Rainy Wednesday

It rained all day, drip, drip, drip. From morning until night. I had no excuse not to sit inside and eat. It was a glorious day, no reason to leave the house. Pity it wasn't colder, I'd have lit a fire. I don't know why I didn't light a fire anyway? Stupid me. You'd think the constant sugar rush would have got me up and doing things. No, not me. YouTube all the way baby... manically from artist to artist. Chuckle. Hardly that, I was slowed down more than I was sped up, if you get my drifteroo. Smiley Face. It was only when The Rolling Stones sang 'Doom and Gloom' that I'd had enough of Jagger's voice.

Working From Home

Working from home just means you are taking the day off, doesn't it? Sam is "working from home today" and he has done jack. Unusual for him, this is the first time he has done that, all the other times he has worked his arse off, but still. That's what it is, isn't it. All those Finance Managers, HR Managers. "We'll just be working, working, yes working from home. I can just see it, I'm guessing 50% of the time they'd work. That's what it would be?

Fatty Cake Snoop Lady was forever working from home. But I always used to picture her lying in bed, eating pastries with crumbs all over her mouth, stomach and bed, dressed in some small slip of a nightie, watching morning television. She had a skirt of flesh to her knees. I just can't imagine what that would feel like.

The entitled upper echelons, of middle management, they're are the main culprits. The ones who wish they were higher up, and whose work they often felt was over looked. It's pay off for all the ordinary ones, whose only real achievement was to claw their way to the middle of the business. The people who the CEO wouldn't necessarily have on the tip of his tongue.

Those people. Christina. Susan. Cathy. Paul.

Anyone with less responsibility has no business working from home, they are all just mental health days, let's not kid ourselves. I can't be fagged days. I can't be bothered struggling with my kids day. My work load is too great days.

I'm not saying it is a bad thing, with all the unpaid working hours Australians put in, I reckon it is ever worker's right. Just open to everyone, that would be utopian, though, I guess.

Chill out strings hum in the back ground. A gentle breeze blows in the window and the open French Doors.

The bulldog, laying so artistically across the green carpet, his red and white fur almost the perfect contrast in the golden light, farts silent and deadly, putrid really, without a sound. It is not until the mustard gas is burning my eyes...

"Jesus!"

Buddy snores contentedly, he always gets to work from home. His fur is soft and shinny, we washed him today.

Lovely Monday, So Could Easily Have Been My Monday Morning From Hell

This morning, I could have gone to work to the assignment from hell, but instead I am home drinking coffee and pissing around on the internet, with my bulldog acting as a lap-dog, keeping my thighs lovely and warm. He lays in the middle of my crossed legs, his head on one thigh and his arse up against the other thigh. He's like straddling a medium sized poof, (pouffe, not a small man) giving birth to a medicine ball. I don't know, but he doesn't cover my feet and keep them warm, damn him.

Lovely Monday, so could easily have been my Monday morning from hell! Maybe there is something to this "Universe" bullshit, because I was talking to whoever would listen last Friday around 5pm, tick, tick, tick, to anyone who'd listen, let's be truthful, God, Jesus, Allah, Buddha, Krishna, L.J. Hubbard, the Sugar Plum Fairy, any fucker with some, alleged, skerrick of, supposed, influence who was listening and could help. I was desperate. And here I am, warm legs, cold feet, giddy head, if you get what I mean. Lovely. Talk about snatching victory from the jaws of defeat. (or is it the other way around?) Talk about coming through at the last possible minute. I was viewing 6pm as my last strike on the Doomsday Clock, as the chime started its first piercing clang, as I was staring down death and certain defeat, nothing was going to save this little black duck by that point, when my phone rang, and it was Jack telling me he had found a replacement, another contractor willing to take over, he was, apparently, pumped about the position. 

"Here, this is awful, you have it," I said. "And good luck with that." And I metaphorically skipped off home by the rose covered garden path.

I was more than a little concerned about the boss guy and the fear many of the staff showed towards him. He was your classic ex-jock only risen to middle management and resenting everyone for his lack of achievement. I am sure several of the staff were terrified of him. I'm guessing he beat his wife.

Lovely. A quiet, stress free Monday after all. Thanks god, Allah, whatever imaginary, placebo affect, coincidental, deity, for "think it, do it!" I realised the joint was dodgy (that is the company and not the spliff, you understand) and instead of doing my normal step back "let's give it a chance," (and end up being miserable for the duration of the assignment) I called it out as awful and got the hell out. 

Now, I can continue rotting away in my lounge room, pretending to write, hoping it hasn't gone to my head regarding the ease with which I am chucking in jobs, if the last 2 months is anything to go by... ah, fuck it, who needs that aggravation.

The back garden sparkles in the sun light.

Mark stayed all day. It was nice, we chatted. He didn't catch his train to the coast until late in the afternoon. He wanted my car really, he'll be back on Friday, but I am on holidays, I can go wherever I please, and while there is a good chance I won't use my car, I just might too. He didn't really see it that way, I kind of think he thought I was being mean. Oh well. Ex-boyfriends and the bottom line is that it is my car. We don't have to come to a harmonious compromise any longer, that is why we are ex-boyfriends.

Scrum

We watched "Scrum" at the Queer Film Festival. We went with David and Lachlan. Mark met us there, (he's been down from NSW for a week) after spending the day in the botanical gardens with his sister and their mum. His mum suffers from alzheimers. He pushed her around in the wheel chair, up a lot of hills by the way he was saying that he was creaking.

Scrum, it was quite nice, even if I did nod off at one stage, but I liked what I saw. The cinematography was very washed out and blue. The characters were good. Mark cried he was so touched. Sam said it was rubbish, but he does tend to like blockbusters, or animated. David was straight on his phone afterwards, as he does, yap, yap, yap, so I didn't hear what he thought. Lachlan wore a beanie. (David and Lachlan are on the precipice of breaking up, Lachlan was very quiet)

Sam and I spent the earlier part of the day having lunch, sushi train, and sniffing around Dick Smith for a bargain. All the city outlets. (I refuse to say store. When did Australian's change to saying "store" exclusively?) 

The sun was shining in that warm, golden, wintry kind of way, it was nice to be in Fed Square, in the late afternoon. We drank coffee, of course, and white wine, dry white wine.

Free Man

Good old Jack, came through at 6pm, just when I was starting to lose hope and get really cranky. Boof-head wants a full report on why I have backed out.

"Oh... big doofus... did someone not like you? Coochy Coo."

Monday morning, with Jack, that is something to look forward too. I wonder if it is really Jack wanting feedback and not the client at all? However, I am now a free man. "Woo-Hoo!"

I'll probably never work again. Jack's leaving too, going to a new role. Things aren't looking good for this little black duck in the old halls of commerce.

It would have been my father's birthday today, he would have been 85 years old. Aloysius Grant. Alex was a good bloke. He's been dead for 14 years. Prostate cancer. I still feel like I missed 14 good years with him. He could die respectably at 85, not 71 when everyone you know loves you. Dad’s brother, Uncle Ev is still alive at 84, and he doesn’t seem to have aged at all, except for his hair turning grey.

You're dead a long time.

What do I care about Jack and his meaningless assignments?

Extracting Myself From Hell

Well, that hasn't gone so well. The new job. There is a complete meathead in charge of who, and I could be misreading this, but I don't think so, everybody seems to live in fear. Big, box head, grunts a lot. He has no idea what is wrong with their processes and procedures, but he wants me to fix them anyway. He seems to have no problem asking me to perform duties outside of my scope of contract, as though I am his permanent employee. (Hey mate, I am only filling in until you get yourself a real employee... 6 to 8 weeks max) The exiting employee who is doing the handover was away one of the two days I had with her last week that she was supposed to be instructing me, as she had no one to look after her kids in the holidays. She completed crucial work I am supposed to know, at home. Boof-head's only comment was, "Ah, oh, yes, I guess that is a problem."

I sat there for the second day, well, morning, with no computer and nothing to do, until I said that it was pointless. (I can't stand being bored and idle at work, at the best of times, I need to be busy)

On our way out the first day, I asked the exiting employee if she was going to a new job, she stopped walking, looked nervous and said, "Ah, oh, no... sorry I have left something behind," and cut the conversation off as though she really didn't want to talk about it and walked back in the opposite direction. Of course, there could be a multitude of reasons for that that I don't know.

I just have a very bad feeling about the whole thing.

All I can see is two months of misery ahead.

Jack called me to ask me how it was going. I told him what I thought. And he said, "It is no problem to replace you Christian, if you really don't think it is going to go well."

We finished the conversation with, "See how you go next week," said Jack. "Don't stress."

I ate my lunch and thought, there is no problem to replace me? Two things I have found from doing contract work, that when I turn down/get out of a shitty job a better one always comes along. And, I've learned though experience, in permanent and contract roles, don't stay in a job you don't like, life is too short. So I emailed Jack (wimp, I know, but I didn't think of that at the time) and said, "Jack please replace me."

My company could send in a systems analyst to give them a structure to fix all of their problems, but, of course, they don't want to pay for that. They expect little old me to sort out their systems and rejig their procedures, all the while completing the day to day work as well. I've seen this before, and sorry guys it just doesn't work that way.

So now I am waiting for the word, that I have been replaced. Cross your fingers. Please universe, don't send me back to hell that would seem to me to be very unfair. 

Killing Rinos

Killing Rinos for the aphraodisastic qualities of their horns, (the loss of a magnificent species just to make men with small penis' feel better about themselves, repeat that to yourself a few times) is kind kin to us denying global warming as the planet falls to pieces. 

Neither make any sense.

Working again.

I've taken on a job for 2 months, April and May. Jack called me last week, "It'll be easy," he said. There was some talk about me doing it permanently, and the big blokey boss mentioned yesterday in our chat when I first arrived, but I don't think so. It is going change to be a full time role, and I don't want to work full time. I, at least, should make some attempt to write, it is what i want to do after all.

It is why I got two new housemates, so I can work less.

I think I am allergic to permanent roles, ha ha, no not really. It is just that I am happy doing contract work, I don't know why I even consider a permanent role. Just do what you are doing, Christian and enjoy the time off it gives. permanent roles are to much of a commitment. All those KPIs and PDRs, it is all too much. And, really, a waste of time. Let the managers do that sort of stuff, that is what they get paid for after all.

Oh well, no time to tra la la around, gotta go.

Autumn colours in the park

Pink Hibiscus

Those magical pink flowers, a shot of colour against a grey sky to brighten even the greyest of days. The contrasting colours of natures on full display.

Waking from Dreams

I woke up from my dreams and gazed at the darkness all around. Instantly, I couldn’t remember instantly what I’d been dreaming about, but in my bed it was silent, not a sound. I lay very comfortably and told my mind to be calm, “Don’t wander.” Think sleepy thoughts slumber. But it was no good, I was awake, and ticking over, thinking of things off yonder. I pulled myself from the covers which were warm, I felt around in the dark for my pants, there was a chill in the air. I couldn’t find my hoodie, may be because it was black, despite finding things by feel, so I headed downstairs sans. It is funny some people are scared of the dark, I find it comforting, in a strange kind of way. I swapped hands with my laptop so I could grab the handrail, we've all tumbled down the stairs, fail. I’ve always found the black embracing, I’ll sit at my computer screen until the day turns pale. Before the others wake and greet the day, and chat to me breaking my trail of thought. Up early with the birds, falling asleep in the afternoon, lovely life, Sam tells me. I looked up through the glass roof at the sky, to make three wishes on the moon… except there were clouds, forming a shroud, fluffy and grey, I made the wishes anyway.

Dreams

I wrote poetry all day. I guess, my life is going pretty well. Money in the bank. My house paid off. Writing poetry. 

I dreamed that a Harvard literary PHD student (Is there such a thing) takes (steals) my poems and submits them as his own for his PHD. He is found out and it is a big scandal. The following international publicity puts my poems on the bestseller list.

Let's face it, that is the only way anyone is going to make money out of poetry.

Tell that to Pam Ayres, as she dashes about in her Porsche 911,  I guess.

Glass half full and all that.

Gender Fluid

We watched a doco on young people who felt they had fluid sexuality. “I am non-specific. I am not a boy, I am not a girl. I am non-specific.” They were whatever sexuality they felt they were for that day, for that period of time that they felt it. They could be a girl, they could be a boy, it can change, they can feel whichever sex they felt they were at any given time.

I’d never heard this before, it was fascinating, it was hard to get your mind around. I had trouble and I am a lefty with an open mind about sexuality, I can’t imagine what, shall we say, a traditionalist might think. Not that it really matters, just thinking.

I'm not sure what I thought. You know like when you try to imagine a totally new colour?

You learn something every day. Scratch of the head.

I'm not sure where you'd begin with this, as a parent. It must be a stretch for any parent. I guess you do what any good parent does, listen. It kind of makes having a gay kid seem like a walk in the park. But then again, what do I know, I don't have any kids.

Red Face

I call this red face. It could easily be cherry lips, or rosy cheeks. No eyeballs is an option, although not a very comforting one.

Good old Jack

Jack called with a job for me for two months starting the Tuesday after Easter.

Oh, why don't you leave me along, I think. I took the job, ugh! Against my better judgement, but I have a strict rule to accept all jobs that come my way, unless I can muster a serious objection, like having to drive for an hour, or having to suck too much arse. (and never the arse you want to suck) The new job is walking distance. Damn you Jack!

I guess that is hardly the attitude, I have friends who can't get jobs. They'd give an awful lot to be employed, when I am giving an awful lot not to be. Oh well. That is just how life is sometimes, as we all know. I'm lucky, I guess. Or did I just work damn hard to get to this point? I never really felt like I worked so hard, but other people say I did. I just did a job while I enjoyed it, and I stopped doing when I didn't enjoy it any longer. I'm lucky. 

I don't really enjoy it any longer. I'm finding it increasingly hard to smile and count to ten when I have to deal with morons, and there are so many morons, and they don't even know they are morons. Increasingly my response is, life is just too short, I'm out of here.

New Technology

I'm watching my new heating unit being installed with greater and greater horror, as it is now a wall mounted unit. It was not able to be moved to a different position in the back yard, because in a terrace house there aren't that many "other positions" and I now I have, what looks like a refrigerator attached to my back wall, just outside the back door. Really? Oh, er, um, oh... it couldn't be worse, if it tried. No really, it couldn't be more awful. Oh, fucken yuk!

And the tradie has thrash metal playing loudly on a radio. I feel like I am in Guantanamo Bay Torture chamber... all need is to be stripped naked and have water poured on my head.

It is all too horrible... yes, sure, I could be a Somalian prostitute locked in a cupboard in Vladivostock never seeing the light of day, other than from the cigarette lighers of the john's who fuck me raw every 30 minutes, sure... but it is all relative.

Yes, of course, I went outside and told the tradie it looked terrrible. :) No, subtly has never been one of my strong suits. Of course, he thought I was commenting on his work. :o Oops. So, then I spent the next 5 minutes reassuring him of his manhood. Really? People are so self-focused. "No, not your fault, I didn't mean that..." o.O Me and my big mouth. I should learn not to think out loud.

Afterwards I realised, that at the start, when the tradie asked if he could cut back the garden, I said, "Cut whatever you like." We have a huge clump of strelitzia, half of which our red-haired tradie cut away. If I'd only though, had I only realised, we could have pulled them back with a rope and with a bit of luck they wouldn't have broken and they would have covered up the new unit just fine. Don't you hate it when that happens? 

Artificial Intelligence

Artificial Intelligence is being developed and robots are coming. Self actuating, learning robots are what we are talking about. Robots that can think and learn for themselves. 

Really, humans? Do you think that is wise? You want to create something that is smarter than you? You should be very careful with that sort of thing.

You know what will happen, what the ultimate irony will be, that the self-learning, evolving robots will eventually kill us human beings to save themselves and the planet.

An even better sunrise. I could see the golden light coming in through my balcony windows as soon as I woke up this morning. The gorgeous yellow light was illuminating the inside of the room like something magical. It was gorgeous, luscious, dreamy light, it made getting out of bed delightful.

What a glorious sunrise, those colours are magical.

Tony Abbott Is A Recurring Nightmare That Just Won't Stop

Tony Abbott is a recurring nightmare that just won't stop. The depth and breath of his delusion is gobsmacking, as he carries on acting like the Prime Minister, as though last September didn't happen.

Tony Abbott claimed that the Turnbull government "is seeking election fundamentally on the record of the Abbott government." 

Malcolm Turnbull, naturally, had to respond. 

"There are many policies that have been announced and many initiatives that have been undertaken that were either not policies or not being pursued by Mr Abbott."

I saw the interview with Abbott last night. Who else saw this? Whose mouth dropped open like mine did? I had no words...

Tony, Tony, Tony, get over it. Build a bridge, buddy. You lost. Have some fucking dignity.

I said I didn't have any words, but actually I do... fuck off Tony. Nobody likes you, nobody wants you back, except you. Go eat some worms.

and... if there was a god, the next time Tony Abbott says, "We stopped the boats," his head would explode and his blood and brain matter would splatter all over the nearest wall. 

I thought we'd heard the last of this utter dickhead saying he stopped the boats, I can't believe how stressed I felt hearing him saying it yet again. I really thought that broken record was behind us.

You know something, I'm going to say it, I think that the Liberal Government will lose the next election, due to them being totally dysfunctional and seemingly incapable of governing, not to mention more negative press than positive, not to mention the evil shadow of Grim Reaper Abbott, and they will become the first one term government since the second world war.

Then we get more three word slogans, Continuity and Change, which just goes to prove how much of an amateur hour it really is, when it is shown that that particular three word slogan was used first by a satirical TV show. Really? Now we're connecting the Liberal party with a real life joke? (And I am not talking about Lie-about-whatever-it-takes-to-get-into-power Tony Abbott) Who is piloting the Good Ship Piss-Their-First-Term-Away now that Stupid Big Ears and I-must-be-obeyed-Lurch have been given the heave ho?

I'm very happy with my baby rubber plant sprouting its first new leaf.

 Sam cut a cutting from the rubber plant at his work at the end of last year.

"Just cut a tip off when nobody is looking," I said. "Nobody will ever notice."

He wasn't keen to start with, but with a little encouragement, I got my rubber plant.

It is always exciting watching a cutting come to life.

Safe Schools just a pawn in the Liberal Party disunity

Apparently, the Liberal Party's efforts to bring down the Safe Schools has very little to do with Safe Schools and has a lot to do with Tony Abbott and the conservative side of the Liberal Party bringing down Malcolm Turnbull and reinstalling Tony Abbott as Prime Minister again.

It is a very sad day when vulnerable youth are used as a political football.

It is really telling about Abbott, and how little he cares about the electorate and much he cares about himself. (But then we already knew that) 

The conservative forces in Australia want to install their agenda on the Australian people, clearly, at any cost.

I'm beginning to wonder if it is for any tangible benefit? It feels like it is simply because they have to be right. (no pun intended) I say this because the only thing Tony Abbott's constant and pointed sniping is going to do is destabilise the Liberal Government, so the only goal can be to bring down the Turnbull Government. There can be no other goal? And what would this achieve? The only thing it would achieve is to prove Tony Abbott right.

I would call this wilfully pathetic.

Political Correctness

What does Political Correctness mean now a days? It is so often used as a derogatory, generic term by those who want to hit out at the world against some kind of, more often than not personal, perceived injustices. Political Correctness has gone mad. But the world is now politically correct, it has been completely embraced by the world at large, which isn’t necessarily a bad thing. If someone doesn’t know not to call a woman “my bitch”, or a black guy a “nigger”, or a gay guy a “filthy AIDS ridden bum monkey”, there is a set of guide lines that points out to them what terms they should be using. So what the person who is railing against political correctness is, effectively, saying is I don’t like the modern world. Not only that, they are saying, I don’t like the modern world and I am going to show an astonishing lack of world awareness in the process. It kind of amuses me that they can’t see that. So, when I hear a person say Political Correctness has gone mad, what I hear them say is, I am an ignorant bastard and the world has left me behind, which is often hilarious, in the context of what the complainer is saying.

The smart people are subversive with Political Correctness and they get humour.

The dumb people are subversive with Political Correctness and they get Donald Trump.

Breakfast. I can't eat muesli any more, too much sugar. But, then again, I can't eat eggs every day either.

The rain hasn't stopped falling, so there will be no exercise today, so diet is going to be my only tool.

Still, on the bright side, I have an excuse to stay home and watch stand up comedy on YouTube all day.

Jimmy Carr it is then.

Rainy Morning

It was dark and wet this morning, such a difference, as though the seasons had changed in the night. A reminder of what is about to happen, any day now, the darkness is about to descend for six months, sad face. Short days, long nights, when we all shrink and constrict. There was no glorious sunrise, no desire to have the other side of the street cleared to enhance my view. The rain fell, the wind blew, it seemed like such a change from the summer heat of yesterday. The house was hot and stuffy, my t-shirt and track pants clung to me as I descended the stairs. Buddy came straight in as if to escape the cold. Milo came in, on his ballet feet, as he always does, and rubbed his cold, wet fur against me, which gave me chills.  The cool breeze blowing in through the open window, as I drank my morning coffee, was fresh and sweet, blowing the stuffiness of the room away, in bursts and gusts.

Then suddenly it was light, seemingly without anybody noticing.

I'm sure some bright spark architect thought he'd make a statement dropping this building into the middle of historical Prahran

Starting The Day With a Healthy Breakfast

Breakfast. And coffee. Always assume there is coffee. Usually, it is soft boiled eggs and avocado and smoked salmon, but I can't eat eggs every day, I don't think? Although, eggs have been re-imagined of late. In 3 weeks, okay lets say 4, as I can't really remember now, I have gone from pushing over 90 kilos, apparently 90 kilos was my upper limit, to 84.1 kilos this morning, before I ate. Who said losing weight is hard.

My specialist said that I should lose half a kilo a month. Let's say I've lost 7 kilos, according to Doctor Ashley that should have taken 14 months. Maybe that is healthy, but Jesus that is slow, too slow to keep my interest.

I still maintain that it was quitting smoking that caused me to gain weight, that was over a year ago now. They say it takes around 12 months for you metabolism to readjust.

This was the place. It seems to be gated off now, where it wasn't before.

Free As A Bird, Wind In My Hair, If It Wasn't For The Bike Helmet

I had to go and see the solicitor this morning. I said I’d be there by 10am. As I got ready, I thought to myself that I could ride my bike. How far was it, I thought?

I left home at 9am to ride my bike to (Name of street) Albert Park to sign the documentation with the solicitor for mum’s probate. I had to be there by 10am.

I text Rachel and asked her how long she thought it would take.

“Three days,” she replied.

She can be so helpful sometimes but, I guess, it was a stupid question to begin with. Why would she know how long it would take me to ride my bike? I laughed at myself getting cranky with her answer.

I rode through Jolimont, and the trees and the parks and the gorgeous architecture, down passed the tennis centre. I headed over the Swan Street Bridge and then across the corner of parkland on the edge of the botanic gardens, which is all kind of bike friendly.

I joined the bike track on St Kilda Road, which was busy with bikes.

When I looked at the map, before I left, I decided I could go down Albert Street, or Park Street. I was doing okay until I cut down Dorcas Street and forgot about Kingsway. Sudden, I was stopped at the beast that is Kingsway – the snarling, spitting, convulsing jam of traffic and drivers. There was another bike rider struggling across the multitude of lanes and the sunken tram tacks. I headed to the lights, I’m not so stupid as to try and tackle all of that.

Then it was plain sailing down the wide, and mostly deserted, footpaths of Park Street, after that. It is quite lovely riding places in the morning, along wide footpaths, under Victorian shop verandas.

I got to Albert Park at 9.30am, it took only half an hour. It is not that far really, it is just one inner suburb to another.

The receptionist and the law clerk seemed to be impressed with me riding. As I said, it isn’t really that far. They got me water to drink and weren’t at all concerned about my bike being in reception.

(Solicitor) said, “You must be fitter than me to have ridden that far.” He turned and I followed him to his office, in his dingy pale green rooms in Albert Park. He looked stooped over and with his grey hair he seemed like an old man. I’m sure he went to uni with (my sister), which makes him a year older than me.

He got me to swear on a bible. He asked me if I had any objections before I did. “As I am an atheist, it means nothing to me, just one of many books of fiction you could use,” I said. “So no, I have no objections.”

He agreed.

It didn’t take long. Checking that all the t’s were crossed and all the i’s were dotted.

It was a gorgeous day out in (Name of street), as I text Jill to see what she was doing.

“Come over now,” she responded. She was leaving for Sydney at 12.30pm but she was doing nothing until then.

I told her I’d be there in 10 minutes when I was at number 1 Queens Road. That was somewhat ambitious, as it turned out. How far is it down Queens Road, I thought, as I peddled along the footpath? I am not stupid enough to ride on Queens Road. There were interesting back streets to cut through, when Queens Road headed down into the under pass, before it turned into Dandenong Road, where there was no provision for bikes. I had to go over the top, across country. You see much more when you ride places, or catch public transport, or walk. But today I was riding.

Jill was standing at the end of (name of street), waiting, watching, as I’d taken longer than 10 minutes. “Yes, sorry about that, my 10 minutes was a little ambitious.”

We drank tea and chatted. She was heading to Sydney at 12.30pm to be with her sister Elly as Mark, Elly’s husband, has his second round of chemo. His lymphoma has spread, to varying places in his body including behind his eye. (He's most likely not going to make it) Jill is going to comfort her sister through the treatment.

We ate pesto pasta for lunch, Jill cooked. Jill looked surprised when I said that I don’t really enjoy driving any more. Me? The car fanatic.

“It is the traffic that I don’t enjoy,” I said. “It is getting worse and worse and worse.”

“I know,” said Jill. “I don’t really know how we keep getting awarded the most liveable city, the traffic is just terrible.”

“I blame all the apartments that are springing up everywhere,” I said. “Short sighted governments. I can hear it now, them saying in 10 years time, we really got that wrong.”

“Sadly, I think you are right.”

Jill had bought a new printer, of course she did, which I helped her get out of the car and set up, just before (name of friend) came and picked her up at 12.30pm, right on the dot.

I headed over to the cemetery, just over Dandenong Road, to see my great grandmother, to see she was still in her grave. It all looked kind of different and I wondered how I found her last time, even if it was 10 years ago, more than 10 years ago. Nothing looked familiar. I rode around and then headed back to the front gate. One thing, it was clear that they are not ripping people out of the ground, judging by the dilapidated state of all of the clearly old graves. There was a guy by the front gate who directed me towards a number to call to find out where loved ones were located. I called the number to find out where she is.

“What is her family name?”

“(family name).”

“Her first name?”

“(first name).”

“I’m sorry but there is nobody by that name,” said the nice lady on the other end of the phone. “Are you sure that is her name?”

Momentarily, I doubted myself. Is that her name? Have I got her name wrong? No. That is her name. (name). “Yes, I am sure that is her name.” I thought for a minute…

“Did she die in 1919?”

“Yes, I think she did.”

“She is in the Brighton Cemetery.”

“Yes, I am standing in the Brighton Cemetery.”

“No,” said the nice lady on the other end of the phone. “You are in the St Kilda Cemetery.”

She is in Brighton Cemetery, on the corner of Hawthorn Road and North Road. The cemetery on Dandenong Road is the St Kilda Cemetery. Oops. Now that I think of it, I think I have done that before, got the two confused.

I headed home down Williams Road. I came off my bike for the first time, well, technically it is the second time, although that was so long ago and on my old bike, and I hardly remember it. I was looking at the houses on the other side of Williams road, and there was a tree on the footpath with a deep recessed garden bed. My front tyre went down into the garden bed, I went sideways and speared off head first into the sharp corner of a red brick building right on the street. My head hit the very corner of the bricks, luckily, I wasn’t going very fast, and just as lucky I was wearing a helmet. (except that I always wear a helmet) I wasn’t hurt, I was taken by surprise though. If I hadn’t been wearing a helmet, I don’t know what would have happened to my head. Crash! Just like that. And even though I wasn’t going really fast, it happened quickly, or at least, happened with an unstoppable momentum.

I came down Williams Road passed Royal South Yarra and I thought of Peter Morrison. Up the back behind Royal South Yarra that is where he took me to molest me that night. I’d never been able to work out where that was in more recent years, there never seemed to be vacant land behind Royal South Yarra. I guess, there has been much development since then. So long ago, I remember it as if it were yesterday.

I rode around a bit further to turn onto Alexandra Avenue and head for home. I went to turn too soon (I looked it up later) into Williams Road North… no, that is not right. This is where we came to that car show, in the park in between the two streets, with Rachel when we had only just got Buddy. Alexandra Avenue is the next turn.

Oh? Um? Hang on a bit? That park? There is a hill behind it where it goes up to higher ground. What is up there? That looks like… it has been developed recently, beautified. I rode up the path to the higher park. There were three schoolboys, two were shirtless and wrestling each other, I had no idea why. I rode away from them. Is this what I thought was the vacant land behind Royal South Yarra? It could be? If it was, it would have an entrance way from Williams Road North. It did. This is it. I started taking photos, just as a keepsake. As I clicked my camera, I could see the schoolboys were changing into their sports outfits (out in the open, I have no idea why?)… then it dawned on me what I was doing, or, at least, what it looked like I was doing. I laughed. I quickly thought that nobody else would be laughing. I slid my phone back into my pocket. This is where Peter Morrison bought me to molest me as a 13 year old, and here I was taking photos, inadvertently as it was, of schoolboys changing. A man taking photos… I shook my head. I cut my train of thought, turned my bike around and peddled out of there. Was it irony, I thought? No, not irony, but kind of weird in a cosmic sort of way. I turned right into Alexandra Parade and headed for home.

I had ridden up and around that park before, I couldn’t remember if I’d recognised it as “the place” the previous time I’d been there. I couldn’t remember. But I don’t think so, as it was as if I was seeing it for the first time. It was all falling into place as if it was for the first time. All I really remember from years before was that it was dark and that there was a kind of steep driveway and that we looked out over city lights, or something like that. I don’t remember any other details.

I rode around the Yarra to home. It was a glorious day. The sun shone. The sky was blue.

I got home at 2.30pm. I’d been gone 5 hours. Errands done, lunch eaten, and a trip down memory lane.

I sat out the back with Milo and wrote on my computer for the rest of the afternoon.

Great House, Prahran

Nice Victorian

What is Wrong With People?

If Harrison Ford can fly the Millennium Falcon at the age of 103 and have nobody comment, Madonna can strut the world stage all she fucken likes without people hanging shit on her for her age. 

What is wrong with people?

Abortion

The truth about abortion, it that it is not a bad thing. In fact, in this day and age when over population is threatening the existence of our planet, it should be encouraged. I don't mean that pregnant woman should be encouraged to have abortions, of course, but those who do want to terminate a pregnancy should be treated well and should be natured in their decision, not dissuaded.

Apparently, having an abortion is supposed to cause a life time of grief to all those who have one, according those against abortion. A lot of studies on this subject, especially done by those with religion, have been skewed with only data from unhappy woman being used.  It is a deceptive trick. However, it is widely accepted that there are one hundred thousand abortions in Australia every year, so if it is all about trauma and unhappiness, that is a lot of traumatised women.

I've never seen that amongst my girlfriends who have had abortions. I've had a number of girlfriends who have had abortions, in fact, I think the majority, now that I think about it. It seems to be a right of passage in becoming a woman, now a days, in the sense of making adult decisions when adult decisions need to be made. Thankfully, we live in 2016, and not 1916, when operations, of all kinds, are so much safer, and easier.

So, I asked them how they felt about it now. Unanimously they all said that it was the unplanned pregnancy that was always the problem and not the unplanned abortion.

Jemma said, "Oh could you imagine if I'd been tied to Jay (the father of the child) for the rest of my life because we'd had a baby together?" She shook her head. "That would have been the true nightmare." She shook her head again. "And now I have Phil and my boys and life couldn't be better."

Jane said, "I wasn't ready at the time, it made so much sense. It would have been such a trial to do all of that and have a child as well. I so wasn't ready. And now I have a beautiful son and I don't ever think about that first time."

Kate said, "No, I never think about it. I never wanted children. It was easier than having my appendix removed."

Jenny, "A problem? No. Why do you ask? It's not exactly like human beings are in short supply on this planet, now are they."

Me, "I've been reading about the pain an abortion creates."

Jenny, "No, it was the smartest thing for me to do, at that time. I never think about it now. It wasn't a problem. In and out in no time." She laughed. "I think I was out dancing the next night."

Rachel, "Maybe if I'd already had children? Maybe? It may have played on my mind, picturing if they'd turn out like the others. But, I had my kids quite a few years after that and I never really connect the two. It was just something I didn't want at the time."

"We're all lucky we live in modern times," said Jemma, "When such problems can be fixed relatively easily, without pain of discomfort."

"I've never heard an acceptable answer, from those against abortion," said Kate, "of what we would do with one hundred thousand unwanted children?"
"Per year," I said.
"Per year," said Kate.

"As population growth is set to become the key environmental issue," said Jen. "There will be more abortions performed in the future, not less."

Getting into better shape

Since I have been off work, I figured I could increase my exercise with all of this free time on my hands. So, I've been riding my bike every day, now for 7 days, for an hour each day. I've been pushing myself along too, it hasn't been just an arvo riding through the park. I have adjusted my diet slightly, I am going easier on the carbs and have tried to cut out added sugar, although I'm not trying to cut out all sugar, I'm just trying eat less of it where I can.

I think I have lost 3 kilos, maybe 4 kilos. I'm never really sure how much exactly, as it depends on the time of day that I weigh myself. The range is 4 to 6 kilos that I have lost, which is good, huh?

It is not so much about health, not really, it is about how I look, what I see when I catch sight of myself in a shop window. Yes, it is about vanity.

I don't eat junk food. I don't drink soft drinks. I don't drink alcohol. I eat at home mostly. But I have been eating a lot of rice and pasta. And I have been eating quite big serves.

But, I think I am going to take the day off today. 
Some time later, I banged on my head phones and I went for a walk for an hour. Apparently, walking isn't much good for losing weight, but it is good for maintaining weight levels.

Is it Wrong to Perve on Joggers?

Is it wrong to perve on straight boy joggers? Those sexy legs, those muscular arses, those cocks bouncing round in their shorts? Is that wrong, for your eyes to drop as they run towards you? Sometimes you can't help those things, you know. 

Some how, I am sure it is. Oh, I don't mean in any moral sense, not really. We are all free to look, and the skimpier the outfit the more likely we are to look. Those bulging thighs, encircled in the leg of skimpy shorts, that bulge bouncing around, that arse crack fully defined, who wouldn't look.

My general rule on giving someone the once up and down is that as long as you don't look back, as long as you keep you eyes pointing in the direction you are heading, one is free to look at whatever one wants.

I mean it in the gay boy/straight boy relationship guide. You know where straight boys are expected to be nice to gay boys, not to turn into children when gay boys are around, and not to accuse gay boys of all wanting to hit on them and gay boys agrees not to hit on them. I'm sure it goes against that agreement.

Poisonous Politics

It is such a shame, practically criminal, and a sign of the times, I guess, that two looser prime ministers are/have destroying/destroyed two (potentially) good Prime Ministers. Poisonous Abbott bringing down Turnbull, Ego maniac Rudd bringing down Gillard.

In power Gillard and Turnbull have been hamstrung by the religious right in their parties, as they've needed the religious factions to gain power. The NSW Catholic Right stopped Julia Gillard legalising gay marriage. And the luny tunes religious right of the Liberal Party is holding Malcolm Turnbull back. 

The vocal religious minority has been dictating government policy in Australia for too long. 

Christianity, those who identify as practising Christians, is now estimated to be approx 9% of society. It is widely accepted that gay people make up 10% of society, one in 10, so what right does the vocal religious minority have to dictate policy on marriage equality, to name just one policy area. Many conditions/diseases could be cured by stem cell therapies, and yet the religious right won't get out of the way to let the doctors practice modern medicine. Abortion should be freely available to all woman, and yet the looney Christians are still trying as hard as they can to take that right away.

Birds on the Boulevard

I've been riding every day, around the boulevard, and along the bike path. These magnificent birds line the road in a large flock. They rose  up and settled back down as each car and bike passed by.

Only in America

God love America. There was the gun advocate, Jamie Gilt, who got shot in the back by her 4 year old son. He clearly needs more training, as mum survived. (I don't wish her dead, but wasn't that her outspoken point?) And the raw milk advocates who got raw milk legalised, who all got sick drinking the raw milk at the celebration. 

Only in America, always good for a laugh.

What A Lovely Fresh Morning

I was out the front sweeping my footpath, early, having put the bins out, when my neighbour Jackson Wag walked up saying, "That is very community minded of you," he said

"Well, it is no big deal." I laughed, I don't know why. "There is always shit out here from all the over hangs." My hibiscus is the main culprit.

It is rubbish day and I took the opportunity to sweep up my front yard throwing all of the debris into the bins before they were emptied. It is kind of nice when it is all swept clean.

I wasn't going to admit to Jackson that 7am is the time all the cute joggers run passed... not that that was really the reason why I was out there.

"I'm off to my great aunt's 90th birthday in Ballarat," said Jackson. "I just put an orchid in the car, which was one of my mother's, it must be over 60 years old."

Really, I thought. What does a 90 year old woman want with a 60 year old orchid. "How lovely," I said.

"Anyway, my coffee is on the stove," said Jackson. "I will be about to explode up the wall." He laughed nervously.

Jackson's car has to be seen to be believed. I watched him walk back to his house. I wouldn't drive it to Collingwood, let along Ballarat. A completely clapped out Daewoo and not even one of the real Daewoo models, its one of the hand me down models that started out life as another brand. Just a load of junk. I wouldn't drive it to change parking spots.

It was a lovely, cool, overcast morning, which was such a relief after the sweltering night we all endured. There is something so invigorating about the early morning, so fresh and unspoilt.

Anyway, I'm off on an early morning bike ride, before the day heats up again. I've gotta break my arse back into daily bike rides. It can be really sore until it gets used to it again. I see other people doing it every day, I used to do it every day, I guess it is just a matter of time, but three consecutive days in and I am struggling to find a comfy position.

I've got to get out there in the morning, get the day started that way, when the air is fresh and alive and the day is new. It is lovely riding through the morning air. 

The bike track

The bike track

Put Her In The Freezer, said Rachel

It was a glorious morning, it is a glorious day, just the kind of day making me want to get out into it.

I came home from my bike ride and poured myself a glass of water. The worst thing I do now a days is put ice in my water. (shock, horror) I know I shouldn’t, but I think it makes the water more interesting. As I was putting the ice cube tray back in the freezer, I noticed there was, what looked like, a piece of card on the ice cube tray shelf. What is that? I got up on tip toes and took a closer look. There was something written on that piece of card. Oh? OH! (click, click, click, click) Ohhhh. OH. (my mouth was shaped like an O by this stage)

There was a job I wanted, and this girl, we shall call her Vanessa for the purpose of this story, who wasn’t very good at it, from all accounts, had it, and I wanted it. My friend, we shall call her Rachel for the purpose of this story, had told me to write Vanessa on a piece of card and put it in the freezer, which I did, as sceptical as I was. What the hell, I remember thinking at the time. And I promptly forgot about it.

Recently, I heard that Vanessa, who still has my job, is battling an advanced case of Jacob-Obesophobia-Bronchial Sarcoma-Thymoma-Extragonadal-Andrenocortical-lympatic-Intraocular-Nasopharyngeal-Glioma Burkitt-Islet-Transitional-Cutaneous-Heptocellular. (Always referred to by its acronym) Goodness me! I’d forgotten about the name in the freezer and had not associated the two until I was standing on my tip toes putting the ice trays back today. (think for a minute) Perhaps, I should have written her name in block letters? Maybe, I should get another card and write her surname on it and slide it under the other ice block tray to finish her off? Finger tips pressed together in star hands. Eyes become slits. Cock of the head. Hm?

Actually, I'm quite happy in retirement, (ha ha, that sounds funny) on my long service leave, much to Sam's chagrin, I don't want her job. Perhaps, I should take her name out of the freezer? 

Jack will call me soon enough. Sad face. I'm surprised he hasn't called me already?

Yarra River, Melbourne

Gay Marriage

I never gave a toss about gay marriage. It is a bold step backwards, as far as I am concerned. I think it is conforming to a paradigm that is ostensibly a failure. It undoes all the good work that we have done defining our relationships over the years to be whatever we wanted them to be, despite everybody else, despite the disapproving world. It is conforming to a majority that we were never a part of, deliciously so. It is a desperate attempt to be "normal" that is how I always looked at it. 

What will gay marriage give us? Gay divorce.

That was until the christian right told me that I couldn't get married. That was when I changed my mind.

"I'm sorry? Why can't we get married?" Please don't refer back to that oldie worldie book of fiction. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. It just doesn't cut it.

And the point really is, that there is no good reason why gay people shouldn't get married.

Of course, there never has been a reason that made any sense as to why gay people couldn't get married. At a completely logical level, surely more people getting married will only strengthen marriage?  There still is no reason why gay people should be barred from the tired, old, imperfect institution. 

None. So why can't we? Shrug. Hands in the air. I don't want to, but those of us who do, why can't they?

The reason I liked the best, which made most sense, was that woman have such trouble keeping their boyfriends and husbands on the straight and narrow (pun intended) that is monogamously married, that they couldn't afford for any distraction to come along for their boyfriends and husbands to justify their infidelities. 

"If they can do it, surely I can do... " 

So their objections were about keeping straight marriage narrowly defined so as to keep the straight boys under their thumbs. The bit that made sense, was that their objections were about them, not about us. So, in other words, gay people were to be sacrificed in the best interests of heterosexual marriage.

Of course, the reason I love the best is, Why shouldn't gay people be as unhappy as their straight brothers and sisters. Why indeed?

It is time that (the formerly progressive country) Australia has a vote in parliament and gets it over and done with, so those of us who want to get married can, and all of us can finally shut up about it.

And you know, if my partner really wanted to, if it was important to him, you never know, I might say... but he doesn't, so there you go.

Until... Whatever... We Do Part

Marriages are diverse and are many different things in the 21st Century... as they always have been.

Jerry Hall struggles to maintain Downe House, her... well... Mick's, gorgeous London mansion in which she lives. (Google it) She may have to sell it, as she can't manage the upkeep, but then Mick would get the money anyway. It is a catch 22 situation for her. So, what does she do? She puts on some lipstick, she pours herself a drink and she pulls herself together. She marries herself an 84 year old billionaire, old Rupert. (This is the second billionaire she has dated recently) His two previous wives got biliion dollar divorce settlements out of him, why shouldn't she? (pesky prenups withstanding) I hope she does. I hope she takes the old cunt for every cent he has. Surely, she wouldn't have to do "the nasty" with him too often, he is 84 after all. If he lives for another 10 years, she will only be 70, future sorted...


Still, the bride looked lovely.

What Do You Have To Offer?

I don't need you to disapprove of me, in fact, if that is all you have to offer, I'd rather be on my own, where I can disapprove of myself, at least I am a little kinder about it.

Eating Healthy

Smoked salmon, half an avocado, and the perfect boiled egg, 10 minutes from cold water, this is what my breakfast has become. And, of course, coffee, as many cups as I choose, that is what I think. That means two, in reality.

Loosing weight is hard. Loosing weight is painful. I never eat fast food (once a year, maybe). I never drink carbonated drinks. (really, hardly ever) I drink water, tea and coffee. I hardly ever drink alcohol, socially sometimes. Apparently, I eat too much good food. Grrrr. I eat too much rice, which turns to sugar in your system. Like wise, too much pasta. I cook my own cakes, but I am guessing that is a no no too. No fruit juice, which I drink occasionally. It is better to eat an orange than drink orange juice. Sad Face.

Love the Christian... hate the mental disorder

We must love all christians, we are all-inclusive, after all. Love the bigot, hate the bigotry. Of course, that doesn't mean we have to love the mental disorder with which christian’s live. Should we pray to Shiva, or Buddha, or Ahura Mazda, or Queztalcoatl, or Biame, or Jupiter, or Zeus, or Breged, or Thor, or Allah, or God, or Jesemity, or Atman, or Eshawa, or The Holly Spirit, or The Infinite Spirit, or The Highest Spirit, or The Eternal Now, or The Source, or The Force, or The Infinite One, or The Higher Power, or the Higher Essence, or the Infinite Consciousness, or The Good, or The Great Spirit, or The Tao, or The Universal One, or The Rain God, or The Rain Serpent, or the Nameless One, or Jehova, or Jesus, or Kosmos, or Krishna, or Brahma, or Shakti, or General Leia, or Vishnu, or Yahweh, or Wakan Taka… 

...oh fuck it, is there an iSelect for the world’s gods?

Love a Good Pear

Do you think the pear is considered the second class cousin to other fruit? The banana and the apple and the orange? The prices would certainly indicate this to be true. Pears are always at rock bottom prices.

But, I love a good pear. They are juicy and tasty and sweet. I usually have stewed apples on my muesli, in the mornings, or bananas, but this week I have had the most delightful yellow pears. They have been gorgeous.

Let's hear it for the pear.

A pear, a pear, what is a pear? Yellow and sweet and delicious to eat.
Of course there is all the double entendre that may suit, but I am only talking about the fruit.