Buildings in The Fog

Traffic in the Fog

Foggy Melbourne morning

Awful Things Happen to People, We're Just Not Expecting It

Yes, the stories are awful, but there are always awful stories. 

Terrible things happen in the world. Awful things happen to a lot of people and now awful things have happened to all of those people on that plane. Well, I guess, to their relatives. From all reports, the passengers on the plane would have been killed instantly, so there was no pain for them, just the end. Blink. Over. Gone. Mercifully, I would add.

But, there is nothing the relatives of MH17 can do now. Write their open letters to the world leaders, but what will that do? Maybe, it might bring the perpetrators’ to justice, maybe, eventually, but what justice? It wasn’t personal, it was war. What justice is there in war?

It was sealed the minute that rocket was launched. It was sealed the moment that Russia invaded Ukraine. It was sealed with the annexation of Crimea. It was sealed when the USSR was broken up in 1991.

It was a war zone and we sanction war. We send troops to fight wars. We invade countries and fight wars. (Australia has ordered how many billions of dollars worth of war machinery airplanes?) Your children, your relatives, were a casualty of war. They were collateral damage.

Accept it with dignity, that is all you have left to you now. It is a terrible thing, for sure, but nothing can change it now. Look after yourselves, let grief go. Forgive.

Light show in Fitzroy, lighting up the suburb

Poor, Poor, Me

I got up at 4am, because I was hot, Sam had the column heater on and we had three doonas on the bed, but also because I was nervous and in suspected pain. I had trouble walking when I got up. My leg hurt. I went downstairs, it was difficult. I took Nurofen. 

The pain seemed to be better after the Nurofen. It didn’t seem quite so bad when I got up 6am. I contemplated going to Emergency then. When I went to have antibiotics for my arm, going early often meant going when it was not busy. But, I didn’t go.

I headed to work. I had to work, as if I didn’t I don’t get paid. 

My sports style car seats seemed to press on my hip and make it ache for the drive to work. And, of course, cunt’s law, when I needed to drive as little as possible, I had the longest drive to work to Clayton, of course I did.

I took Nurofen every four hours. I didn’t say anything to Voula, I just tried to get on with work, but all day I stressed about it. It wasn’t hard to, as every time I got up it hurt. I stressed that I had really done some damage to my hip. And if I had, what did that mean? Was I just delaying seeking medical advice, consequently making it worse? Or was I stressing over nothing, and it would get better in the next few days? I didn’t know? 

So, to cheer myself up, I decided to talk shit about the conservatives, always a source of comfort. 

Do you think Julie BitchUp tucks? Do you think in the room full of men in the UN Security Council in New York the men could smell her shame? (That’s her heartless conservatism and not her cunt, you understand)

Do you think that One Term Tony wears his red budgies under his suit to make himself feel pretty? Do you think he has JO’d in his office yet into his speedos?

Do you think he admires his daughters?

“A couple a fit girl with nice boozies. Aahggg,” He practically says about his daughters? What is it with conservative men and their daughters? 

I can imagine One Term Tony with Margie. “Brace yourself, Margie, here comes your iron man. 

“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaa.  Aaaaaaaaaaaaaa. Aaaaaaaaaaaaaa...”

I had been thinking about heading to St Vincent’s when I got home to get an x-ray. I contemplated going to see Doctor Jimmy, but he would only send me to a pathology centre to have an x ray. That would mean driving to see him and then if the last time for my toes was anything to go by, driving to Carlton. All of that would take a few hours, so I might as well just go to emergency and have it all done there.

Andrew called just as I got home. He said that I should go to the doctor.

When Sam got home not long after, I asked him if he’d come to emergency with me and he said he would. We put on our jackets and left. The Gertrude Street Projection Festival was in full swing, so there was plenty of interesting things to look at as we made our way up Gertrude Street.

We got served at the triage counter straight away. They said we would be taken in soon. And we were taken in soon. We sat in the clinic with two other guys and a girl, who all seemed to have problems with their feet that needed x-ray.

A medical assistant saw us first. She took all the details and asked to look at my hip. It was kind of feeling better by bow, probably thanks to the Nurofen every four hours, and there was no bruise and seemingly little swelling. The medical assistant said she wasn’t going to order an x-ray straight away, but she would wait for the doctor to see what he thought. 

I wondered if I was wasting everyone’s time.

Not too long after the blonde doctor, Craig, turned up and he asked me questions and looked at my hip. He said that the area that I indicated was an important part of the hip and the part where everything joined up, so he did want to have it x-rayed.

Not too long after I was taken to the x-ray room where Winston and a woman whose name I didn’t catch said they were just reading about my mishap. I was wondering if they were laughing. I wouldn’t have cared if they were, it is good to see the funny side. I had to remove my jeans and put on a gown. The x-ray was over quickly.

Not so long after, blonde doctor Craig told me everything was okay, all clear.

It had taken just over two hours and it seemed very easy.

We walked back down the cold and windy Gertrude Street. There were lots of people in the street gazing at the projections.

We ate fried rice for dinner.

Fitzroy street art colourising the suburb

Mr rAbbott Must Be Thanking His Lucky Stars

One Term Tony must be whooping and yahooing behind closed doors with MH17 being shot down. It is taking the heat off his miserable budget and him being the most hated Prime Minister in Australian history.

Let's hope it is sorted out quickly so that hideous human being running the country can't get too much political millage out of it.

I never really understand the deal with the bodies? Is it because people still suffer under the Christian delusion of going to heaven? I guess it must be. You all know, there is nothing afterwards, don't you? It just seems like a waste of money to me. They are just shells, no good to anyone, once the life has gone out of them.

I watched them searching the Ukraine sunflower fields and thought if I was blown up in a plane and I landed there, I say, just dig a hole and bury me under the sunflowers, I could think of worst places to be buried. They are quite lovely, actually. I could think of worse ways to spend eternity, feeding the sun flowers.

Death by Blancmange

Former Foreign Minister Julie BitchUp (Oh I know, it just has a good ring to it though, don’t you think?) will travel to New York tomorrow to lead Australia's campaign for a binding UN resolution to support an open, transparent and international investigation into the tragedy.

You’ve got to hand it to politicians, any excuse for an overseas junket.

I’d like to see Julie BitchUp drown in junket, actually. I could imagine that famous stare, with the ball of my foot pressed firmly on her forehead, going slightly cross-eyed as her face slowly disappears from view under a sea of white pudding. Glug, glug, glug, glug, glug.

Watch her breath in the solid milk air in shorter and sharper bursts, blocking, nothing, gagging, still. It would froth around her nostrils and mouth, where it becomes thinner in consistency as it mixes with desperation until it lies in two layers, when the thrashing stops; thicker milk fats and thinner dribbles exiting Ms BitchUp, like bubbles floating away on the surface wake disappearing, in the silence of what once was.

Death by blancmange.

Flummery mummy. 

Think Tank

I was lying in bed this morning wondering what the general public, and more importantly what the American public, would think if it came out that the American Government was behind 9/11, and that it was George Bush’s government that flew those aeroplanes into the World Trade Centre. You know, as you do on a Saturday morning.

I was thinking about the theories behind this line of thought. Were such theories so far fetched? The conservative side of politics and big American business needed to smash human rights and personal liberties and freedom of speech and the more and more powerful, increasingly inconvenient, left side of political thinking, as they got in the way of the morally bankrupt conservative big business side of society. “They” needed a big event to shut up all the do-gooder bleeding heart liberals and their increasing influence over society once and for all.

And if you look at what has happened since, they were successful  State's rights trump individual rights, which I guess they always did, but now the general public even seems to even agree with it. Surveillance wins no question over individual's privacy and civil liberties have been greatly lessened.

I was thinking of a name for the book and the movie and I came up with Think Tank and then Conservative Think Tank. Maybe, Think Tank was punchier, I thought.

Sam had already got up and I wondered what time it was and how late I had lay in bed thinking this stuff and I looked at my Nike Fuel band and guess what time it was? I kid you not, 9.11.

Walking into the city to meet Sam after work as he was walking home

I love the sun late in the day

The sun fades in Carlton

This magical tree, is like a giant angel come to earth spreading its wings

I had lunch with Jill in Hawthorn Road at Caffe Uffizi. A casual, cozy, and trendy corner café featuring outdoor seating with views of Caulfield Park. Jill and I are all about cozy and comfy. 

We eat cherry pie

Afterwards we went to Malvern Central to return a DVD. I parked in a mother’s with prams car spot, but there were three, and the third one was vacant. I told Jill to hurry, as I’d have to move if some mother parked in the other vacant spot. Jill said she’d only be a minute.

“So, I shouldn’t buy towels from Adairs?”

“Ah… no.” 

Jill was gone for ages. Another woman did park in the other vacant spot, so I had to move. I parked just behind where I was parked. Still no Jill.

Jill eventually turned up with a huge bag of her favourite colour blue towels from Adairs. 

“Seriously?” 

We went home and carried boxes of more of Jill’s physco purchases from the house to the garage. Of course, she has bursitis and can’t lift anything.

There were two couches I have never seen before. Not to mention a lamp, paintings, and plastic boxes of all sorts of shit.

I tell you if she keeps going the way she is going, she is going to end up hoarding woman with shit stacked to the ceiling.

Poor Jill is all I could think, as I drove away. She must be really unhappy.

Some idiot lost his load of apples under the Church Street Bridge

and this is what the other side of the freeway looked like from where I got on

 at Burnley to where I got off at Warrigul Road. All I can say is that I am glad

I was heading in the other direction, otherwise I would have wanted his "apples" surgically removed from his body

The last day of the week for me at Food Farmers Direct way out in the suburbs. 

I came home today and the Golden Elm in Gordon’s old garden was gone. Our four terrace houses are open at the backs of our yards with gates, for when we were all friends and used to walk between each house. Frank and Heidi, the old Jewish hippies next door to me sold first, and now Gordon who owned the other two houses has sold up. So, from where I park my car out the back, I could see through the four back yards

It was completely gone. Chopped down and cleared away. Gordon’s amazing garden has been destroyed. It looks desolate. I was in shock as I got out of the car.

One of the gay guys, who I would eventually learn is Brad, (who I would eventually like. Blond and balding and blokey, shockingly, I’d eventually kind of fancy him) was standing in the back yard, I presume, inspecting the job that had been done chopping the tree down.

“OMG! You have chopped the tree down.”

“Yes, it was right on the fence line and we couldn’t construct a fence.”

Gordon owned both houses and the two gardens have been one garden without a fence for decades.

“What?” I was incredulous. The tree was an amazing tree.

“We had to construct a fence.”

“You couldn’t have built the fence around the tree?”

“Well, no, not easily.”

“It was an amazingly beautiful tree.”

“We had permits to cut it down.”

“Oh, I am sure you did,” I said. “But why would you?”

“As I said…”

“Yes, I know!” I shook my head. “What have you done.” I turned and walked into my house.

It was shocking to suddenly being confronted by the most beautiful tree in the area, suddenly gone. It was the first time he and I spoke. Afterwards, I wondered what he thought? Whatever? I’m glad he got the message that people wouldn’t be pleased about it.

I love the winter sun

I Am Not a Generous Person

I like to get to work at 8.30am, so I can leave at 4.30pm and be home by 5pm. I don’t know why, it just seems to make the day seem shorter.

This morning it was going to be a struggle, as I hit the unusually heavy traffic on Burnley Street. We crawled along bumper to bumper, I don’t know why, at 8am it isn’t normally like that.

I had just got to the traffic lights at Swan Street, where there were two guys by the side of the road, next to a white ute. One of the guys had a set of jumper leads in his hand and he indicated that he needed a jump start.

I was at the lights, ready to go. I was next, finally. I thought, no, bugger you buddy, I’m not doing that. No, no, no! I pointed to my watch and indicated that I was pushed for time. I shrugged, as if to say it was beyond my control. He looked kind of disappointed, resigned, hopeful.

Then I thought, I’ve been in that situation, where I just needed a “jump” to get going. It really wouldn’t take long, just a few minutes and everybody gets to go. I’d like some to do that for me, if I needed it. I can’t be that mean person.

So, begrudgingly, I pulled into the laneway just in front of them. I backed back around and pulled up nose to nose with his ute. “Thanks mate, thanks mate, I really appreciate this.”

“It’s just that I am late for work.” Not, actually, true, but I was persisting with the story. Why do we do that?

He had the leads ready to go. I popped the bonnet. He attached the leads. His buddy started the ute. The ute fired into life.

“Thanks,” he said.

“Thanks a lot, mate,” said his buddy hanging his head out of the driver’s window. “You are a champion.”

I felt like a fraud.

The first guy laughed. “You can probably catch the same set of lights, you know.” He closed my bonnet. Thud!

I backed around into Burnley Street. I drove forward into the lane way. He stepped out into the traffic and held up his hand and stopped the cars. I reversed out into the left hand lane of Burnley Street, where I had been in the beginning. Then I selected first gear and drove off through the set of green lights I would have driven through if I hadn’t helped them.

I didn’t do it happily. I didn’t do it with a sense of helping my fellow man. I did it begrudgingly. Guilted into it, if you like. I felt kind of ashamed of myself as I drove away, considering it took just a minute, less.
I got to work right on 8.30am.

I am not a generous person.

Sick in Bed

I was in bed sick yesterday. Well, it was a little disingenuous to say that I was sick as I felt perfectly well. However, every thirty minutes, or so, my stomach gurgled, or parts in that region certainly did, and then I could feel "it all" shift, move, call it what you like and then it was a quick sprint to the toilet and what followed was, shall we say, rather unpleasant for all concerned. 

It could have been very unpleasant for Sam first thing, 5am, but lucky for him I woke from the dream I was having about stifling a fart, otherwise... grimace... he could have had the first serve of my beef vindaloo. Pffffffttttt! (Big smile... across his thigh. He, he, he, could you imagine?) Splat! Euw!

And then I seemed to keep it on a low simmer for the rest of the morning, gurgle, gurgle, gurgle, gurgle... oh... ah! I stayed in bed, with my computer, of course. Buddy was there too, but he really didn't give a shit. (pun intended) as he lay next to me on the bed with his legs in the air, snoring.

For the sweet tooth's amongst you, chocolate fountain any one?

Boo hoo! Poor me.

I drifted off to sleep in the afternoon, me and Buddy cuddled up under my two doonas. zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz. We were still alseep when Sam arrived home in the afternoon.

"I see," he said standing at the foot of the bed.

Buddy and I looked up bleary-eyed.

I Stopped Smoking

I stopped smoking last Monday, so it has been a week. The first night was a bit touch and go as the anger in me hovered around boiling point to explosive, as I caught myself feeling volcanic with the lava about to flow, about to shoot out the top of my head. Over nothing, really, of course. For a second, I wondered why I was feeling that way, before I realised. Stupid me. I counted to 10, breathing steadily all the while and I was fine. 

The rest of the seven days were a breeze. No, they were. After all of these times that I have quit, I have got it down to a rather uncomfortable 24 hours and then it is fine, I am a non smoker. Not so hard. I don't say that lightly, it has taken years of quitting to get to that point.

Sam said he'd stop pulling his hair out when I stopped smoking. I must remind him. When I say he pulls it out, he doesn't really pull it out, he kind of checks it, each strand of hair, one by one. I'm not sure if that makes it sound any better, but at least his hair stays connected to his head.

Anyway, back to me, I haven't smoked for a week. So, what is that? One hundred and forty cigarettes that I haven't put between my lips and lit. One hundred and forty. It sounds like an awful lot when I think about it in those terms.

I've smoked since Easter and that is approximately 1700 cigarettes I smoked that I shouldn't have... otherwise wouldn't have. That sounds like a huge number.

I've decided to do something sensible with all of that cigarette money, I'm going to invest it in Tattslotto.

Today, however, I am sick. Diarrhoea, which is unpleasant for all concerned. So Buddy and I are cuddled up in bed. Sam reckons I got it from coconut juice I drank last night. I dunno? Maybe? It is as good as any excuse, I guess. It is the only thing we didn't share, as we had two separate containers of the stuff. 

Boo hoo! What a shit way (no pun intended) to spend my day off.

I love taking photos of old Holdens. Soon there won't be any old Holdens to photograph, thanks to Tony Abbott destroying the Australian car industry. Who wouldn't want an iridescent blue '65 Holden with red wheels and white wheels? I know I do. What a car.

Really, Ian? Gay? Who Knew?

Ian Thorpe is gay. Really? I am shocked. Who’d have thought? Oh, I guess I should be supportive. Yeah, good on ya Ian. Well done. 

The straight media is portraying it as courageous, which is a very straight point of view. Maybe I'd agree that Mathew Mitcham was courageous, or Tom Daley was courageous, when they, potentially, had a lot to lose, but to do it when he was all washed up and people no longer care about him to get the 400K he was reportedly paid, that nobody else would any longer pay him, to tell all, isn't really so courageous. 

But, well done Ian, good on ya for giving up the worst kept secret in Australian sporting history. Be happy. And welcome to gay world, we've been expecting you. 

Mardi Gras Parade next year? I thought so.

What a sexy shoe. Yep, that's my shoe

Is That Cunt's Law?

Why does the kitchen tap always hit the, often only, spoon in the sink and spray water all over the bench and you? Is that cunt's law?

Well, hello. That is Buddy on the left saying hello to the Golden Retriever

Sam Took a Sickie

Sam took a sickie. It is sooooo unusual for him. 

"A sickie? Really?" I asked, first thing as he reached for his phone to call his boss. He never takes sickies. I've got to be careful my incredulity doesn't sound like disappointment. I love him taking the day off with me, I don't want him to misunderstand. He called his boss from bed, he didn't even get out of bed to make the call. I got out of bed so he could make the call. A mental health day, you just know that I approve.

The truth was that Jill is down from Queensland and she and I were having lunch and Sam took the day off to veto the cherry pie that fatty Jill and I would most likely eat, Sam told me with a laugh.

We took Buddy to the dog park. The sun was out, the sky was blue. Sure, it was a bit cold, but it is winter after all. The dogs played nice. Buddy did his perimeter lap, as he always does, before he headed into the middle to touch noses, and other things, with the other dogs. 

We went shopping in Victoria Street. It was quite a nice day by then, with the gentle warm sun falling down upon us. Buddy and I stood in the doorways as Sam made the purchases. We bought roast pork rolls for lunch.

Jill and I rescheduled lunch for Monday. She had people around today cleaning her house, a house she had been in. She tried to make some excuse when I questioned her, but we all know she just likes to spend money, spending is her orgasm.

Sam and I ran around the back yard like children continually moving the solar panel for our new pond pump into the sun so we could watch it spurt water into the air. We've adjusted it now so the fall of the water is within perimeter of the pond. Read, Sam made the adjustments, I just stood and watched and pointed and gave instructions.

I did my tattslotto so we could make today a permanent arrangement. Big smile.

I Have A Soft Spot For Elephants

I left before 8am. I want to leave at 4.30pm at the other end of the day, naturally, so I have to get my arse into gear and leave on time. It is funny, having quit smoking, I don’t stand around wasting time smoking ciggies.

As I drove down Victoria Street, a car came around the corner from Church Street and immediately did a three point U turn. It was no surprise to me when I noticed it had South Australian number plates on it. 

As I cut through Johnson Street a car came straight out in front of me from Baker Street. It was no surprise to me when I saw it had West Australian number plates.

It was a relief to get to Burnley Street – there is a sentence I never thought I’d say – and then the freeway. 

Voula was there when I got there, to Clayton, I thought she might be after yesterday. You don’t want the temp to be getting in to work before you otherwise it belies you working hard, now doesn’t it.

I made two coffees from the machine, one pretty soon after the first.

Not long after I went and had a crap. That was the best shit I’ve had for weeks, months. So much for the fear of constipation from quitting smoking.

For most of the day I did filing. Boo hoo.I know, even if I do say so myself, I am kind of an expensive filing person. I get it, Voula has to do it, so she'd rather I did, but why don’t they just get a junior to do the filing? It’s a bit weird, but in a weird kind of way it’s relaxing too. I don’t have to think while I do it. It’s kind of a novelty, in a way. A momentary taste of something completely different. 

The people working here are quite nice, but they are a bit cliquey, sitting in their friendship groups at lunch time, in the lunch room, which have a slightly impenetrable feeling to them for an outside, I feel. I don’t really care, though, I’d rather just sit on my own and switch off to everything at lunch time.

I read a heartwarming story while I ate my company subsidised lunch.  

An Indian elephant that spent 50 years chained up and abused was said to have cried when it was freed by rescuers last week.

Raju the bull elephant spent most of its life with chains covered in spikes wrapped around his ankles, which left it with arthritis and in chronic pain.

Allegedly held by a drug-addicted owner who used the beast to beg, Raju had been living on paper and plastic to fill its stomach, the UK's Independent reports.

Raju is now walking freely since conservationist activists made a daring night rescue last Thursday following a court order from Uttar Pradesh Forest Department to remove the elephant from its abusive owner.

Aided by police and state officials, the activists rescued the animal despite its handler and previous owner adding more chains to its legs and blocking roads to prevent its escape.

Rescuers worked for hours to gain the destitute Raju's trust, feeding it fruit to cajole it into a truck where they could carry it to freedom.

When Raju was being freed, rescuers from the UK charity Wildlife SOS saw tears rolling from its eyes.

"The team were astounded to see tears roll down his face during the rescue. It was so incredibly emotional for all of us," animal activist Pooja Binepal said.

"We knew in our hearts he realised he was being freed," he said.

The rescuers said elephants were intelligent animals that experienced emotions, but the charity's co-founder Kartick Satyanarayan said in this case it was "as if he felt hope for the first time in a very long time".

Poachers are said to trap elephants while they are babies, either shooting the mother or leaving it to grieve for days.

The activists said the baby elephants are then beaten until they submit to their owners, effectively breaking their spirits.

The elephant who captured the world with his tears of joy after being rescued from 50 years of brutality in India has now been introduced to his adoptive family.

Raju the elephant was released on July 4 in a midnight mission by charity Wildlife SOS after half a century kept in spiked chains, repeatedly abused and starved.

Earlier this week video of the night rescue went viral, and has since become the most shared ninemsn story of all time.

Raju has now been introduced to Phoolkali, the first member of her new family.

Phoolkali was a rescued elephant and according Wildlife SOS insisted on having her evening snack with Raju.

Phoolkali was rescued two years ago, found in a deserted windowless warehouse where she was found severely emaciated and partially blind.

There is not much known about Raju’s earlier life. Wildlife SOS believe he was poached as a baby and enslaved as a working elephant.

It took almost a year for Wildlife SOS to coordinate the necessary permits and court order for his rescue and rehabilitation.

“We were determined to save Raju’s life. There were many unforeseen obstacles because of which there were delays and we had to tread carefully. It was a complicated rescue operation,” Wildlife SOS veterinarian Dr Yaduraj Khadpekar said.

“He requires a lot of extensive vet care and it will take a long time to restore his health”

With a team of vets and wildlife experts, plus Forestry Department officers and policemen, Raju was seized from his owner in Uttar Pradesh and loaded onto a truck.

The owner refused to give Raju up.

“He began to shout commands to terrify Raju and try to provoke him,” Wildlife SOS-UK founder Kartick Satyanarayan said.

“It created an incredibly ¬dangerous situation because a bull elephant can snap a human like a toothpick if he becomes afraid or angry.

“Then he put chains around Raju’s legs in an ¬attempt to stop us moving him. They were so viciously tight they were cutting into his legs.

“But we stood our ground and refused to back down. And as we did so, tears began to roll down Raju’s face. Some no doubt were due to the pain but he also seemed to sense that change was coming. He felt hope for the first time.”

Raju was transported to the Elephant Conservation and Care Centre at Mathura, where his shackles were removed.

"The other elephants in the sanctuary awoke from their sleep as we pulled in and came to have a look — it was an extraordinary moment," Satyanarayan said.

Raju was welcomed to his new home with a lavish spread of mangoes, jackfruit, bananas and biscuits.

He is currently being kept in an isolated pen so as to receive medical attention.

In time Raju will be introduced to the entire family of seven elephants.

I left at 4.30pm. It was an odd kind of day, if I had to comment on it. 

I can’t help but think, who wants to drive in peak hour traffic, it is such a waste of life. I can’t imagine doing this for my entire working life. Imagine how many hours you lose in a working life? It’s madness. 

We ate deep fried potato croquets for dinner. Deep fried left over mashed potato from last night, rolled in flour the rolled in beaten egg, then rolled in bread crumbs. Lovely. My mum used to add tuna, or salmon to them, and I still have the taste for them to be presented in that way. But, we didn’t add fish to these ones. 

Hump Day In Clayton

I left earlier home than normal. Now that I have quit smoking I have more time. I’m not standing around having a ciggie when I get in the car, and when I get out of the car. I don’t smoke in my car. 

It was a grey rainy morning. Cold. Wet. Uninviting. The roads were all full of traffic, trucks, cars. I’m not sure why, why today. Is it because I left early? I find that hard to believe.

I rolled into work earlier than normal, and earlier than I really wanted to. That blast down the driveway is a trip in the morning, as all the workers cars come in thick and fast with us all parking out the back like dominoes lined up.

Handsome Christopher and fit Saxon were meeting in the HR corral when I got in. Now there’s a couple of guys who I’d like to see going at it with each other. They both jog together, apparently, do they just? I tell you I’d like to sniff that lingerie after a run.

Voula was very chatty this morning, I was wondering if she’d had one too many coffees, or maybe Stavros gave her a good one in between her shower and pulling her tights on. She just seemed like she was really energised for some reason.

I headed over to the lunch room for a coffee and an iced bun mid morning. And you know, I act like those pesky couple of kilos I have put on are some kind of mystery. Seriously?

The morning disappeared fast.

I do love the fact they supply company subsidised lunches in the lunch room every day.

4.30pm. And I was out that door, no looking back. One thing that saves my daily trip out to the burbs, is that when I am driving home it is against the evening peak hour. It doesn’t seem to matter so much in the mornings. Maybe it is the fresh morning air and the fact we are all rested. I don’t know, if anything, all my writing here probably confirms is that I don’t understand human psychology at all. 

We ate left over roast beef and mashed potato for dinner. I so love mashed potato. They way I make it, is that it is 50% potato and 50% butter, (it is nowhere near 50 % butter, of course it isn’t, but if you have that idea in your head, you should get the butter quantity just about right) some of milk, whisk until your arm feels like it is going to drop off, then keep whisking for a while after that. Even though we know we shouldn’t, add some salt. 

Fuck Off Kid

I stopped smoking.

I went to the servo in Victoria Parade and pumped up my tyres. It must have been 1 psi from the tyre sensor telling me it was soft. 

It was a gorgeous morning. The sky broke into Simpson’s clouds over the Warrigul Road turn off. Lovely bluish sky with fluffy clouds... it was like I was flying, as I came down over the freeway hill. I wanted to take a photo, I tried to find my camera, in my bag next to me, but do you think I could? No. Damn! I found it once the moment had passed, unsurprising really.

Where I work now, they provide lunch in the dining room for whoever wants it. It's nice.

Today some woman bought in her 3 year old, 4 year old, 5 year old, I don't know, kid who made a high pitched “Woo, Woo, Woo,” noise continually for the whole time I was trying to relax and eat my lunch. It was like trying to eat with a fire alarm sounding constantly.

The mother made the vaguest attempts to quieten the kid down. She said his name half-heartedly 3 times, as she chatted away to the other staff, essentially ignoring the little monster. She seemed to know the people in the dining room, despite me having never seen her before. She clearly didn't care who the kid disturbed as long as she could have a break from him.

The little brat wandered over to me, next to the main door, with his toy car/boat/plane, or whatever it was, in his hand, still, “woo woo woo’ing.” It is me or you kid, I thought. So, I got up and opened the door for him and out he went, just like that. 

Oh, it had to be done. The little brat was disturbing everyone, and, you know, if the mother wasn’t taking any notice of that well, then, maybe she needed to be reminded the little brat was her responsibility, and not everyone else’s.

Finally, it was quiet. Lovely, I thought. Peace.

His mother was really upset when she discovered where he was, out in the car park with the cars coming and going. As upset as I was by her brat’s constant noise, as I tried to eat my lunch? Maybe? Maybe not? But at least it was quiet.

Blasting Out To Clayton

I’m off to Clayton to work a Monday at Food Farmers Direct. I don’t usually work Mondays, but Voula wanted me to.

Ah, the end result of all the lies I have told to Jack. (many years later, reading back over this, I don’t know what this means? I’m pretty sure I never lied to Jack. I liked Jack, I had no reason to lie to him. I find this quite odd for me to say. I must have been trying to be ironic.) Off to work none the less.

I went to Bunnings on my way to work to get motor oil and coolant,  for my other car, my 306 GTI6 that I still have, which I keep out the back under a car cover. The last time I drove it, I saw that it needed a coolant top up. I should, actually, give it a blast out to Clayton, it would do it good. Did you know that Bunnings doesn’t sell motor oil and coolant. Damn!

So, I went to Woolies on my way home, fuck Bunnings.

It was just a day, nothing social to report, really. You know, I have to wonder if it is even worth me going to these kinds of jobs wat out in the suburbs with the great unwashed. I wonder if I am better at home enjoying my life until a CBD role comes up? I don’t know. 

Voula had a couple of things she wanted me to do, which I knocked over in no time flat, hardly seemed like something I had to come in for on an extra day.

Still, I got a couple of glimpses of handsome Christopher’s undies elastic when he bent down a few times, in the HR corral next to us, so I’m saying the day wasn’t a complete waste. 

My car seems to be a bit wobbly on the freeway on my way home, which probably means my tyres need pumping up. I zip onto the freeway at Fosters Road some time just before 5pm, it seems expansive in front of me. The other side of the road is always bumper to bumper with, let’s face it, idiots.

Mia Freedman on The Project is just awful. Rat-faced, shattering-glass-tone to her voice, like a cat caught in a mulcher. The only thing she ever promotes/agrees with is beige, banal, clichéd stereotypical dross. She adds nothing to The Project and she should be kicked off. She is terrible. (of course, that doesn’t mean she should, actually, be kicked off the show, just because I think she should be. I’m just conveying how she makes me feel)

I ate the rest of the Cauliflower Soup and some crusty bread. Sam had pigged out during the day and didn’t want anything else.

I love those old Holdens

Quiet Sunday Afternoon

A quiet Sunday afternoon sitting in front of my laptop. Sam is on the couch behind me playing wii, or one of those games, the secret of which I feel like I have never been let in on. Buddy is lying in front of the open fire in his super dog pose, like he is flying through the air, still and quiet. 

Gladys Knight sings, "Feel like making love, feel like making dreams come true." 

The light outside is dim, the sky is grey. The day slides away into the late afternoon.

Dreams come true.

I might get some more wood for the open fire. I might make a cup of tea. I might...

Glady's sings, "So sad the song."

Sam thinks I drink too much tea and he tells me that I don't need another cup, after he says he doesn't want one himslef. He always says, "Make me tea then," when he hears the kettle boiling. 

Right on queue. I'm now making two cups. 

Today, we've eaten pancakes and maple syrup for breakfast and pies for lunch.

Suddenly, Sam is reaching for a charger saying, "oh, oh, oh... charger! Man, I am going to kill you, I'm going to slice your throat."

I jump a little... but presume he is not talking to me.

The fire roars. The tea is hot, nice and strong. Never make me milky weak tea, I can't drink it. Blah! I think, maybe, I sound like my mum. I remember to put sugar in Sam's tea. I always forget to put sugar in his tea, which never pleases him. I never remember to stir it either, that is why I always give him a spoon.

Sam's dragon ship is sailing... whatever that means.

Sam tugs at his hair. He tugs at his hair when he is nervous, the game mustn't be going well. It's adorable, even if I tell him to stop doing it whenever I see him pulling at it. Sometimes I wonder if I make him nervous, when his hand moves to his head almost unknowingly when we are talking.

He says he'll stop pulling at his hair when I stop smoking. 

"Get out!" he yells. I jump. "Fuck! That's my boat. Have you got my boat? Fuck, where is my boat now?"

Buddy snores.

Gladys sings, "For once in my life..."

"I need to go to Dragon Roast Island," Sam says. He throws the game on the coffee table. "I'm done."

We're making creamy cauliflower soup with crusty bread for dinner. Well, pancakes and pies so far today? And the cauliflowers looked so nice shopping in Victoria Street yesterday in the sun.

Walking the dog. Eating good food. A nice weekend.

Self Conscious Arse Boy

I noticed that the boy at work with the huge arse, which I am so fascinated with, is self conscious about it. Now that it is cooler and he is wearing a jumper, rather than the tail of a shirt hanging down over the back of his jeans, he continually pulls the back of his jumper down as he gets up and leaves his office.

It's kind of funny - I'm sure he doesn't think so - because he never misses a chance to tug at it every time he leaves his office.

It's kind of a girl thing really. "Does my bum look big in this?"

I think he's handsome and I can help but gaze at his big arse every time he walks by. So much so, that I have to be careful that he doesn't see me perving, especially now that I realise he is so aware of it. I'd hate to be hauled up to HR. Ha, ha, as if? Could you imagine?

"It's been bought to our attention..."

"There has been a complaint made?"

Explain your way out of that one.

That's a little dramatic, I know. And it is hardly the case. A glance here, a look there. Still, I'm surprised I find it something tantalising to look at. I've always liked them small and tight and cute.

Still, people are hysterical about such things now a days. So much hysteria. You'd hate to be a black, muslim, immigrant, boat person in this day and age, hey? If people can be outraged that a six year jail term for an 84 year old man is manifestly too light, you could just never be too sure what people might think. Best I don't let my eyes hang out of my head like boiled lollies next time I see his big beefy butt sashay passed. Actually, it's more lumber than sashay, but I am sure you get what I mean.

Love My buttons

I rediscovered my second favourite button to the mute button, the lift doors closed button, working again in a multi level building, on the third floor.

They both block out the annoying world in a lovely way. The lift doors closed button is slightly more amusing than the mute button. You can watch people run for the lift, as your finger is closing the doors on them. It is a joy.

Despite the shitty weather all day, the sky still turned pink at dusk

Day off

Jack tried to get me to do the Impossible Job for another week. Really? A weeks worth of work squeezed into one day, just because some HR person is trying to make a name for herself. Oh no my friend, that is a whole world of pain with very little in it for me, other than an impossible work load that is most likely only going to destroy my good name... if I, indeed, have one. Okay, what good name I do have. I'm sure the HR person will be proved wrong in the end, but I am not going to end up as collateral damage in the process.

So, I lied to him. I told him I had a big family thing on over the weekend and couldn't work next Monday, which is not entirely untrue. Jack's a good Greek boy, I thought he'd understand. I could have just said I was unable to work. I um'd and ah'd about which path to take, the simple 'no', or the longer reason. I went with the longer reason. He agreed with me and essentially wished me well.

I stayed in bed till 11.11, Buddy and I. Lovely and warm.

So, a day off? What to do?

Have a haircut, pay money off my CityLink, bought toothpaste and a cheap dvd at the dvd shop sale. Four people asked me for a cigarette, do I look like a walking billboard? Two people asked me for money, do I look like a bank? The sun was shining, the sky blueish, Smith Street vibrant. Then I headed home, put colour in my hair, moisturised, hung the washing and took my curry lunch back to bed with my bulldog and watched the movie.

A Josh Lawson movie, Questions for Ben. Even if it is bad, Josh sure is pretty.

Buddy snored all the way through it. Philistine.

It's A Bit Like Being In A Football Team

The boys at the new job are a cute bunch. Strapping. Handsome. Friendly. There is a whole gaggle of them.

A lot of them are big boys, the types who’d have played football at school. I can picture a few of them in their footy shorts. I wish I could picture all of them in the change room. There are some big bulges in their jeans and some of them have really big arses. Big, chunky arses and thick legs. One of them walks like my Rottweiler used to walk, moving from the hips and bum. I can't help but notice.

Tom used to always say that straight boys have fat bums. Of course, he didn’t mean all straight boys have fat arses, but those boys who do have fat bums are most likely to be straight. Maybe, it is the fathering gene? You know, they have to be well equipped to shove that sperm all the way up in there.

😬 The head of marketing has a great big chunky arse. I can't help but notice whenever he walks past. I can't help but imagine how his jocks are straining, as they are pulled tight across those big legs and over those big buns. I get a mental picture every time he walks past of patterned, white coloured jocks with stripes high lighting his contours.

I can picture him standing there naked, with his hands cupped over his cock and balls, his big white flanks outside the triangle of his arms; black hair on his stomach following a trail up to his chest. There would be that big shapely arse, the crack between each cheek like an axe cut, with small black hairs lining the split all the way down to the backs of his big solid thighs.

Shake of the head. “Hi.”


“Hi” he’d say, as he headed back to his office.

The New Happy Job

Okay, so the new assignment started before July 01st. Shh, don’t tell anyone. It is all a part of the deal Jack made with (the name of the company). The days I’m not at the Impossible Job, I’m now at the Lovely Job. It's easy getting to Notting Hill, who'd have thought? Straight out the freeway, it doesn't take long, as I am heading against the traffic the whole way. Free as a bird, no stress. Smiling.

I get to see the freeway traffic coming into the city and it makes me think all over again how mental we all are with peak hour traffic and how I never want to be in that bumper to bumper traffic crawl into the city.

It must do people's head's in, maybe unbeknownst to them. It must be adding to everybody's stress, that unremitting grind to get to your place of employment. As much as I love my car, I could imagine that a lot of mental stress would be eliminated if we got rid of cars altogether. It must be soul destroying sitting in that crush of automobile tin day in and day out. Oh, it must be. It must be one of the reasons why people turn to drugs and have affairs? I know I would if I had to endure that trial every day.

It’s just as easy on the way home. And the poor souls are back at it on the other side of the freeway, bumper to bumper.

Oh, who would have thought this time last week I would not be stressing about the Impossible job?

The End Is In Sight And A Glorious New Beginning Is Blooming

I was up at 5.45am. It was still dark. This is bullshit, I resisted thinking.

I went outside for a cigarette. Buddy came straight inside, which was unusual for him. It was cold and dark and you normally need a crowbar to get him out of his kennel in such conditions.

I got up and checked the gutters in the dim light. It was a good thing I did, as the Golden Elm, from two houses along, had dumped a sheet of leaves all through the box gutter, as it has a tendency to do this time of year. Next doors Yukka Tree dumps it’s fucking fronds into my gutter too. I must get up on the roof with my bottle of poison and spray it again. I did real damage to it last time I sprayed it, but I see I am going to have to keep spraying it constantly until it is dead. I’m not asking my next door neighbour, she always uses the excuse that she doesn’t have the authority to chop anything down, as she rents. But, I’m sure, K and G, the owners wouldn’t mind. And who cares if they do.

I prepared my muesli in the dim light of the morning kitchen. There is something kind of exhilarating being up so early in the day. It’s the whole rebirth thing, I’m sure. I’m no longer stressing “big time” as I had been about the Impossible South Job now that I am finishing next week, as scheduled.

I put the central heating on. I ate my muesli while the heating warmed up the bathroom. Then I had a shower. I cut a large piece of apple pie – leftovers from Mark and Luke’s party at my place on Saturday night – to eat for lunch, as I didn’t have anything else and I just wanted to get today over with without having to worry about finding lunch. I could eat it cold at my desk to stave off the hunger pains when necessary.

I left at 6.40.

Cars had their headlights on as they drove towards me. The roads were relatively clear as the cars morphed into red tails lights in the distance. The dark of the morning embraced me in my journey. I drove all the way with my headlights on. The street with the free, all day, the car park was more empty than it was last week. I parked and wandered to the office in the dark.

I crossed the soulless business centre in the dark. It always seems like a place where people would kill themselves, or have. What a horrible, miserable place. It reminds me of what we’d get if Tony Abbott is allowed to make the rules or, at least, get rid of the rules around building planning. Our cities would end up as dull and soulless as Tony Abbott himself.

I had to turn the lights on when I got into the office. I sure hoped there wasn’t an alarm system. I was at my desk at 7am.

I sneaked in another cigarette at 7.15.

The clueless HR chick was in at 7.15 (Oh, they are clueless, don’t start – the women’s waiting room before they give birth) when I came back up stairs. So, at least she knew I was in that early and I that I wasn’t faking it. Not that I really need that, but it is good to have.

I did what I had to do. What I have been employed to do.

I sent off the Audit paperwork - another thing outside my job description. They asked me to check it, but the head accountant had checked it, so why did I have to, I ask you? He’d signed off on it, so fuck it. I sent off all the documents, without a second thought.

The accounts lady sat with me as I did end of month for the New Zealand office. They act like I should know what I am doing, and so far I have faked it without a flaw. I’ve never done it for their company before, this was my fist go at it. I never really feel like I know what I am doing, it is a part of the job, and if you can’t fake competence just a little, you are not going to succeed with contract work.

It poured with rain some time during the afternoon and I was glad I got on the roof this morning in the dark at 6am and cleaned out the gutters.

I left at 3pm, thinking I had done everything. I just have to give myself the benefit of the doubt, as I normally always have, I vaguely know what I am doing. I can’t be too worried about trivial things people throw at me, otherwise I’d never relax away from it.

I didn’t ever want this job to morph into a longer contract. I don’t want to work for a company that has reduced the hours they commit to finance from 32 hours per week to 8 hours per week. That usually never works. It is someone, probably HR, (read, it is HR) grandstanding, only to be ultimately proved wrong. But in the mean time I’m the poor sod who gets squeezed, and is made to look incompetent, so fuck them, I am not doing anything beyond my assignment job description, I’m not getting sucked in. They might as well learn sooner than later that they are wrong.

Thank the universe for my new assignment. I was stressing about it so badly, as it is impossible to do what they want done. The Impossible Job employed me until June 30th, and now that I have a new assignment starting July 01st it can no longer morph into endless weeks of pain. It is weird, but I now feel perfectly relaxed about the Impossible Job, as I will no longer be doing it. It is really bad timing for them, he says smugly, but who the fuck cares.

And Jack even thinks that I have done him the favour, taking the Notting Hill job – I told him it was too far. But, he talked me into it, saying if he could find someone to fill in temporarily at short notice, he’d get the account and the on going fees, commissions, whatever, gold star for him. So, I’m on a win, win. Yay! And I’m my boss’ golden boy of the moment, ha ha. You shouldn’t ever have to think about work when you are away from it, certainly if you are not their permanent employee. Now I don’t. The new assignment is a breeze. It is a deliverance from hell, lovely.

I bought petrol on the way home, if Mark had put petrol in my car after using it all last week, it was on $10 worth. I went to my favourite 7 11 in Abbottsford. As I paid for my fuel and my joint rolling cigarettes, I realised that they do Tattlotto too, so I put a ticket on for tomorrow night.

I reckon two million dollars would do me just fine. It would put me where I should be, if I had had a successful career. It would be compensation for a vile grade six teacher who put me down for twelve months and a bitter auntie who put me down around the same time. It would be compensation for my auntie’s stupidity for selling her big house. And for the bitter auntie and my idiot cousin’s theft of my grandmother’s assets and for my other aunties alcoholic husband’s forgery of her will a day after she had a stroke. All of my relative’s who have left me and my brother and sister all of their money in their wills, of which we didn’t end up seeing one single cent. I learned at a young age that when it comes to money, people are horrible, lying cheats. (family are the worst) Two million would be just enough to keep a secret from everyone. It would be just the right amount that wouldn’t change my life completely. It would be a complimentary win, rather than an evolutionary kind of win.

Ha ha ha, it can't hurt to dream.

I could have a white Fiat Abarth. Sam could have a white GTI Golf, automatic, of course. I could drive the Golf any time I needed a bigger car until Sam got his licence, therefore justifying having the small Fiat. So, in reality, I’d have two cars.

I was home by 3.30.

It was rainy and wet.

The atrium had leaked water. I didn’t check the side gutters when I cleaned out the main problem this morning. I mopped it up. Then I got back on the roof with my bucket and gloves and I cleaned the roof thoroughly.

The long standing leak over the kitchen bench didn’t seem to leak at all. I siliconed it a few weeks ago. Finally? Really, finally have I fixed the dam thing? Could it be true?

I built a fire with my last fire lighter. The last fire lighter is always depressing, it means we no longer have the power of fire until we replenish the stock. No more fires on a whim until I procure another box of the smelly little white things. I could, of course, make a fire the old fashioned way, but I don’t buy newspapers any more, so we never have any paper with which to light a fire. I wonder what is worse for the environment, the whole newspaper industry, or the manufacture and ignition of fire lighters?

We ate Luke’s left over Bolognese, it was better the next day and with the addition of mushrooms and a little water I think it was quite possibly the most perfect Bolognese.

We went to bed at 10.30, Sam’s nana time. I didn’t resist, I was tired, I wanted sleep.

Oh That Old Work Chestnut

Ah work, who needs it. But what about the future, I hear you say? Yes, well good point. The future? I guess I should be worried about the future? We spend so much time worrying about it, though. What about today? What about living in the moment? 

Is climate change and our federal government and other governments around the world scandalous neglect of the environment going to make the future a mute point? Is big business and the likes of Rupert Murdoch actively work against the environment scientists going to make the future less guaranteed? You know, you have got to wonder? All you have to do, like a good defense lawyer, is plant a seed of doubt in people’s minds… which they seem to have succeeded in doing, for ‘their’ own profits. I guess it is an easy one, as people don't want to believe it.

Some scientists say we have twenty good years left, so I’m never going to get to retirement, if they are true. Okay, I’ll be nudging it, true. But what is the point of planning so meticulously for Armageddon?

But back to the future. Granted, I should get myself a job that I love, yes I should. How many people do you think are doing jobs that they love? I have no idea, really. But mostly I hear people say that they hate their jobs? Or they wish they didn’t have to work. Or they wish they did something else. They wished they did something that they loved.

I wish I was one of those people who had it all sorted, career plan, superannuation paid to the max, money in the bank… energy bills geared towards the maximum discount, I wish I was. I’ve always been someone who has wanted to be something else, do something else, but never quite managing it. My personal life has always been so happy and so contented that my work life has always taken a second place. Shrug. So now it would seem that I have got to a stage when my professional life is a drag. Pity really. I know I have turned into one of those whiny people who I feel sorry for. It is true. How did that happen? I mean, I know how it happened, it is just an eye opener, is that a sad truth, that it has. I hear myself some days, oh what a whinger.

They say that old age is no place for sissies. We spend our whole lives preparing for it, which just seems odd sometimes. How much of living do we have to allocate to dying, I sometimes wonder?

So, have another ciggie, another cream bun and the future will take care of itself.

So who wants to work? I do, actually, I don’t mind work, but a good job, with nice people. I’m just beginning to hate continually going in and cleaning up somebody else’s mess. I think it makes me live in a constant state of anxiety. It must be time for a change.

My old boss, Beck, has the perfect job for me, but she can’t get rid of Miss Useless who my boss inherited when she took her job. Assistant Financial blah blah. (I can’t put the words in print) Miss Useless gets everything wrong and is hopeless. And she doesn’t even seem to care, spending her time on Facebook and Gumtree and other such sites, unashamedly. She got pregnant last year and everything was looking good for me, but then annoyingly she had a miscarriage, so she didn’t leave. Damn!

It was three days a week, which was not quite enough for me, if I am going to do a [permanent role, but now my boss is only going to work four days so what would be my role has increased to four days per week, which would just suit me.

Grrrrr!

Why is the perfect job dangled so temptingly in front of me but yet remains just out of my grasp? It is annoying. I'm sure I have been a good person in this life.

I’ve got one day a week this week and for the next month. I think I am on the outer with my boss Jack. I’m not really sure why.


Anyway, I’m off out into the garden to clean up.