Start of Another Week

Sam leaves at 8am.

Shane leaves at 9am.

I’m into the pot 10am.

Lovely.

My friend, Adriana, told me on the weekend that she is being abused (controlled by, emotionally... but sometimes worse) by her boyfriend and she doesn't see anyway out, at present. 

"I don't have anywhere to go. What do I do?"

I shivered at the thought, it seems so unfair. Adriana is the easiest going person in the world. Really, she is. She is lovely, guys would be lucky to have her as their girlfriend.

I couldn't stop thinking about it. My house is my cave, my burrow, my hole in the ground. I love it and feel safe here. Imagine not feeling completely safe 100 per cent of the time... and also feel like you had no way out. And the rest of us continue living our lives unaffected all around. It must be awful.

So, I text her first thing. You can always come and live with me.

That’s inviting the jealous boyfriend around, I know, and that made me hesitate. Can you imagine, all the turmoil before they sort themselves out. But, that’s what friends do for each other, isn't it?

I did January 2004 blog entries all day. What do I care about a job? My tribute to Tom. I don't care if nobody reads them. I can read them, though. Not often, but occasionally, his words bring him back to life, in some way.

Mark is getting emotional about leaving Bolago behind, he thinks I’m back in Melbourne looking for jobs. And I'm supposed to be. 

I think Mark would like me up there supporting him. And I should be. The house sale, them moving away, it all makes me feel a bit numb.

I hung out on blogger, but, I can’t think of anything to write today.

Late in the afternoon, I whacked off, just bored really. It gets rid of stress.

I eat rocket and tomatoes.

Scrambled eggs.

Two kit kats. (that's packets, not pieces)

Two pieces of peanut butter on toast.

I lay on the couch and watch TV.

Shane comes home and rolls me joints.

Sitting on my arse

Off to the Country

Off to the country for the last weekend at Bolago. They hand over next week and head up north. Sniff, sniff.

I'll miss them.

It will seem strange.

I'll have nowhere to go to in the country. It's the end of an era. I never thought this day would arrive and now it is approx 10 days away.

What the fuck am I going to do without them? What am I going to do without my best friends?

I'm supposed to move there too, eventually. I'd think about going now, think about, contemplate, feel what it is like without Mark and Luke.

But, Sam. I'll have to get him to consider getting a job in Brisbane and commuting the two hours there and back, every day. I'm sure he'll love the prospect of that?

He doesn't drive, though. He doesn't even have he licence.

Ha ha, the things you think of to change your circumstances. Have the courage to change what you can and have the foresight to accept what you can't. Isn't that how it goes.

Dream on baby, get a job.

So, What Do You Think I'm Doing

So, what do you think I'm doing on the day I should be following up my emails with calls to employment agencies? I went to the video shop and hired Brokeback Mountain. Of course, as you do.

Let's see if I like it any more than I did the first time, when I was just luke warm about it.
Let's see if I can understand more than half of what Heath Ledger says this time? That was really the main problem when I saw it the first time. I couldn't understand what he was saying.

And I never really got the sexual tension in the build up to the tent sex scene, either. It was as though there were two cowboys who hung around together and one night one jumped the other.

Although, snigger, snigger. I'd like to see Heath pump Jake's arse for real.

Bang Bang

I was still up around midnight, well, let’s face it, wasting my life on my computer, when I heard a loud bang. What the hell? Then I realized it was the spark problem out the front of the house, which I had experienced once the week before last, which I hesitatingly accredited to something, or someone, going bang in the street and which a neighbour called the fire brigade about last week, confirming my stuffed down belief that it was closer to home that a passer by misbehaving. So, I headed out the front to see if I could see exactly what was sparking. I suspected it was happening at the connection to the house and not the power pole at all, but I needed to see for myself.

I was standing under the veranda out of the rain when it happened again, but I had diverted my eyes momentarily and it was too bright and too sudden for me to see exactly what was making the sparks fly. It made me jump though and call out, Jesus fucking Christ!

So, I got an umbrella and stood in the rain on the road. As I stood there, a large rat ran out the front gate, did a twirl and then ran back in the gate and up my front path again. Euw! And the front door was ajar too. Euw! again. I did a little anxiety dance on the spot.

Taxi’s came and taxis went. The rain fell down and dripped from every corner of my umbrella. The streetlights shone out in yellow contained pools, seemingly restricted by the inclement weather. Each end of the street seemed to be hidden behind a veil of water falling down, as though frosted glass had been installed at the extremities. Everything in between seemed to shine with the wet slick that covered them.

I wondered if I should be looking directly at it, if the previous explosion was anything to go by. I’d hate for my retinas to be permanently scarred. I contemplated making one of those box mirror things that you use to look at an eclipse. It was rubbish night, the bins were out… I figured all I’d need to complete the picture was a bunch of plastic bags, a worn trench coat and a Safeway trolley.

When I reported the problem five days ago, the nice lady at the electricity company said that it was quite common for power poles to spark in the wet and that it was nothing to worry about.

I gazed up at the power pole standing sentry at the side of the road; big and black and looming. The black sky behind made it look slightly menacing.

BANG!

I jumped.

Sparks flew from the electricity connection on the front of the house. It sounded like a gunshot ringing out in the street, no wonder the neighbour reported it. If they were a light sleeper, it could certainly be problematic.

BANG!

The old Addams Family façade lit up like it was the 4th of July. All it need was a few pinwheels and some rockets and maybe an eighteen year old jumping out of a cake.

I fixed my face into a permanent wince, I could feel it in my cheeks and around my eyes, not a good thing for crow’s feet and wrinkles, I’m sure and held my breath, as I gazed at the house and waited.

I amused myself with the thought of the neighbour bouncing off the bed with each explosion.

As I gazed at the front of the house, dripping in octagonal sprinkles, waiting for the next gunshot, I shook my head and though, what more do you need to see?

I came inside and called the nice lady from the electricity company.

“Where the power attaches to your house, you say?”

“Yes, the connection to the house.”

“I’ll have a crew out as soon as I can. Can I have a number that they can call you on if they need to talk to you? Will you be on site and available?”

Who can sleep with shot gun salute playing every fifteen fucking minutes? “Yes.”

“Okay, rightio then.”

Rightio? “I don’t mind waiting up, if you can tell me how long they will be?”

“No, I can’t give you a time.” Give or take a week, I thought. “You don’t need to wait up?”

But if they are going to call? “Okay then.”

“They take this very seriously, don’t worry.”

Poor bastards, I thought. In the dark and the rain, they must love that.

An hour later, a white truck pulled up outside, as I lay in bed watching TV. The phone began to ring. I headed outside, instead of answering it.

“Sorry to wake you up,” said the strapping man in the reflective wet weather gear with the soothing voice, although it had stopped raining by then. “We’ll have to replace the line from the power pole. These old connections are covered in plastic, but when it deteriorates, it allows the water to connect with the power… and…” he held his hands in the air.

“It’s loud explosion.”

“Yes, I’m sure. We’ll have to turn you power off for half an hour, or so. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“You can go back to bed now.”

“Thanks.”

2.50am.

I watched the strapping man’s mate climb an impossibly tall ladder that reached all the way to the top of the sentry light pole, as a light sprinkling of rain began to fall again. My vertigo made me shiver at the thought. I fell into bed and pulled the doona up to my face. Torchlights flickered behind my curtains like an extra terrestrial landing. I thought of Close Encounters of the third kind.

I hoped the neighbour was watching just to see that something was being done. Poor, sleep deprived bitch!

My last thoughts were, Ah, house maintenance, at last. Tick.

Why Is This The Face of Jesus? Why Isn't It The Face of Abdul the Tailor?

Why isn't it Barry from Bendigo?

Environmental Thinking

Shane buys environmentally friendly 100% recycled toilet paper and thinks anyone who is against the carbon tax is an idiot...

... and then can leave every light in the house, from the front door to the back door, including the front and back outside lights, on without a care.

 

Back to Work?

My old work agency is calling me about jobs. They've called me a few times, but up until this morning, I didn't put the missed call number together with theirs.

Just when I'm thinking that I really do need to find a job. I guess I should take it as a sign and get back to them.

Oh? Really? It seems such a wrench.

It's a lovely summery sunny day, so I went outside and watered my plants instead and thought about it no more.

But really, it is now on my mind and I'm trying to talk myself into calling them. I'm trying to get my mind back into work mode.

I might make more coffee.

Out of the Blue

Manny called last night, out of the blue.

"Hi Chris, it's me Manny. I don't think we have seen each other for five years, but I broke up with my partner two weeks ago and I thought I'd give you a call, it's a shame you aren't home. I went to your office, but they said you'd left. I'll give you another call later."

Really? I thought.

After five years, it's me you give a call?

You remember my number? because I don't remember  yours.

I've moved on, Manny, really, and I don't want to see you. Would that be too cruel to say to someone?

I guess we should be able to be friends, but I don't really want to be. Have a nice life Manny, you are a sweet boy and I hope you find happiness. 

I Think The Choice Was A Throwback To Her School Girl Crushes

Up early to see Moneyball with Jill. I think the choice was a throwback to her school girl crushes and Brad Pitt, rather than an actual choice in movies. 

Sam and I felt a bit wrecked, cursing that we’d agreed to an early session, 13.45. Sam said he was waiting for me to cancel.

The movie was good, okay. Brad Pitt was pretty good, I guess. It had a nice moody atmosphere. Good cinematography. Another win for him to add gold to his coffers.

We had soup in Victoria Street as we headed home.

It Was a Gorgeous, Sparkling Day

It was a gorgeous, sparkling day. We went riding along Southbank and then just kept going. Past the Exhibition Centre, past the Pollywoodside, all the way along. The development along the Yarra is quite amazing, all apartments and marinas and esplanades to walk on and to ride on. It all seemed quite relaxed too, not over crowded, not teaming with people, but just a nice bunch, of what seemed liked locals, enjoying the day.

Not that I want to live in an apartment, I kept saying.

We looked at the prices in a real estate shop window. Goodness me, there seemed to be a good per cent age of them over one million.

Then we came to the end and there were a group of town houses nestled there, in sight of the Westgate Bridge. They had 180 degree views of the Yarra, with lovely water frontages. They seemed peaceful and serene.

Now, I could live here.

There was a collection of walk bridges which connected them to the Docklands and other parts of that end of the city.

As we rode back, it struck me that it would be like being on holidays every day. You could walk to the city along the water front walkways. It all seemed quite lovely, quite an amazing world they have built, nearly, all the way to the bay.

Now We Know What We Have To Do, Break Their Necks

I’m up at 11am. I turn on the coffee machine, full expresso. I am impatient and the coffee is cold.
I go back to bed to my computer. There is no side table to sit my coffee cup on. Things are packed up ready to ship to the new house. It hardly seems the effort to juggle a cold cup of coffee on my legs with my laptop.

Burly welsh rugby player, beer drinking, 125 kilos, breaks his neck while trying to impress his mates, which causes him to have a stroke.
He wakes up from the coma and immediately feels different. He is watching a TV program with a handsome actor, which gives our boy the same feelings in his stomach that he used to feel when he looked at women.
He’s now a 71 kilo hairdresser.
Now we know what we have to do, flip them over backwards and break their necks.

When I get up again, Mark and Luke are up. I eat muesli. We watch Doctor Phil. We smoke a joint.

I sneak a cigarette and walk up the driveway to smoke it. I feel stoned, and feel that I am guilty with every thing I do. Just smoke the cigarette, own it, feel yourself grow.
Yeah right, if it was that simple everyone would be doing it.

I get my camera, to take photos up the driveway.
My camera runs out of batteries after the fourth shot. But, the driveway is gorgeous in dappled light meandering through the forest... I'll miss it.
Dusty is playing in the barn as I walk back. They are packing it up, what do you expect?
I don’t have the camera charger, bugger. Would that be one of those moments that Sam says I need to plan?
But, I was sure I had it, mum.

I need a good dump and a shower, I know that much is true. The country has a way of doing that to you.

I gardened all afternoon, out in the sun. I think it's good to get a little vitamin D, I mean, how long do I spend in doors behind my computer. And I've had the odd blocked pore, of late.
The sun was hot. The breeze was cool. The sky was blue. I usually break every half hour for a cup of tea, that's my idea of working in the garden. And a cake, even better. You know what I mean? I move like the seasons. A seasonal gardener, thats me. But not today, I cruised through until dusk without a break. Do you know how many greens there are in nature? I was in a trance. Digging those weeds, mostly out in the canna garden. I wanted to get them all. The Japanese Maple is amazing this year. In the zone, as they say. How cute are wrens bathing in water?
I could smell rain in the air. A huge storm blew in and the thunder rolled and the lightening flashed and the rain fell in huge drops. We opened the double doors and stood between indoors and out doors. The other dimension.

The Rain

I woke up to the rain gently falling on the roof. I love that sound, there is nothing quite like it for making me feel relaxed and comfy. Nothing quite like it to make me want to open the curtains and pull the blankets up to my face and just stare out at it.

Some people hate Melbourne's changeable weather, I love Melbourne for it. So often it means that when it gets really hot and oppressively hot in the city, you know it won't be long before there is a cool change and all the heat will be blown away and we will be renewed and the sparkling sun light will start all over again.

I like that break. I look for that break. It makes the heat more bearable. I see it as an advantage.

Of course, I am still in the country, where it doesn't matter how hot it gets, as it all cools down again when the evening falls. I'm surrounded by birds and trees.

Lending a Hand

Sam kissed me good bye at the bed room door; really my first recollection of the day. Big lips, kisses like he loves me. A lovely way to start Monday, to start the week. It was nice being with Sam all weekend, without Shane home, it felt like a different house. Ours. Relaxed. No tension.

Not that Shane is hard to live, because he's not. He cooks for me.

I dozed. But say, 9.15 and I was awake again, comfy, warm, just one doona needed to keep me warm. The summer doona, we'd changed over. The weather has changed, we've moved, perceptibly, from winter to summer.

Shane got up and went to the toilet and then went back to bed. He didn’t scratch and rattle around in his room and then head lead-footed down the stairs. No, the door made its familiar clunk and then silence. Nothing. He’d gone back to bed. Clearly.

I rolled over and went back to sleep, if not total rem sleep, I certainly dozed. Cuddling pillows. I rolled over and looked at my clock, it was half past nine. Oh, please don’t tell me you are staying home? I mean, what kind of conference does an office manager need, I ask you. Go to work.

It was a beautiful morning, I rolled over in my bed, relaxed, free, as free as the wind. I got my book out and read for a while. Hands straight up in the air.

Shane made no more sounds, not a scratch, not a scrape, not even a cough. Shane can sleep, if he doesn’t have to get up, well into the afternoon. I read for a while.

The phone was ringing. Luke was asking me if I wanted my old Bette Davis videos. Like I'd part with them? I bet you never play another video in your life, says Luke.

Then Mark is on the phone saying he is really anxious, he doesn’t feel like he’s going to get it done. There is so much. I can’t sleep. I need help.

My first reaction was, get Valium. I'm not proud.

I looked over at the clock, it was 11.45. What? How? I look out the window, Shane’s car is still in the street. Oh what? He did stay home. What a beautiful day? He’s spoiling it, I was going to have alone time. What a nice drive to the country. What about the money you owe me? I just want to disappear, not explain. He could be up in a minute? I could honestly be packed in fifteen minutes. I don’t want it to look like I’m sneaking out. He easily sleeps to 2pm. If he has had a big day. Just pack and leave. Pull on clothes. Drag the necessities together, clothes, computer. Just start, you can have it done in the time you stop and say you can’t. Get the hell out. Get money out of the bank..

I left just after midday. In the car. The sun is shining. Into the day. Into the country, without a word to any one.

The Calder was well lit, the day sparkled, the countryside looked beautiful. That gorgeous warm day smell floating in the wide open windows of the car. I listened to Joss Stone.

Mark said it was a surprise.

We watched a doco about Christians and atheists. 

Apparently, Abby has found Christianity at an evangelical church whose congregation speaks in tongues and Abby thinks it is a perfectly normal Christian tradition.

Maybe a normal American Evangelical tradition

They buy her trips to Melbourne and Trips to Bali. It sounds like the same old Abby, relying on someone else to pay her way.

Apparently, she is already asking Mark to challenge her religiously. And she feels as though God has told her to do many things since she is born again. And she feels it is her duty to spread the word.

However, I must qualify my position here, as Abby and I have never really discussed her Christian beliefs, and the information I have I got from Mark.

Luke packed ornaments and knick knacks. Lots of bubble wrap, lots of boxes.

I packed the Pianola rolls. I drove the tractor. We packed quite a few boxes and we took them to the barn, the tractor packed full, ready to be picked up by the removalist.

Luke cooked diner. Chicken salad, it was yum.

I ate one of the violet crumble squares and Mark calls me fat. He is critical of me at the moment, any guesses why?

We watch the Xfactor and MTV Awards, Belfast. Justin Bieber sang, ah ha, he was okay. Lady Ga Ga sang, but the shots were long shots and bad, you couldn’t see her, she was too far away, which made me suspect she was miming. She had this big, stupid hat on. Queen performed, Adam Lambert sang, he didn’t really cut it, half the time he sounded a bit like a Dalek. I saw Paul Rogers from Bad Company front them, he was much better, he’s their man.

There was cute Irish boy streaking with his cock hanging out. It was nice to see his dick, it was nice they showed it in TV… but blanked it out on the Internet news.

Luke rolled joints.

Mark and Luke went to bed.

I stayed up to see Queen and rolled a joint. Then I went to bed. In the corner room and wrote this.

I played on my laptop. Checking emails.

My buddy LouLou is going to sell a cutlery set, which I was going to simply throw out, on eBay... Yeah, sure... sell the cutlery set, thanks LouLou, one million dollars would be great, I could retire. I did mean to ask my sister if she wanted it, just in case. You know. But, I forgot. I’m sure she wont, though. So yes, sell it.

I'm at Bolago helping the boys pack, they sounded anxious and I have nothing else to do. No, really I don't.

LouLou hasn't work for the period  that I haven't worked, but I'm not on to the credit card stage, as yet, like she is, so I'm sure that is good, perhaps not so good for her. But, I guess I'm going to have to get a job and am probably living in a fool's paradise, so who am I to judge. So there you go. It's a shame to see the cutlery set got, but it is of a different time. It was a wedding present to my mum and dad on their 17th December 1955 wedding, so I'm sure Xmas was mighty swish that year. It is solid silver? Or is it? I can't quite remember.

The Day is Perfect

No, I'm not bored, the sun is illuminating the world so beautifully, so how could I ever be bored? I go to my happy place, happy, nonsense songs. A lovely melody, for a great day.

The day is a magnificent 28, glorious degrees. I'm gazing out at the silken air, as I sip my coffee, first thing, on this radiant morning.

The day is perfect. Ah, serenity at last.

It’s nice to take a trip into the country, just to get away. It feels great to be alive. 

It becomes a beautiful night, the moon shines down brightly. The frogs are croaking on the lake.

Kris Humphries... 6 foot 9 inches... do you think everything is proportional?

Who knows something, sing polly wolly doodle all the day.

Who knows anything, sing polly wolly doodle all the day.

Who knows what life is about, sing... no?

Okay, show me in interpretive dance,

prance!

Going to See Darren Hayes

 I was up at 10.30, mostly because my bladder was telling me so. 

I came downstairs to a healthy Aby, now fully recovered from her codeine poisoning.

Aby’s friend LuLu arrived a short time later and they headed out into the day.

It is cold and wet, the skies are grey, the breeze has a bite to it. Sam and I needed umbrellas to head out to dinner this last evening. The hint of summer that we had has all disappeared and it is raining, you can see your breath puff out in front of you when you breath out.

I was happily pulled up at the coffee table with my laptop and my coffee, thick explorer socks, hoodie, track pants and thermal underwear, happy as a Christian can be... atheist boy named Christian, that is. The morning was drifting into lunch time, Missy was snuggled up next to me, purring as my hand gently stroked her back.

I might write a little for the day and then rest. It seemed like a good idea. Or, maybe, when I got done writing, and I decided that I wasn't sleepy, I might head out for a snack. Who cared? I could do anything, the day was mine.

Click, click sounded the front door. Scrape, scrape was the sound of the silver jiffies on the floorboards. Scratch, scratch was the sound of the fingernails on the wall at the lounge room door, as she came into sight.

Sharp breath in. "Oh, 'allo."

"Oh... hello Guadalupe."

I picked up my stuff and head straight outside and write on my lap-top on the back veranda, my coffee next to me. It wasn’t exactly warm and I wondered how crazy I looked, but at least I was out of her way cleaning. And it helps with my cleaner phobia, something about my back to her.

When I was sick of writing, I then continue with the cleaning of the back yard, up the back, on the upper layer, out of sight. I was determined to clean it all up, finish the job, clean it so I could see the bitumen covering the ground where the cars park, or at least, my car parks.  

I scrape, I scratch, I sweep, I shovel, I clean the surface of all its dirt.

I pile up the side garden/compost heap with all the debris that was lying all of the surface of the drive and the car park.

I sweep, and I sweep, and I sweep some more, so the surface is clean. It takes some time. I promise myself that I won’t let this happen again. Deep down, I’m pretty convinced that it will.

I wonder if I could rent it out? Who has a spare car space in the inner suburbs which they don't use? Who?

All the while I am enjoying my alone time. [2011] And Guadalupe’s couple of hours pass quickly and I manage to avoid her. [20/05/2026]

It takes me the rest of the day to clean the yard, fuelled by many cups of tea, and I am fucked when I am finished, aching all over, thinking I’m not twenty any more.

Sam arrives after work.

Mark and Luke arrive later than they said they would, but they have brought the bed back for the front room, strapped to the roof of the Subaru. They are in the middle of their house packing, as they are leaving for NSW in three weeks, so they are busy cleaning up all the loose ends. They borrowed the bed some months ago.

We are going to see Darren Hayes at the Forum.

We ate at Coconut Palms; Mark and Luke are too hungry to even talk. They both seem grumpy. We walked up Smith Street and caught a taxi in Victoria Parade. The taxi driver was a maniac, you know, your clichéd road terror taxi driver.

Brendan Maclean is the support act. He was a self indulgent tosser who seemed to be terribly enamoured with his own small talent.

Darren Hayes started right on time. He comes out under a ultra violet lit umbrella, which seems really dumb, and doesn’t bode well for the rest of the performance. We got a possy up near the front. The sound was shit. Mark and Luke didn’t seem to be having a very good time. Sam said he was excited. Then Luke disappeared. When I asked Mark where he was, he said Luke had gone home, as he wasn’t into it.

It was standing room only and I seemed to be getting a sore back from all the standing. 

Mark disappeared and then reappeared saying the sound was better up the back… which it was. Then Mark went out for a cigarette. I said to Sam let’s go out and get some fresh air. Mark walked up to us on the footpath and said, “So, are you ready to go?”

“Oh?” That’s not really what I had in mind. I look at Sam, he nods. “Ok,” we said. 

Mark said he was freezing as we walked home, lets catch a taxi, of course he didn’t have any money. The taxi driver was a really gorgeous, big strong, boysy Indian guy with a beautiful smile.

Somehow, we beat Luke home. He must have walked.

Luke said he saw Shane and David in a bar in Gertrude Street.

Mark and Luke left pretty soon after. They had a cup of tea, but they still didn’t seem all that happy.

Sam and I went to bed.

David came home with Shane and knocked on my bedroom door. We jokingly kept silent, thinking David would be more determined than he actually proved to be. He must have walked straight down the stairs and out the front door.

Sam and I were watching Graham Norton.

I text him a few times after that. He called me a witch and said he’d gone to Club 80.

“I’ve been away for four months you bitches.”

Cooking Me Lunch

I was awake at 9am, ready to get up and go pick up Sam, since I had been so dense about it being Cup Day and him coming over after work.

I was showered and ready to go by 10.30.

There was no sound of Aby being up and about, despite there being some Lilly noise earlier, it was now quiet. I went up to the top room to see her and she had been vomiting from the codeine in the painkillers I had given her last night for her sciatica.
“Oh,” I said.
“I think I’ll be right now, thought.”
“I’m going to pick Sam up, so I’ll be back later.”
I’m sure Ab had said something last night about the possibility of codeine making her sick. I wondered if that is what she had said as I headed out to the car. I thought it was funny how we would do such things to ourselves, if that is, in fact, what she said.
But, I wanted to leave and her being sick threatened to get in the way. I wanted to spend her first day at my place doing what I wanted to do, suiting myself, if you like.
So, I left “I’ll be back later” as deliberately vague and scampered out to the car.

Sam handed me Secateurs and gloves, as soon as I got there, and pointed towards the garden. “My garden needs your attention.”
Kiss kiss babe.
He said he was cooking me fried rice for lunch, he’d told me yesterday in the failed conversation about Cup Day.

We both tendered the garden, stealing smiles at each other.

We get to watching documentaries on drugs – one each on Cocaine, meth, heroin, with lots of people shooting up, too much, too much and of course, god’s herb itself, marijuana.
I text Ab to say I had been caught up. I felt guilty, her first day at my place and she was sick and I abandon the house. I shouldn’t have, I know. What kind of friend am I? But, that is just how it worked out. She says Shane has come over to look after her and that everything was fine. I hoped that was true.

Sam and I watch Drugs, inc, documentaries about Cocaine, Crystal meth, heroin and marihuana. We were bemused by the smuggling methods and the unlimited funds of the Columbian cartels, we were amazed by the damage meth caused, we were squeamish about the intravenous injections of heroin and laughed about marijuana being labeled “God’s Herb,” as that is what I always tell Sam what it is.

We have opposing views on drug policy, mine is that it needs to be legalised and therefore the criminal element can be removed and then all the money from policing/detection/jails can then be put into medical programs/counselling. Sam thinks it needs to be policed for the good of society.

My little monster Sam's favourite drug is crystal meth.
My favourite drug would still be pot.

We got back to my place about 18.30. There appeared to be nobody home. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t slightly pleased by that. Sam was pretty quickly asking what we were going to eat. He wanted to go to Malaysian in Carlton. Sounds good, so we walked over there.

I tentatively headed up stairs to see if Ab was around, to ask her out for dinner too. I knew Shane had had trade around and I didn’t really want to invite him for dinner. I’d be lying if I said that I wasn’t please that neither of them were around.
So Sam and I headed out the door quickly. And as if by some sort of karmic retribution, we both though we heard Lilly yelling out as we headed out the door to the front gate.
“Should we go and look?” asked Sam.
“But I checked, there is no where else they could be. Nah, let's go.”
What kind of friend would you s ay I was?

It was a lovely walk to Carlton. It was a lovely evening, even if it wasn’t especially hot, but it was warm enough. Not barmy, but mild. I love that walk from Nicolson Street to Rathdown between the Exhibition Buildings and the museum, it is an urban oasis, a constructed valley, between two urban ridges. The landscape of history meets the landscape of knowledge, with lovely long expanses and end of day shadows in between.

Dinner was lovely, the café was busy. We sat outside, surrounded by pretty boy students all feasting to the end of the weekend, well, holiday to be strictly correct.

We were back home by about 8pm, still there seemed to be nobody home.

Neither of us had a clue about the big race, nor did we care.

Shane came home pretty soon after that. He’d hired Pirates of the Caribbean 4, so we watched that. As with the other Pirates movie, I found it to be hard to follow and possibly nonsensical, although, it could have just been me.

Ab came home having been out for Vietnamese soup. Where she was earlier remains a mystery.

Dreaming and Fretting

Toss. Toss. Turn. Turn. Ah! Oh! Eyes open. Shake head.

I glance over at the clock, it is 6am.

I sit up. I gaze at the dark turning to light, beyond my balcony French Doors.

I dreamt about (my old bitch boss) Belinda again. I was working on a ship. I was really busy, with a full schedule. I was flat out working hard. Then Belinda came along and gave me a number of chores to do. I was trying to get all of my jobs done, so I could do Belinda’s. I was working hard. I was up against it. I just didn’t have the time to get them all finished, but I was trying hard. I was desperate to get them done. I was stressed about no being able to make it.

Then Belinda showed up. “Have you done those things I asked you to do?”

I started to answer her, to tell her that I hadn’t had the time.

“Actually, don’t worry, I will go and check for myself.”

I wonder if I am going to go back to sleep.

I also had my failing at uni dream. It must be the only recurring dream that I have. It is always the same, I am going to a class most of which I have missed up until that point in the year.

I know I am not going to fall back to sleep, I can feel it. I pull out my laptop. I think about coffee.

What am I going to do with my life? I thought. I’m in a fool’s paradise, as they say. Sure, I have enough money to pay for the mortgage for the next year, but that is if nothing else crops up? If no other unexpected expenses come my way. You know, like $2000 for my tooth, suddenly. It would only take a couple of things like that and I’d be screwed. No, really. There is no extra money now, there is no mum to bail me out, there is no dad to ask, there is nothing like that now.

So, do I get a job?

Do I rent out the other rooms in the house? 

Do I really want to live with other people? Do you really want to work?

Oh, what to do?

Why can’t I come to a decision? Why am I continually asking these questions, with no semblance of an answer?

Life is hard? (He says nervously thinking about the people dying from dehydration in Africa, or the Japanese who had their lives washed away)

So I start writing an email to Janelle at (insert name of old recruitment agency/employer), but I saved it in “drafts” instead of sending it, first thing, as I ate my breakfast.

I open up Seek and find two jobs that I could apply for. But, do I want to, am I just worrying about going back to work? I’m feeling sick at the thought, feeling like I could never do it, deciding that I wasn't ready, I headed outside. Stupid, I know. I don't know if I am just being self indulgent, or if I have post sacking stress syndrome. Is there such a thing?

I go out in the back yard and clean. Of course, I am looking for a distraction from going back to work, as it is bugging me.

I decided to water my pot plants, enjoy the fresh air, being out in the daylight enjoying the garden. Simple pleasures. 

When I was done, I looked up at my car and thought, I really must polish that. I ran my hand across the roof, and think I should just do it then, instead of just thinking about it. I look at my hand, thinly covered in dirt. It needed to be washed first. Oh well, that’s that. What? So, wash it. So, I washed my car. When that was done, I look at the polish I had and it was Kitten Cut No 2, which was for poor or severely weathered paintwork, which I decided my wasn’t. It still had a shine to it, I could see that as the sun reflected in the white paintwork.

I need Kitten Cut No 1. 

Oh, really?

So, shrug, I had a nice clean car.

Fuck me!

It was a nice idea.

Then there was the matter of the hibiscus bush, cut out of the front yard last week, lying on the ground next to my car. I guess, I have to cut it up? Oh, it’s going to be a big job? Oh, I can’t do it. Just start by cutting up one branch at a time and see how you go. In fact, get your secateurs and start chopping up the thinner branches, I tell myself. Just start, don’t think about the finish.

I cut it all up, done before I know it. Then I cut up the remaining plant cuttings, the old lilac tree, the rose, which had been lying on the ground for months, many months now. Once I have removed the top layer of debris, the composting layers are then exposed; leaves and small branches, which are now turning into soil, they have laid on top of the paving for so long. I swept the layers of dirt from the bitumen, the years of sedimentary layers, and the specially laid brown concrete paving is exposed for the first time in, oh I don’t know how many years?

Luke arrived with Aby and Lilly. Luke doesn’t hang around, he heads straight back home.

Rob arrives in the very next minute and he and Aby go shopping. Rob still looks mighty handsome. He fills out those jeans so well. And he is such a nice guy.

I was desperately trying to finish the cleaning up operation, you know, clear the other car park so it could be used. Who has an off-street parking car space in the inner suburbs, which is only used to house plant cuttings?

I could probably even rent it out.

I didn’t get the job finished. But, I was fucked by the time I had finished.

I spoke to Sam and he said that he was going to cook fried rice for lunch tomorrow, did I want some.

He sometimes takes food in for lunch and we go and sit by the Yarra and eat it. “Sure,” I said.

He talked about coming over. I said something about a two year old being very noisy and he agreed that maybe he should give me some bonding time with Aby.

“Sure,” I said. 

Aby had eaten with Rob. She was suffering from sciatica and asked if I had any painkillers. I had strong painkillers from my toothache, prescription painkillers, no less. She was pleased to get them and then headed to her room.

I ate soup for dinner, during which I called Sam on video telephone call. I told him I was on my own and that he should have come over. 

He said never mind and asked what time I’d be over for lunch?

“Come over to your place for lunch?”

“Yep, it will be easier to cook at my place than your place anyway, that way I have more ingredients.”

“You are going to be home tomorrow?”

“What? Oh, I don’t believe you? Really? You are so vague?”

“What?”

“Tomorrow is Cup Day.”

Oh, I thought. Everything just fell into place, like dominoes falling, the lunch, coming over after work, all of it. “Why didn’t you say so?”

“Why do I have to tell you it is Cup Day?”

“You must know by now, every day is the same to me.”

Which it is. Cup Day. Show Day. Who cares!

Damn! I think. He already thinks I’m vague.

“Oh please, you are kidding aren’t you?”

Aby came down and filled her fuzzy red fur covered hot water bottle and went to bed some where before 10pm.

I went to bed somewhere after 10pm. It’s a bit early, I guess? Why not, I thought? I love my bed. I don’t have to stay up until 3am just because I can.

Shane was at night school.

Guy Relaxing

I can feel it coming in the air tonight

Day in the Country

 Sam and I went for walks in the forest, around the lake, across the long sweeping lawn clearing to the creek. It was a lovely day, even if the weather wasn’t perfect, it was in its less than perfect way. Cool and damp can be as perfect as sparkling and sunny.

We smoked pot and watched teev. The weather was wintery.

Lilly had the run of the house, as children seem to have now. She’s only two but boy is she loud. Why is that? The whole house has to change it’s behaviour to accommodate children? Why is that the case now a days?

Of course, it meant we couldn’t smoke pot inside, which, of course, meant we didn’t get to smoke much pot at all. Which is the real point here, of course, I like to smoke pot at Bolago, not really I do. Bugger the children, I couldn’t help but think. Bugger the children running the world!

Other than that, it was a lovely, relaxed day.

The only thing we really had to do was take Sam to say good-bye to Brian’s parents, Sam's ex boyfriend who he still lives with. Yes, he wanted to say good bye to the ex-parents inlaws. How much do you think they know? Not that I’m making any claims, my family still thinks Mark is my boyfriend.

We were supposed to be driving Aby and Lilly home with us. They were to stay until Wednesday, when they’d return to Bolago for the last couple of days of their trip.

Brian’s parents had been in Melbourne for 3 weeks, but were going home tonight, who Sam, as yet, had not seen once.

“What time did you say their flight left?” I asked as the clock struck 7pm.

“Midnight.”

“Won’t they have to be at the airport 3 hours before that?”

“I guess.”

“And it will take us an hour to get home, even if we left right now.”

“Oh,” said Sam. “We have to leave, don’t we.”

“That we do, pumpkin.”

Aby was in the shower with Lilly, so she said it was okay, she’d come down with Luke tomorrow.

I dropped Sam off at his place to say good-bye to the relatives.

I smoked cigarettes with Shane. Bad Christian.

I sat up watching TV until late.

The Urge for Death Had Now Passed

I woke up and the pain was gone. Lovely, lovely, lovely. I was ready to do myself in yesterday, but the urge for death had now passed.

We went to Bolago. We ate Japanese in Carlton, on the way.

The sun was shining, it was a lovely day for a drive to the country.

Besides, I was going to see Aby for the first time in a number of years and I was going to see her daughter for the first time. Aby is down from Sydney for a week, or so.

Poor Me

I’ve now had a progressively worse and worse toothache for going on twelve hours. I’ve been to the dentist and I’ve got new antibiotics. I’m now just waiting for them to kick in, which in all likelihood the effect of which I may not feel until tomorrow. I can’t take any more painkillers for a while, they don’t seem to be doing anything anyway.

I’ve had two nurofin plus at 9.30am. I took the antibiotic – to be completely correct it was penicillin – at 10.30 with breakfast in Big Mouth. I took three aspirin at elevenish and I took two panedine forte just after 12pm when I got home. 

It is now 13.20 and the pain has subsided to a bearable throb.

I’m now not prepared to put up with this pain for much longer, so if the antibiotics don’t start kicking in pretty damn soon, I’ll be fronting up to the dentist early next week and saying, “Just take it out, I can’t do this any longer.” Front tooth or not, it will have to go.

I don’t know how people with terminal illnesses do it? If there was no relief in sight for what I’m feeling now, I’d be saying, Doc, switch me off.

The pain probably wouldn’t now be so bad, if only I’d gone down yesterday afternoon and got the tablets. Stupid me.

It’s windy and the wind chimes are ringing a treat… I’m having an out of body experience, which involves me lumbering out there like a gorilla and ripping them down as if I am a man possessed and throwing them into next week.

Sam arrives after work to pat me for my pain and to look after me. 

Actually, he says that I never listen and that I should have had the tooth ripped out weeks ago when I first saw the dentist and that I only have myself to blame.

"I don't want to hear any future complaints about sore teeth."

"Isn't that your job as boyfriend?"

He just looks at me the way he does.

 

Your step daughter's cute boyfriend, you are not allowed to lust after them, now are you? It doesn't help that when I am down the beach and he and I are getting changed in the same room and I see what decent sausage the guy has on him and I think well there is at least one reason why your step daughter might like him.

And I can’t help but think what that would feel like in my mouth, you know, those thoughts can happen instantly before you have had a chance to stop them

It doesn't help that he stands there for an extended length of time completely naked, holding his jocks in his hands which he is about to put on, telling me about the latest Jaguar Mk2 he has in the shop that he is currently restoring, because he knows I am as much of a car nut as he is, and I have to keep my eyes on his eyes, and not on his thick sausage which is flopping about with each of his animated hand movements he is making as he talks, which I could see in my peripheral vision.

I can't help but think of that time up the country when we'd been doing e's as a family for that Queen's birthday weekend, and how he and I and the others had continued after Jane had stopped as she had to get to work on Tuesday and she'd decided to head back to Melbourne early as she wanted to be away from temptation and get her shit together for work. 

That night late when I was in bed, David had come in saying he was lonely and missing Jane and did I mind if he slept with me. That wasn't so unusual, he was always very cuddly and comfortable in his own skin. And I'd said sure, that was fine. We were all still feeling really lushy, well I was, so I assume he was. But what I didn't expect was him coming in just in his jocks and saying he was cold and that he wanted to cuddle up and there I was off my face on drugs with David cuddled up to me in his jocks, his decent bulge pushed up against my right thigh, his chest against mine, his arms around me, him pretty quickly snoring in my right ear. With me lying there kind of immobile saying to myself, don't touch him, don't touch him, don't touch him, wanting so badly to touch him.

Eventually, I let my hand slide down onto his arse, which I cupped for some time. And somehow I found that my finger slid under the elastic of his jocks at the back and it slid down into the hairy crack in his arse which felt great. I remember thinking to myself how I could just so easily finger his arse and, you know, David being David so comfortable with gay guys around him, with the fact of him being three e pills in, not to mention the lines we'd all done, I don't think he would have minded, in fact, I reckon he would have liked it, but Jane? A guy touching her boyfriend, even if said boyfriend climbed into bed and wrapped his near naked body around the other guy, she would have been unforgiving. So, I slid my finger out of his arse crack pretty quickly and just let it slide down his back, at which he purred and I am pretty sure mumbled incoherently that it felt nice.

Well, that memory came back into my head, as David talked about the Jaguar he couldn't wait to get back to, naked in front of me.

New Glass, Just Like That, Finally. Not So Hard

I had been thinking about my kitchen cupboards lately. The glass had fallen out of the doors progressively over the years and I’d never bothered to fix them, you know, so much is my lazy arse way.

But, you know, they really did look like crap, something Jill was never backward in mentioning to me.

“How long has the glass been missing out of your cupboard doors now?” asks Jill pointedly.

“What can I say,” I reply.

“What can you say, indeed,” says Jill.

I was coming back from the shops and when I got to my gate I saw Preston Glazier and Reglasser. Really, I thought. Just what I need. Right at my door too. I wonder if he’ll be back soon? At which point, I large cracked pane of glass comes towards the truck with a man attached.

“Are you interested in a small job?” I ask. “My kitchen cupboard doors need new glass in them.

“Youa show moi.”

The glass man came into the kitchen with his tape measure. 

“I can’t match this a glass,” he said. “But, I have a something with a smaller stipple?”

No sample, I guess? “Sure,” I said. “Sounds fine.” 

So if they come back with blue bottle glass I only have myself to blame.

“The glue was nevera any gooda. Cheap,” he said. He held his hands in the air to make a point.

He gave me a price and showed me how to unscrew the cupboard doors 

“You a putta ‘em in moi truck and I go finish the job I am doing, which I did.

He came in later and gave me his card. He said something about when he’d have them ready, but I couldn’t understand his thick, I think, Greek accent.

“I see you… couple a...” He points. “Johnston Street.”

“Okay,” I said. What does Johnston Street have to do with it? 

“Okay.”

And away sailed my cupboard doors to be re-glazed, finally. The first one was broken by my boyfriend Lauri slamming it in anger, over ten years ago and the rest have progressively dropped out since then. As I watched him go, I thought, I never gave him my number.

And all I could think afterwards was, I wonder if he could introduce me to his son? Chuckle.

Tom's Mum Died

Tom's mum died, almost four years to the day that Tom died. Tom would be very sad, he loved his mum, of course. She was a great woman, such a character.

Tom's dad, Fred, didn't say what was wrong with her, just that she'd had a bad diagnosis and was not going to pursue treatment for whatever it was that was ailing her.

But, it has made me feel sad about Tom, teary even. I had the coolest, smartest, funniest, cheekiest, most wonderful best friend a boy could have and he has now been dead for four years. He just slipped away after a ten year battle with leukaemia. Four years, fuck me.

But how Fred's life has changed, poor man. He's lost his wonderful son and his beloved wife in a matter of four years.

Just as the tears were welling in my eyes... the phone rang and it was my other best friend, Anthony, saying that he had thought about it and that he was now suing me for damaged kidneys from my clearly reckless driving back from the country on Sunday. He thought 75K should cover it.

He made me laugh.

Ah friends... the meaning of life. I don't know why people ponder that question so much.

Then I thought, what reckless driving?

 

Scratching in the Roof

Sitting on the back veranda drinking my coffee, I am listening to the rat/possum scratching around in my roof. Clearly, those damn rat baits didn't work. What if it is a possum? It is very active in the day light hours for a possum, I think.

Missy rubs around my legs. I look up to the veranda roof, from where the noise is coming from and then I look back at her. She half closes her eyes, then she has an itch on her back she needs to scratch.

"Do you think, maybe, you could get up there and sniff around?"

She closes her eyes completely at the suggestion.

Back to Earth

I listened to Sam’s front door close as he left the house, right away followed by Shane starting to stir, as he got up to face the day. It’s like a chain reaction, as I will start to seriously think about getting out of bed when I hear the front door close as Shane leaves. It is just after 8am, which means Shane has about an hour till he leaves the house. Often, he leaves by 9am, normally always by 9.30am, at the latest, crunching his car into reverse as he goes. My rising and attempting to shine time.

I was thinking about the dope cookies I had to eat as soon as I got up other mornings.

This morning, after a weekend of late nights and drug taking, I fall back to sleep again and wake again sometime after 11am.

I come down stairs to Missy meowing constantly. She has taken up a commanding vantage point in the kitchen and she is not going to let up until she has been fed. She is obviously genuinely hungry, a fact confirmed by one of the last things I did Friday afternoon before I headed to the country was shaking her food box in my explanation of her feeding regime only to discover the said cat box had barely enough in it to feed her for Friday night, I wasn’t returning until Sunday night.

“Have I nice weekend,” I said. No pang of guilt pang, or any such thing.

I looked at the fridge, I looked at the coffee pot, I looked at Missy. “Okay, okay, I’ll go get my shoes and my wallet.”

It was raining, so I grabbed an umbrella and left the house.

Pain.

OH. First, I needed to take a dump, though. I open the front door again.

“Meow, meow.”

“Shoes, keys, wallet… oo, ah.”

“Meow, meow.”

“Oh cat!”

“Meow, meow.”

Hold my stuff, wobble my legs in relief. Eye-ball Missy.

“Meow, meow.”

“Oh, shut up!” Put my stuff down, head to the toilet. 

I think I’d been holding on over the weekend.

This all might sound like a fairly uncomplicated operation, now doesn’t it. But, when you have just woken up, essentially, had no coffee and are a little bonged over from the weekend you have just had, it seems like quite an ordeal.

Not long after, I had my stuff in my hand and my umbrella raised above my head and I was out in the fresh day, rain gently falling down and a cool breeze to blow all of my stale day out of my hair.

Oo, pain. Really. I should have gone again. I find that sometimes happens, if you’ve been sitting around, spaced out on, well in my case. Trips, magic mushrooms and enough pot to put a football team to sleep, not really sticking to, shall we say, routines.

I decided to get Missy a chicken wing to eat. In fact, I’d get her two. If she is genuinely hungry, she won’t be fussy about the change of menu, she will just tuck in.

I decided to get a new packet of toilet paper, just so my hypocrite gene doesn’t kick in. If I am thinking that it is me who buys all of these products consistently, simply stopping buying them is not the answer. Then I am not putting in my fair share.

It was $14.49. The machine played up. I wanted to put in the cents, but got so into the coins I had in my wallet, I overshot and put in too many. Then I tried to put in more to make up everything over $10, but then my last $2 wouldn’t work, it kept falling through and it wouldn’t reject either.

“Bugger.”

Oh, pain. Gurgle.

I push my finger repeating on the reject coins button.

Oh, pain in my stomach. Gurgle.

I try the $2 again. Slip, drop.

Pain, pain, pain.

“Bugger, bugger, bugger.”

The laconic shop assistant comes over.

Gurgle. Gurgle.

“I’ll try another $2 coin.”

Pain pain pain. What?

It seemed to take her ages to walk around to the other cash register and back.

It fell through.

“I’ll try a $1 coin.” 

Hurry.

It didn't work.

Gurgle. Gurgle.

“I’ll try a 50c coin.”

Ouch, ouch, ouch. You have got to be kidding me.

None of them worked.

I’m in pain lady and I have to walk all the way home.

“I’ll try a note.” Ahhhhhhhhhh!

Oh, what do I do, sit down on the scanner and cross my legs.

The $5 note slipped in and for the first time there was a sound from the machine as it finally whirled back into life again.

Finally!

The walk home was fraught with anxiety

Missy liked her chicken wings, you will be pleased to know. I got her some other food too, she was pleased to know.

The Aftermath

We all sat around smoking pot from an early hour. Read, I was the one to roll breakfast joint. After which, I some how ended up pot monitor and I continued to roll joints for the rest of the day, up to and past point where I was incomprehensibly stoned.

The husband asked me in the kitchen what the trouble had been at 4am and I had to answer that I didn’t know. I’m sure he thought I was blowing him off, but I still didn’t know what had happened. Suddenly, there were people having words and just as suddenly it seemed to be over, but I still hadn’t got the drift of what the problem was.

It was a beautiful day and we sat around in the sun and chatted and ate all of the left over food.

Sam and I went for a bit of a walk, but there wasn’t much more energy than that expelled.

Chatty woman and her handsome husband left some time in the early afternoon. Most of the other’s had left by then too, so we were free to talk about what the trouble had been.

“So, what happened last night?” asked Mark.

“I don’t know, I missed it,” said Luke.

“Apparently, Chatty Woman was saying how she thought her middle child was gay and that the older one and the younger one were normal,” said A, one of my friends. “The problem was that she said “normal” once too often and the crowd turned on her.”

“Who did she think she was talking to,” said one person.

“Could she not gage the crowd better than that,” said another.

“What did she expect,” said someone else.

“The problem was,” continued A, “that she was really trying to be hip and an understanding parent, it was just that her night of incessant talking and her terminology got her into trouble. She really meant well.”

Oh well, there you go, I thought. I wished I’d known that a few hours earlier when the husband was questioning me in the kitchen.

It was a lovely afternoon, the day was gorgeous.

Sam, Anthony and I left sometime around 7pm.

I had secreted away a couple of dope cookies for Monday. Halfway home I said to Sam, “Luke had so much pot, I could have taken a few buds for the next couple of days and he wouldn’t have notice.”

He looked at me as thought I was being completely naughty and answered with his customary. “No.”

We had soup for dinner and then headed to bed.

 

The Party

It’s the final party at Bolago before they hand over to the new owners and head up north. It's the end of an era. Everybody is there. All the old gang, some I haven't seen for years. It was great to see them all. Luke has bought a huge amount of pot for the occasion and essentially I roll joints until I am so stoned I remain incommunicado for most of the night. It is one of the reasons why I have given up pot, of course. It doesn’t make me funny and amusing any more, it just makes me go off into my own little world.

Mark said to me on a couple of occasions, “You look sad.”

“No, I’m just too stoned.”

I should have been feeling sad. I will feel sad when it actually happen. Perry said to me during the night, "It suddenly dawned on me, I don't have any where to go in the country any longer."

We ate and chatted all afternoon and then we danced all night.

Luke cooked amazing food. I didn’t stop eating all day. Sam told me I had to stop eating several times.

Matt, our DJ buddy plays the best music. His thing is disco and he can play the most amazing tracks, not just the usual commercial songs.

And a good time was had by all.

We had trips, magic mushrooms, dope cookies and pot. I’ve never had magic mushrooms before and I’m not really sure that I felt their effect.

Shane didn’t make an appearance, too much study to do, so he said. And Sebastian didn’t come either, he was coming up with Shane in a camper van of all things. A Winnebago, of all things. But, we kind of didn’t think they would, after their bad behaviour at mine and Anthony’s birthday party a month ago. I think they are still upset about being told off by a few people. Drug behaviour, those effected do always think they are being fabulous and amusing and not boring and upsetting to people. It is one of the world’s truths.

Oh yes, chatty woman. We’ve got to that age now where those of us who are going to have kids have had them. So, present at all our parties now is normally a gaggle of young children. And in the strange world of parenting, people become friends because their children are friends. So, present at the party was a couple who were there because their child is friends with my step-grandson. The problem was that the wife of the couple talked incessantly. Worse still, she was a drinker, so her conversation got more and more effected by alcohol, which seemed to have a direct effect on her talking. So she talked and talked and talked, getting more and more and more talkative but less capable as the night wore on. I was forever looking up to have her talking at me with some more of her infernal rubbish. The woman just never stopped. The fact that she was a bit of a bogun didn’t help, the fact that she thought her six year old was gay seemed to be her true connecting characteristic to all of us. And didn’t she go on and on and on. I personally didn’t tune into her in the end, but apparently others did.

I entertained myself by chatting to her hot husband, who seemed really nice. But, he got too stoned and headed to bed, not all that long after midnight. Then she was just this strange woman who kept adding her bit to whatever conversation she butted in on.

Some where late in the night, suddenly there were words being had. The lesbians present had taken serious offence at something chatty woman had said and were suggesting she went to bed. Sally went to wake her husband to come and take her away. The well sedated crowd kind of rumbled to attention at that point and they all seemed to agree that it wasn’t worth all the trouble of waking the husband.

Luke arrived back from bed, just as it happened, to roll more joints and he was caught up in the tail end of the trouble, looking oblivious to what was going on around him.

Sally asked if it was her, the husband arrived, bleary-eyed, it was all a bit tense there for a minute, he went back to bed, but chatty woman didn’t follow, even with most of the crowd seemingly against her, even with him suggesting that she did. Sally, who took up the fight and woke the husband, then decided that maybe she was over-tiered and took herself off to bed.

Chatty woman didn’t though, she stayed around, persisted with her inane conversation.

It was all over kind of by then and we all drifted off to sleep some time later, as it was then nearing 5am, by this stage.