seem just that little bit more right with the world. I was a little surprised with his questions, one week in, but was warmly pleased with his answers. I think he might be a little, um, what to say, full on with his feelings, a little clingy for me, maybe, but you know, that's not something to feel fear about, it is something to feel pleased about, actually. The strong sense of myself that I have should be enough to deal with that. The eternal question of personal space, liking the things that you do and sharing all of that with someone else.
SMS. 17.45. How do you feel now handsome? Did you have a good rest? – S
I've been in bed for two days with a cold.
SMS. 17.48. I didn’t go back to bed, but I haven’t done anything either. I feel okay. Cold feet, though. I guess I should go find some socks? – C
SMS. 17.53. Oh, what’s your plan for tomorrow? Do you want to catch up for dinner? – S
I'm sick, bring me chicken soup. To be fair, he did offer the exact same soup a little later.
SMS. 17.55. Maybe. I’ll see how I feel – C
SMS. 17.57. Ok, let me know :) – S
The cold seemed to be getting worse, not better. I didn’t go back to bed, as I should have, I moped around the house instead.
SMS. 18.33. Hi sweetie, what are you looking for? Friend, fun, date or… ? – S
Huh? Was I understanding this? Did he mean what I thought he meant?
SMS. 18.34. What do you mean? – C
SMS. 18.35. Sorry to confuse you. I’m confused myself too. What are you looking for from me? – S
And there you are, it was as I thought. Wow! So soon? Still, you got to like a boy who is upfront, knows all the questions. What to say? How do I put this… truthfully, ha ha.
And then Nicholas called to tell me about his driving lesson and to remind me to book my tickets for the Gold Coast in November.
Mark called for a chat the moment after I had hung up from Nicholas. He wanted to talk. All the time I was looking down at my mobile with my half written message. I can write while I talk, but that leads to careless mistakes and I wanted to say the right thing, with this one.
SMS. 19.35. Fun, friendship and whatever may come after that… who knows what the future holds? I’m up for whatever comes, I’m not afraid of what might happen – C
SMS. 19.45. Thanks sweetie. I like that u r a good writer. I was a bit nervous as u took a while to respond – S
SMS. 19.46. I’m sorry for the delay with my last answer, funny hey right at the crucial moment, that’s life. I didn’t need think time, I had two friends who called and wanted to talk – C
SMS. 19.46. I would love to find out what our journey will lead us to… – S
SMS. 19.51. That’s the fun bit, living it while it unfolds. Here take my hand and come on an adventure with me. It may last a week, it may last a life time, hold tight here we go – C
SMS. 1954. Ha ha, beautiful, love your beautiful mind. Lead me to your wonderful world, happy world – S
Shane was cooking beans all day yesterday. He'd put them in to soak over the previous night and they had swelled up incredibly, over flowing out of the bowl. We were both amazed. So he placed them in a bigger bowl and covered them with water again and they increased in size again. How many beans did you say you wanted?
He went out late in the afternoon with his usual, I'm just going out for a while, which means he's going out to find boys, down the park, or to some beat some place and he left me in charge of stirring the pot.
He was back a few hours later. I asked him if he'd washed his hands and he laughed. I'm not sure if he was too confident in what he had created, as the next thing Sebastian arrived.
Sebastian cooked a Brussels sprout salad, a beetroot and orange salad, a capsicum salad (you know, when they turn to flesh), guacamole, a tomato salad and a green salad,. Then he prepared plates with a deconstructed corn chip and sour cream pile, for a modern interpretation of nachos.
Pretty soon after that, Mark W arrived with his washing and vodka. Sebastian and I were quite rude about Mark W's premixed vodka drinks, being traditionalist vodka and tonic drinkers. But then, we like to stir up Mark W whatever chance we get. He's intimidated easily for a big, strapping lad. He visibly shrinks at criticism. There aren't too many boys I know who are tall, dark and handsome and a sensitive petal all rolled into the one six foot two body. Call it a game, call it sport, call it bitchy, whatever. Besides, Mark W's way is clever combative repartee as humour, so he asks for it generally.
Mark W was given the job of lighting the fire, which he made a hash of, not a clue, which only gave us more ammunition. I made comments about his arse the whole time he was bent over with it in the air in a vane attempt to get the fire going. He dismissed my suggestions of help, as he added more and more newspaper. He abandoned the fire leaving it as smouldering coals, defeated. He said nothing when I broke up a few sticks and threw them on and had the fire roaring in no time. I refrained from making any comments about it.
Secretly, I've got a unspoken crush on Mark W and we flirt in a kind of non-flirting way, (not sexual, just to make him blush) like we're a little irritated with each other, but it's flirting. So, when he said that the personal stuff that I'd left on the kitchen bench was public property just by the simple fact I'd left it out for all to see, I came back quickly saying his dirty undies he'd left in the hallway waiting to be washed were fair game too, simply by the fact he'd left them strewn across the floor. He blushed and conceded.
Mark W made a big show of the desert he'd made, as the last desert he made for our previous dinner was a complete fizzer. He got a caning for that one. Lasts nights offering was continental ice cream with a brandy sauce. He looked sheepish when he messed up the brandy sauce, Sebastian tut tutted but we'd all drunk much vodka by that stage and were unusually forgiving.
Cooking for our dinner parties is not for the faint hearted. It's a good thing I can cook, Shane can too, he started his working life as a chef. Mark W tries, ah well, at least he's pretty to have around.
And we ate sumptuously, as we always do when Sebastian is around.
I've been to a funeral which seemed to go for a whole day, with the packed church, the garden party afterwards and the pub in Albert Park we all retreated to. A friend's kid brother messed up his insulin and fell asleep in his car after a party and didn't wake up. Forty two with a pregnant wife. Everybody adored him.
I went out dancing which seemed to go for a whole night, I think I was already coming down with something. The beautiful Nicholas turned twenty nine. We went to straight bars in Brunswick Street, because Tim won't take Nicholas to gay bars, in case someone tries to pick him up. We got refused entry to Twenty One because we were too intoxicated, so we went to Cape Live. There were alot of Aboriginals there, the boys were hot!
And now I've got a cold and feel like staying in bed for the rest of my life. I only got up for a cup of tea.
Later.
NSW MP David Campbell admitted it had been a difficult 24 hours as he prepared to face the consequences of his secret life on his family and community. The Illawarra MP's fall from grace was sparked by a Seven Network report which showed footage of Mr Campbell, a married father of two adult boys, visiting sex club Ken's at Kensington on Tuesday.
What business of Chanel 7 is this? This is David Campbell's private life and I think Chanel 7 had committed a gross breach of privacy in reporting this story. This is not in the communities best interests. The only interests that this serves to promote are Chanel 7 ratings.
Shame on you Chanel Seven for wracking a man's life for your own interests!
I'm being distracted with a quiet little love affair. I’ve met a nice boy, handsome, smart, and sweet.
I'll get back to you with more details. Later. I don’t want to get too ahead of myself. I’m just going to let this one develop, no expectations.
My first thought tonight when I walked into my bedroom was, "OH! my God! I've been robbed!"
My second thought was, "Nah. This is just how I left it."
The cleaner comes tomorrow. Phew!
My mate G came over to take me jogging.
"I'm just here to help out with your fitness," said G, bouncing on the balls of his feet on the front porch. "Are you smoking again?" Direct hit!
Singlet, hairy chest, white footy shorts, narrow waist, hairy legs, and how he fills out those two squares of white material? You have to see it. Yes, very clever, a Greek boy in small shorts running ahead of me, don't think I'm not awake up to you.
"What was that first question?"
"Just answer it?"
"Um..." it crossed my mind to lie... "Yes."
"Come on, that means we are going to have to run further."
"Um, remind me when did I asked you to do this?"
"What are friends for?"
"That was going to be my next question."
Still, it was a lovely day, the sun was shining the sky blue.
"Couldn't we go bike riding?"
"Bikes are for girls."
"I'm sure all those guys who compete in the Tour de F..."
"Nyr!" He held his hands up kind of like reverse jazz hands, not that he'd know what that was. "You're not in the Tour De France. Let's go."
"No bikes?"
"No fucken bikes!" He starts jogging away from me. He looks back. Cheeky smile. “You faggot.” He starts to sprint away from me.
“You in those shorts is queer bating, let me tell you.” I call out. He slows and wiggles his arse at me. "Nice," I say. I run after him. "You know what I'll be jerking off to tonight."
He looks back at me with pained expression. "Settle down, will ya."
"Don't wiggle it at me then."
"Less yap, more running. Jesus!"
“You love it.”
“In your dreams, Chriso.”
The idiots! They are demolishing the former Going Going Gone building in Victoria Street. Ah Melbourne, you used to be so beautiful. We desperately need to get rid of this state govt and Justin Madden, as he is allowing property developers to do whatever they like, destroying the soul of Melbourne in the process.
The duck's echo... he quacks, but the quack doesn't quack back.
Such an urban myth. The duck's quack, I guess we'd say, echos just like any other quack
Wow! Cold feet. I'm sure I can see my breath, as I exhale. Lottie was particularly confused on the phone last night, so today is shaping up to be a particular joy. So, don't stand around all morning with the central heating going, you've got things to do.
Just five more minutes, mum.
David used to put the heating on and go back to bed. I used to tell him off. It's Siberia, he'd reply. Shhh! I had cold feet, I had to.
Put your socks on Christian, now there's a good boy.
My mornings at home; quiet, peaceful, still. Just the gentle hum of the dishwasher as I lives are cleaned, ready to start again.
Don't go out without your jacket, darling.
A friend of Matt's is looking for somewhere to live, at least temporarily. His name is David and he's a nice gay boy just moved down here from Brisbane. Apparently, he's complaining about how expensive Melbourne is. What sort of heater shenanigans would we have with a boy from Queensland?
One more coffee, then I'll go.
Amongst my friends, we have an understanding that if any of us have a thing with a guy - anything more than a one night stand - then that guy then becomes off limits for the rest of the group, even after the friend and the guy inevitably break up.
It was just how we all felt about it. If you felt something special for a guy, then that remained yours. We all felt there were always other guys to choose from. None of us wanted to see our ex's dating our friends.
It's called being put in the back paddock.
It's only ever called for an interpretation on the rules, I think only once. And then Shane went ahead with it anyway and Tom was, as everyone agreed, rightly pissed off.
Shane wants wogboy, after Matt. Stuart is just too Anglo Saxon for him, now. All I want is Italian or Greek, is that bad, he asked me. That dark, hairy, attitude, sex, eyes, cock that wogboys have.
Stuart was nice.
Yes, he was nice. Of course, he was nice... but?
Smiley. Handsome.
I just wasn't into the blond hair. Shane grinned. I don't think I want nice.
I thought about my thought of last Saturday, about Stuart dropping in with a joint, when I didn't have any, when Shane was in Adelaide. After I got pot, that thought turned into Stuart popping around Saturday night, getting us both stoned and me playing with his big cock in front of the open fire. It crossed my mind to confess it to Shane... every warning filter in my head went off ,directly after that thought.
Besides, you and I can't afford to have someone bringing pot around all the time, said Shane. Suddenly, we were back up to four nights a week. It just couldn't continue.
I wasn't serious, about Stuart, but apparently, hung like horse. I was surprised I could whack off over that image, the flickering firelight on his unbuttoned jeans, shirt pulled up to his nipples, considering his status - unquestionable back paddock status. But you know, a boy gets to thinking, home alone on a Saturday night, stoned.
And we keep fucking bareback, serodiscordant.
Eventually, that has the potential to lead to tears, no matter what everyone may think now.
Exactly. I made the right decision.
I got my car back, it cost me $1200. Everything fixed, except the driver's side window, they couldn’t get the part in time. It's not the switch, but the relay hidden inside the door. So, apparently, my window doesn’t work at all, any more, until the next service.
"It used to work... intermittently..."
"It did?" said the cute wog mechanic, looking up at me from refitting the door trim. Dazzling eyes, big lips, curved hips. I want to lick you. I think my lips just naturally perched.
Just when I thought everything was going to be in working order. How annoying.
What a glorious day. Good morning world?
I had to get up and take my car to the mechanic at 9am. I think I panicked when the mechanic said I couldn't get the car fixed last week, that I had to wait until this week, so I took the first time. 9am this morning? What was I thinking? Still, it got me out bed and out of the house before the afternoon to enjoy the day.
It's been a very neglected GTI lately, so I didn't want to cancel it. The leaking window has been, finally, fixed and the faulty diver's side window button. Two censors are being replace, one to do with the idling. It's the first time it's been in to be chacked out after I drowned it in water coming back through NSW. What's that, five months?
My brother's down from Qld staying with mum, the sky is blue, the birds are singing.
3am
Cock ring on, internet porn, who am I kidding.
(You were expecting rainbow and unicorns, perhaps?)
I've put in a call to Guido. Well, it was Saturday morning and a beautiful day and I'm home on my own for the next two days, so, I thought, it was time to get a little, er, um... lubricant to do some writing. He hasn't called back yet. Waiting, waiting.
No, not lubricant that comes in a bottle, the type of lubricant that comes in a snap lock bag. Not the type that you push down on the pump pack and then slop it about and get down to it, the type that you inhale and sit back, put your feet up and let it do its magic.
My car has been playing up, it is booked into the mechanic on Monday, and I'm not going to drive it until then. So, today, I caught public around town. I quite like trams and trains, there is something gentle and relaxing about them. I don't have to sit up and take notice of all the idiots around me. I can sit back and read my book, gaze out the window at the world passing by, perve on the cute guy up the carriage a bit, or fall asleep.
There is something very gentle about midday travel, that wash of day time freedom, slipping on and sliding off a vehicle not under your control. It's nice feeling the wind blow over me as I wait at a tram stop.
And wow. Everywhere I went today there seemed to be men in tracksuit pants, seemingly, with boxers, or no jocks. Just swinging in the breeze. Lovely.
Especially, the buff chef in the chef's pants, are chef's pants made from very thin material? The cute Italian in the dark blue trackies with 3 white stripes and not a clue, adorable. And the bulked up Indian boy in those low slung jeans, did he have his lunch roll stored down there? We can thank the universe for those three, not a lot left to the imagination, shall we say.
I’m home on my own, I've got the fire roaring and my lap-top ready to do some writing. Shane has gone to Adelaide for the rest of the week. I can’t remember why, he did tell me, maybe life was getting too exciting for him.
I started watching Criminal Minds, which I never have watched before. It was all about an itinerant farm worker who broke into houses of people on their own and killed them. It was spooky. Half way through I thought, why am I watching this? But, of course, I couldn't turn it off.
Now I’m creeped out. Jumpy. I keep hearing noises. The cat scratched at the door to come in and I freaked, well, jumped. I went to the toilet and was startled at the sound of my own shoulder brushing against the wall. Ah!
Now, I can't think about writing. I've gone all nervy.
I’m never like this usually. I quite like having the house to myself. Grrr! Stupid! Note to self, don't watch murder shows when you are home alone.
Maybe, I should watch some internet porn to take my mind off the man with the knife lurking in the hallway? Although, I'd hate to be killed with my pants around my ankles.
What to do?
Maybe, I should go out for a beer?
Oh, then I'd have to come home... grabbed from behind the door and dragged into my lounge room all decked out as a death shrine, everything wrapped in plastic. Shane's due home on Sunday. I don't fancy being tortured until then.
Oh great, do you believe it, the next show on the teev is called Doomed to die. Where's the remote?
I think my favourite memory is that first tinkle of Greensleaves in the air, when every little kid would just stop, ear to the wind, ready, to hear the next few notes to have it confirmed that the elusive Mr Whippy was, in fact, on his block.
“MUUUUUUUM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”
The longest two minutes of my life can be when I'm cleaning my teeth late, swaying gently, like a tree in a benevolent storm, eyes closed, waiting for my electric toothbrush to change speeds telling me times up. Every stage seems to take an inordinate amount of time. I feel like I have spent half my life brushing my teeth. Will this ever end I am thinking by the time my tooth brush goes wup, wup, wup.
I woke up after midday. Ah, it's Sunday, stop looking at me like that.
Stuart rolled a joint at 1pm, just before he left.
“Who’d’ like a joint before I go?” Big Stuart smile, looking over at me for my agreement.
“Yes thanks,” I said.
Bigger Stuart smile. Shane looked unconvinced... you know, we are both trying to stop. I wanted to say, He's your boyfriend, but they are still at the we-are-not-boyfriends. Besides, I was too busy puffing away. Of course, Shane didn't say no.
I headed to mums, by bike. Nice and slow, meandering along the bike path.
I cooked mum lunch, late yes, and was home by 4.30pm.
I pissed around on my computer for the rest of the afternoon. You know, as you do. I must do some research into computer addiction.
I brushed off my novel and have been doing some work on it. Three chapters.
Sebastian came over and cooked dinner, it's always nice to have someone cook for you. But then, I don't really cook, I can but I don't, I find it boring, so I have lots of people who cook for me. Not sure why, as I rarely return the favour. I cook cakes, occasionally, if the whim takes me.
We watched brain rot television.
Stuart turned up late and rolled me a joint just in the nick of time. I was beginning to think again.
9.24. 10.22. 11.25. They were the moments I cracked open an eye and looked at the clock next to my bed. I so meant to get up at 10.22, oh well. I love my days off. Ha, ha.
Nobody should have to work 5 days per week, it's inhumane. Of course, I only worked 1 and a bit days this week, gotta luv that.
Still in my dressing gown at midday, makes me feel like one of those stay at home mums. I guess, I just need to get myself a valium habit to match.
Just enough time to look at a few dirty pictures on the net and then it will be time to check into my second job - go chat with my mum, take her out to lunch, take her shopping, maybe take her to a movie.
My CEO ask me the other day how my writing was going? Gulp? Actually, now I think about her, I had dreams about her all night. We were huddled under a blanket together in a long line of people watching Mad Max style races. Anyway, I've dragged out my novel and I'm going to make myself do some work on it... instead of looking at dirty pictures on the net.
Ouch, That Fucken Hurts!
It was 9.30am and I hadn’t even finished reading my emails. Beck’s got the week off, so I was feeling pretty relaxed about it all, not that I really act or work any differently whether Beck is there or not. It just takes me back to the days when I was used to working on my own, was my own boss. This working with someone has its emotional drawbacks, or is that, this working with someone who is my boss has its emotional drawbacks?
Suddenly, I got a shooting pain in my back, lower left side. I headed to the toilet, where the pain increased to a level where I didn’t think I was going to survive it, to a point that I momentarily wondered if I needed an ambulance and wondered how I was going to make it out of the cubicle. Was I going to call out help the next time I heard someone come in? I felt hot, I sweated profusely, I felt like all of my pores where standing up in hard Goosebumps. My mouth went dry, I felt like I was going to be sick. Then I was sick. Twice. Eventually, what seemed like an hour, probably just ten minutes, or so, the pain subsided and I tentatively headed to the sinks. I looked like a corpse in the mirror, all the colour had drained out of my face.
I headed home.
And while the pain subsided, it didn’t disappear completely, it remained as a low level ache. Later, in the afternoon, around 3pm, it started to become more painful again. I tried lying on the floor in the lounge room, but I started to shiver. The day was cold. I built a fire, but the pain got worse. So, I changed my clothes and headed to Emergency at St Vincent’s.
There, actually, weren’t that many people waiting ahead of me, two, or three. By the time I got to the Triage nurse, the pain had gone.
So, I only had to wait half an hour, or so, to begin with.
There were all the people coming in for Steven Wong, who was on his last breath in one of the rooms. At some point in the three hours I was there, there was a code blue in emergency and I thought of Steven and whispered goodbye.
There was the cute Indian/Sri Lankan boy who’d injured his foot, whose hot mate kept making eyes at me. Okay, he looked at me a couple of times and it may have been wishful thinking on my part, but I’m sure I’ve seen him at 80. You should have seen his arse in his tight, black track suit pants. Woof! There was the nice middle aged couple from the bush, the husband of which had cancer. It seemed so sad, they had the rest of their lives together, just when they were probably free to enjoy it. The sad expressions on their faces were quietly devastating. The triage nurse called him brave. There was the nuff nuff guy who had swallowed some poisonous chemical to prove it wasn’t harmful to him, who’d been brought in by his employer who was worried about some liability, no doubt.
There was the sexy Turkish boy, who was just in the waiting room, who looked like he had a fist in his jeans, who had a beanie pulled down over his handsome face.
I told the triage nurse my story. She took all my details, most of which she had from my infected elbow a few years ago. I pissed in a plastic jar which the nurse was going to test after she had seen to those who were waiting, all two of them, by that stage. She wanted me to stay to see the doctor, but I was keen to go, so the urine test was somehow the compromise. Waiting was the old queen who was just in for attention, I’m sure. And the young blond woman who cried as she spoke to the nurse, who leant through and held her hand and told her it would be all okay. And finally she was off to test my urine.
The lovely old Asian couple came in and sat with me, smiling when I said I had already been seen to and that they were next.
Then there was the ranga bitch who pushed in saying she suffered from asthma and was having trouble breathing, who was told she would be seen straight away, who then got on her mobile phone and chattered to three different people while she was waiting. Fuck you lady, I thought, you’re not having too many breathing difficulties, you’re in a hospital now, you can get in line. I’m getting my results before you, if you can yabber away on your mobile phone, I’ve been here for three hours.
But, the triage nurse saw me first. There was a small amount of blood in my urine, but as the pain had gone, they let me go.
I should have stood up for the cute old couple who were really next, I thought, as I headed out into the day. Some people, I thought.
I don’t know, maybe I’m a bit weird, but I don’t see that Carl Williams did anything too wrong. Oh, I mean, of course there were the killings, the bashings and the violence, but, you know, there never were any innocents rubbed out, bashed or hurt. Pretty much everyone who was killed was up for it, by the very nature of the life styles they chose to live. You know, live by the sword, die by the sword.
It could be seen as a public service the way society’s attitudes are moving. The general public now think that judges are soft on criminals, that thugs are getting too shorter sentences, that we are all in danger because the crims are getting an easy ride, so why shouldn’t those people who hold these views applaud Carl and his cleaning gang. No doubts that society is a safer place because of them.
There were the meth labs, but you know, it’s all just a construct to ease the control of society. We, as society members, have to forgo certain of life’s pleasures, so that politicians can be re-elected and the police can have more leisure time. Pretty soon, policing will just be reduced to road cameras and CCV TV.
Because, pretty much, drug dealers are selling to a willing customer base. Can you think of another crime where all of the participants are willing and happy?
Yes, of course there are a few exceptions.
Oh yes, the children? We all know that if drugs were legalised and treated as a health issue, when needed, instead of a criminal issue, every child’s head would explode, but think of the police man power, if the only crime they had to police was selling to minors. The police are never going to win, human beings have taken drugs ever since the first caveman scraped the skin of a berry from the Pitchirich Tree and sucked at the sap and they are not going to stop any time soon.
Unsolvable problem being, human beings like drugs too much.
Why don’t we just get real about it and treat it with harm minimisation strategies instead of prohibition, which, I’m sorry, has never worked. I’m sure there is a good argument to be made that prohibition, actually, has caused the mess that we have now.
Let’s try a new approach, let’s take the crime out of it and see what happens.
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