Finances 101

A lesson in finances 101. No matter how friendly you think you are with your ex, no matter if you consider yourselves to be soul mates continuing long after you have finished your relationship, complete the finances, get everything sign, sealed and delivered, as they say. 

We had everything in both our names long after we were in relationships with other people. Mark had access to our mortgage that I had taken over as a part of our break up. He got one house. I got the other house and the mortgage. (We both already owned a house each when we met) He had access to, what was now, my mortgage and he used it as finance when he needed to. Both houses remained in both our names.

"It will be fine, Mark and relationship will never sour," I said to my friend Jill, which used to infuriate her.

"Don't leave anything to chance," Jill used to say. "Better to be safe than sorry."

"We're not leaving anything to chance," I'd reply. "You just don't understand what Mark and I have."

So for the longest time, my ex and I thought it would all be wonderful until the day we were old men staring at our final sunset. Eventually, at least 10 years after we'd split up, Mark got his finances straightened out because he has a kid, well, actually, the kid came of age and got it all straightened out for him. Mark always thought things would be cool between the two of us, as I did.

But, you know, as the kid straightened out all of Mark's finances, my still small voice said to me, as a gentle whisper, "time for you to do the same." I kept hearing this. "time for you to do the same." Yes, yes, I thought, I know you are right. "time for you to do the same." Okay, okay, already. 

And eventually, five years after that, I called our old Jewish solicitor, (we used the same solicitor, always did) Myron Swartz, whose first words to me were, "You know somethink, Christian, I have been vorried about jou for zee longest time."

"How so?" I replied.

"Well, Mark's daughter gave me quite precise instructions of vhat to do for Mark, but vhen I asked about you, she told me to do nothink. Nothink?  said Myron. "Zis vas crazy stuff! But, I hadn't heard from you, my boy, vhat could I do?"

"She told you to do nothing?"

"Yes, nothink," said Myron. "I thought it vas very strange. But vhat could I do?" 

I think Mark and I were Myron Swartz's first gay couple. And I think he kind of liked it, somehow. I don't know why, but I just got that impression. He always seems to take a shine to both of us. Mark always said he took a shine to me. "You know he wants you," Mark would say jokingly.

"There's a Mrs Swartz of 35 years standing." Myron used to tell me, my vife of 35 years. 

"Why do you think he always told you that?" said Mark.

"Don't be ridiculous."

Anyway, we straightened it all out, it took a little time, but then it was done.

Anyway, now it would appear, all these years later, that Mark and my relationship is souring. Mark has a few money issues. Mark is the Hare and I am the tortoise. He spends all of his money as soon as he gets it, and fortunately, he has always had a great talent for business, but, as I said, he never saves any money, never has any in reserve, which usually always works for him. And as I said, he is clever and he gets things done, up and running, in the time it takes other people to grasp the ideas of what they should do. It is, of course, a part of his makeup, a part of who he is, a part of his feelings of success about himself.

Me, on the other hand, I'm the tortoise. Steady and sure as I go. I always have savings, I always have money in the bank. I am very cautious with what I spend and in what I invest. I don't splash the cash around. I don't feel the need to pay for everyone. I don't ever want to spend all of my money. That just isn't something that gives me pleasure. I sleep soundly at night knowing no matter what happens tomorrow, I have the reserves to see my way through even the very worst scenario.

So, as it turns out, we have come to a point in our lives, when Mark is skint, and I am flush. Oh, before you feel too sorry for him, he has assets, just no ready cash. He has a large debt, that he is having trouble paying and he thinks I should have offered to pay it.

And I have said no.


And he is really shitty about it. He has always thought I did better out of our breakup, but again, I save my money, I don’t spend it. Apparently, we have always looked out for one another, (my interpretation of that is that I have always looked after him… and, perhaps, on one of my bad days, I might say Mark has always looked after Mark) and I have now betrayed the trust we have always shown each other.

I say, me paying his bills is not sustainable. He needs to take action to fix his spiralling expenses, me continually picking up the tab, when I no longer work, will only drain my finances as quick as it is draining his.

And besides, I am not his partner any longer, I haven't been his partner for 15 years. I have been with Sam going 8 years.

So, I am now very thankful that I did straighten out my finances and that they are separate to Mark's. Oh yes, I am very thankful. (Laugh) I'm not going to tell Jill that she was right, she would enjoy that just a little too much.

I kind of miss those days, with our Jewish Lawyer, Myron Swartz, and our Jewish Accountant, Asher Leibowitz. "Clayton to Caulfield," the two of them used to say. "Ve got it covered." What those two couldn’t come up with? I tell you. The laid back, well dressed, Myron and the fat, gravel voiced, chain smoking, always with his shirt tail hanging out, Asher.

Asher just smoked in his office, fuck OH&S rules.

“Can I smoke?” I asked questioningly when I first saw him in his office. It stunk like an ashtray.

“If you smoke, smoke. You wanna smoke, smoke. Smoke. I smoke. You smoke. We all smoke. You can smoke.”

“Okay then.”

“Here, let me get you an ash tray.” He’d dig under the piles of papers covering his desk for one. Mark hated Asher because he never stopped talking. Never… stopped… talking.

Myron had a neat desk, with only the applicable paperwork out on it. I’m sure he had vanilla candles burning somewhere.

Asher went to Guido to get his pot supplies. Naturally. I’m sure, Mark hooked the two of them up. Asher was a quite a head. Guido said he was one of his best customers. We were all devastated when Asher lost everything in the GFC and consequently killed himself. We were all upset, each, possibly, for different reasons. Best accountant I ever had. A huge number of pills and a plastic bag over his head, was his method of choice. Is that even a thing? I thought.

“Are you sure that it legal?” I’d ask Asher.

“What’s legal?” he’d say. “Who looks at it? Who decides? We all come up with different interpretations. It is all just a matter of how you look at it.”

I’d look uncomfortable with the explanation.

“Perception?” he’d say. “You just have to look at it the right way, to get the right answer.”

"I... see?"

“The department is too underfunded and too understaffed to investigate anything off its own bat,” Asher would say. “Economic rationalisation, the best financial friend we’ll ever have,” he’d say. He’d laugh his throaty laugh, and lower his voice as if the truth deserved its own reverence. “Everything I do is legal, babe. It is called tax minimisation, not tax avoidance. Use the rules, they are your best fucken friend.” He’d laugh again. “I’m not driving my business into the wall to get some punk a few extra dollars, pay the right amount, but don’t pay a cent above what you have to.” He’d slide another white filtered Kent into his mouth. He was always sliding a white filtered cigarette into his mouth. “Cigarette?” He’d hold open his wooden cigarette box in midair, holding it by the lid.

Myron retired a few years ago. (I kind of think Myron put the accent on, but that is neither here, nor there)

End of an era.

So many eras ending.

It seems like a different lifetime.

Love affairs, friendships, professional relationships, they all end, one way or another. You've got to be ready for it, be smart, or wise, and look ahead, see what's coming. (Shrug, hands raised up) Be prepared.

Blue days, sunny haze, come what mays, upward we gaze

Lime Marmalade

Lime Marmalade. I found an unopened bottle of lime marmalade in the back of the fridge, the other day when I was rummaging about back there. I don’t know if it just us, but we seem to have a mysterious collection of bottles inhabiting the top shelf of our fridge. I don’t know if that is usual, but we do? I make attempts to clean them out from time to time, but who knows when you are going to want that Indian curry paste, or that Hoi Sin Sauce, or those imported capers, or, indeed, that mint jelly.

If you had asked me, I'd never have said that I'd like lime marmalade, but I do. It is yum. My god, it is good. Go get yourself a bottle, I recommend it. Woolworths Select, was my, Lime Marmalade, of choice, it is glorious. A couple of slices of sour dough wholemeal encrusted with sesame seeds, your Woolworths Select lime marmalade and a freshly brewed coffee somewhere in the middle of the afternoon, heaven.

Where it came from, I have no idea. Sam is not a jam boy, I am, but I am sure I didn’t buy it. It is a mystery. The goddess Laima, the goddess of fate, whose sacred tree is the lime, (Do you get the dual reference?) was smiling down favourably, perhaps. Maybe it was sent from God. Marmalade from heaven. The Miracle of the Limes, we shall refer to it from now on. People may come from far and wide to see it? Oh god, let’s hope not. People are annoying, so I can’t imagine what people driven with the fever of miraculous contemplation might be like? Hideous. If I cook some toast and the image of Jesus with a lime in his mouth (his head in a baking dish post crucifixion) appears, I won’t be surprise.

But, I do recommend lime marmalade for your toast. Lovely.

Golden Boy

Golden Boy, lives in a golden house, during the day he lives like a mouse, because he doesn't want to be seen, but at night he comes alive and dances like a queen

Golden Boy knows he has all the moves, Golden Boy’s body just naturally loves all the grooves, Golden Boy dances all night long, Golden Boy dances to every song, Golden Boy takes Sexy Boy home in the end for everything that soothes.

Give way To Pedestrians

Hands up those people who, when they are behind the wheel of their car, don't know they have to give way to pedestrians?

No, come on, there are more of you than that that don't know drivers must give way to pedestrians.

I do a lot of walking and it seems to be most of you who do not know this road rule. All ages. All types. Blithely driving through intersections, even when good sense would have told them that it was dangerous, narrowly avoiding pedestrians.

Who doesn't know that when they come to an intersection and there are pedestrians crossing, no matter from which direction you come, you must give way to pedestrians. I've had people tell me that when pedestrians are approaching them from the left and the driver is turning left, the driver doesn't have to give way to pedestrians.

A couple of times, just lately, when I have nearly been run down, I have banged on the sides of the cars with my fist and called out, "Hey, give way to pedestrians." I tell you, it gets the driver's attention. Some have even stopped to justify their ignorance. I simply reply to them, "Learn your road rules," and walk away.

Is This What SnowFlake Means?

I went to make a purchase. The items I wanted were $1.25 each, or 10 for $10. 

As the girl rang the items up, she said, "Have you checked them?"

No, I hadn't, but I did. And, as it turned out, one of the items was faulty.

"I'll just have the 9 then," I said.

"That will be $11.25," she said.

"Oh, couldn't I just have 9 for $10?" I was in a hurry and it was a charity shop and the money was going to a cause I believed in anyway.

"Um, no," she said. She looked quizzical. "Because 9 come to $11.25." 

"Really?" I said.

"Yes," she said.

"Okay... then, I'll get another one then."

She shrugged.

I went and selected another item and came back and put it on the counter. "That seems to be a bit silly," I said.

"How so?" she said.

"10 for $10," I said. "But I was willing to take 9 for $10."

"Oh, is it 10 for $10," she said. "Sorry, it is my first day here."

She turned to the fat queen who was serving on the other register. "Is it 10 for $10," she asked.

"Yes," he said. He looked at my items. "Oh... no... sorry," he dithered, "they are not 10 for $10, they are $1.25 each."

"No," I said. "They are 10 for $10."

"No, I'm sorry but they are not," said the queen.

"They have always been 10 for $10," I said. "I buy them often."

The queen started to open his mouth, but I spoke over him.

"Would either of you like to go and get somebody who knows what is going on?" I looked from one to the other. "I'll wait."

Well, they took offence. Apparently, I was being rude and hard to deal with.

I've Learnt How to Write My Points

I've learnt, as a direct result of having arguments/discussions via the written word, via some social media platform, or messaging, how to put my point forward without being aggressive, using bad language, or swearing. It is just as effective to state your case plainly and simply. I'm smart, I can construct an argument. If you swear, or call them the dickheads they clearly are, it just gives them a distraction and an effective "out".  Sticking to your own points and not getting distracted by what the other person is saying, is important too. 

I guess a university education does help a little. I've never given it much credit, I can't really remember it, nor did I enjoy it, but when I see how some people write so unintelligibly, I guess I have to give my education some kudos.

I used to come across as really aggressive, as some of my friends told me, now I employ an ask questions style, rather than a bombardment of what I think attitude. And it works. 😀

We're learning all the time, I guess. My mother always said get an education. My grandmother said never stop learning geography, which in practical terms meant travelling. Be nice, society tells us all now a days. 

My mother was nice, although not a pushover, she could speak up for herself.

My Grandmother was driven, although always nice to me. She always operated from her POV.

I want to be satisfied. Fulfilled, even, creating my own POV artistically.

I Walked In The Rain

It got muggy and it rained. I went for a walk. I walked in the rain, it was warm and nice. I like the rain, when it falls gently from the sky, when it sprinkles like fairy dust, at worst putting crystals in people's hair. It was a bit humid, but not too much though, enough to keep me warm in my short sleeves. I had Lenny Kravitz on my headphones, his voice suited the day, just enough soul. I walked to Abbotsford and back again. The sky was grey. The colours were washed warm with a covering of raindrops. I like walking in the rain.

Gotta Luv the Light

The sun shone down beautifully all day, the light sparkled, and it was hot. The hottest day all year, well, you know since winter. Lovely. I wore shorts for the first time this year, well, you know since winter. The dark is over, the cold has receded, the days are getting longer, and the warmth is on its way. I shivered with anticipation of summer, the first time I have done that since winter.

Actually, I quite like winter, and I hate the extreme heat of mid summer, never the less, I love the light and the longer days of summer, despite the heat. The warm, minty breath of summer floated through the house all day, that fresh air that feels as though it has never been sullied, never been anything but new and fresh.

I washed Buddy late morning, he gets a rash in spring, it is some kind of allergy, the vet thinks. I'm going to have to wash him fortnightly with medicated shampoo, maybe that will help. He comes upstairs and plods into the bathroom and climbs into the shower without a complaint. We sat together on the floor of the shower while we let the shampoo sit on his skin for 10 minutes. he just looks at me with his big, brown eyes. I'm sure if he could shrug and say, "And? What now?" He would. He did.

Sam came home and cooked chicken schnitzels and salad for lunch.  Yum, yum, yum. You'd think, me being home, I'd cook the schnitzels, but I didn't. Sam, of course, says I should, in those moments when he is fishing for relationship points, but he likes doing things his way, and he'd always cook, we both know that.

I trimmed the creeper on the side wall in the afternoon. The wretched creeper on the sidewall? The creeping fig that has turned into a monster, with its small heart shaped leaves now as big as hands. I listened to the latest Mick Jagger tracks, Gotta Get a Grip and England Lost. The day disappeared. 

Hungry All The Time

I seem to be hungry all the time, just lately, which is unusual for me. Sam and I had tuna pasta for lunch, then after Sam had gone I made bread and honey. There is something so prefect about fresh bread, butter and honey. Yum.

Am I hungry all the time because I am sitting on my fat arse? I think maybe that has something to do with it, if I have plenty of time on my hands, I have plenty of time to eat. But really, I think it is from quitting smoking recently. I quit again two weeks ago. I think smoking takes away your hunger, straight tobacco, that is. Not pot, I'm not talking about pot. And when you quit, your appetite comes back. I think it is a temporary thing, an adjustment period.

Speaking of sitting on my fat arse, if I sit at the coffee table with my laptop, it leads to inactivity. I'm tied to the small space to which my laptop projects.  But, of course, I can get the internet on the TV. I've just realised - how fucken slow am I - if I put Youtbe stuff on the TV, I can write on my laptop, but more to the point, I can wander around and do things at the same time, as the TV projects to a much wider space. Lovely.

It is a sunny day today, gorgeous really. Now I'm going to get onto some more plant maintenance.

I was going to work on my poetry? Nyr.

A Sublime Spring Day

It is the most perfect day in Melbourne today, sparkling and lightly scented with the breezes of spring. Fresh as a mountain brook, as warm as a puppy's fur. I am lying on the couch reading. I am eating mandarins pretending they are donuts. Sam sent me a link for home delivered donuts, from which he said I am not allowed to order. (What does that say about Sam?) Ah, the flavour of those small, orange coloured citrus fruits, a taste almost as perfect as the sublime, spring day. Ive got an orange thumb nail from peeling multiple mandarins. I have the French doors propped open with ornate Edwardian bricks, I keep just for that purpose. Buddy is in his kennel. A fly buzzes in and then buzzes out again.

Stop Adani. Coal is yesterday's fuel, the only thing a huge mine digging the stuff up will do is increase the pollution in the world

Addicted to Mandarins

I bought naval oranges and blood oranges, with their flesh that is almost black and I bought mandarins, my currently addiction. Mandarin pith gathers around the edges of my fingernails. Lovely, hey?

I bought Gippsland Dairy Blood orange yogurt, the one with the great blobs of fruitiness.

I think this summer will be orange. I think the world already is. The new black.

Recycling Phones

I can't wait for the iPhone 10 to come out. Not for me, well, not directly. Sam will get the new iPhone and I will get his old iPhone, and his sister gets my old phone, that is how it works.

Well, that is how it normally works, but not quite this time. When Sam got an iPhone6, he got a 6plus, the large size phone, and I hated it, it was just too big.

I gave the 6plus to Sam's sister and she gave me back my old iPhone5, which I was very happy about. The only problem being, that my iPhone5 has a small capacity and I have been battling capacity issues, pretty much, ever since I got it back.

So, now, I'll get Sam's iPhone7 and my capacity issues will be a thing of the past. Yay. Not long now, a couple of weeks and I can have my entire music collection back on my phone, as well as as many photos as I wish. Yay again.

You Don't See That Every Day

Sam was shopping in the Asian grocer in Russell Street. I was trying to be supportive and involved, but really shopping bores me to tears, so I was gazing out the shop's door to the sunshine outside. You know, holding the basket, as Sam perused the shelves.

A guy walked up and stopped outside the grocer. He had on one of those, what I call, pollution masks - I never really understand why people wear those things. (edit - they wear them so as not to give other people any germs they feel they may have) As he stood in the sun, he pulled the mask down to his neck, took out a cigarette and smoked it. WTF? I thought.

Then he pulled the mask back over his face and continued walking.

Gotta Luv The Nanny State

I was looking at the CDs in JB, and the vast majority had offensive Langue warnings on the covers. 

I think that says something about the warning labelling system. 

Is this Political Correctness over-reach? I don't hear any of the political commentators lamenting that political correctness?

Only in America

It is very hard to feel sorry for America. They have these deadly gun shootings, and afterwards they cry about them. Oh woe, poor us. And then... nothing... changes. And then they have another mass shooting, and it all repeats. Over and over and over and over again. Change your gun laws, or shut up about your shootings. Apparently, there have been more mass shootings in America this year than days. I hear about the latest shooting and, I have to admit, I think, Oh, whatever?

Pauline Hanson’s disparate band of racists is poised to win up to 11 seats in the forthcoming Queensland election, says the news reader breathily, like it is news (in Victoria).
So, what, I think, and I presume, all Victorian’s collectively think. What do we care? Why would we give political outcomes in Queensland any thought? 

We all know that Queensland isn’t the sharpest state in the Commonwealth, if they vote in the red-head’s party of division, then they deserve them, quite frankly. In fact, the more power the “I don’t loykit” party gets in Queensland, the quicker, and more likely, they are to implode like they did the last time they won 11 seats in 1998, and that will only give us Mexicans a really good fucken laugh.

But does the world return to equilibrium naturally, One Nation um... er... forgot to register for the South Australian election? So, yay for South Australia. Huge sigh of relief around the Torrents.

Watching the Footy

We left a little late, later than we anticipated, you know, as you do.

We needed petrol, so I stopped at the service station in Victoria Parade.

I parked close to the car in front of me at the servo, as I needed the middle bowser for 98 octane petrol. I have, well had, a broken number plate frame on my front number plate. When I came back to the car after paying, the broken number plate frame caught my jeans and rip, the right leg of my jeans was suddenly ripped away from the rest of the pants. I stood for a second in complete amazement. It was very sad they were my favourite pair of jeans.

Fortunately, like shitting your pants (I imagine, I guess that is a pleasure to come some time in the future) or spilling a coffee down your clean, white shirt, we weren't far from home, so it was back to the house to change. Then it was time for a nice drive to the beach to watch the grand final.

We missed the beginning, but never mind. We drank coffee and ate chilli, I took cheese cake. And Richmond won, first time in 37 years, not that any of us follow Richmond, but it is better than an interstate team winning.

We ate KFC in Geelong on the way home. About that diet?

Gorgeous Day for a Drive

It's a beautiful day, just the day to drive to Torquay to visit friends and watch the Grand Final. 

The canola fields were luminous yellow as we drove done the coast. 

So Many People

So many people, so little time

Going to the Show To See The Bulldogs

On the train to the Showgrounds to see the bulldogs being shown, wondering about my decision already, with a train packed with people who are talking incessantly, like their lives are important and not the product of over breeding, and who smell. Did any of these people wash this morning? There is definitely a waft in the air, of man made fibres and stale ooze.

The Malamutes were on when we got there. Then it was the Great Danes, and they were frisky.

Then it was the bulldogs, they were great. I picked the best in show, not that I really know anything about the finer points of bulldogs.

We ate hot jam donuts, it was the show after all.

The show grounds were packed, so many people with prams. Still, it was a sunny day.

We pretty much left after the bulldogs were done. The train from the show grounds is easy as.

We ate Nasi Lemak in Elizabeth Street on the way home.

It was the last day of our Foxtel subscription, so we watched Grimsby and the Ali G movies, oh my god what Sasha Baron Cohen gets away with?

We ate Cheezels and ice creams for diner. Our diet, right?

We watch Snowden the movie. Joseph Gordon Levitt is so cute. America is tracking every mobile phone in the world? WTF?

Political Instability

When people say that Australian politics has had a period of great instability, over the last 10 years, I say we’ve had two wreckers, both Christians I might add, one very public wrecker in Tony Abbott and one private wrecker in Kevin Rudd who have destroyed what could have been two very fine Prime Ministers, in Julia Gillard and Malcolm Turnbull. I think Julia Gillard did better than Malcolm Turnbull is doing, but it is still a great tragedy that the egos of two men could have caused such disarray in our political system.

I tried to explain to a (born again) Christian friend/acquaintance that I didn’t want to get married, and a lot of my gay friends didn’t want to get married, as all of my straight friends who supported marriage equality didn’t suddenly want to marry someone of the same sex, and that didn’t matter, it didn’t have to be about us, just as it is not about her Christian beliefs. 

I tried to put it into words that she’d understand, that it was about loving your neighbour, helping your neighbour to achieve what they wanted to achieve, that it was okay if it was about other people and not about me, or her. It was about equality, about people being treated equally and therefore fairly, it was about kindness and love, love of your neighbour. 

However, she still felt that men who lived 2000 years ago, where still better judges of what we should do in the 21st century.

Miss D and Me

I dragged Sam around 3 book shops in the city on Saturday looking for a new Bette Davis biography, Miss D and Me, I want to read and, of course, none of the book shops had it in stock. They all offered to order it in, which would take weeks, or some such length of time. 

We'd eaten Indonesian food in Swanston Street, at Fat Oma, for lunch. We'd been to Myer to buy the new version of Apple TV, but Myer didn't have it in stock.

When we got home, Sam got out his iBook reader thingy and purchased the book in 5 minutes and handed it to me. Welcome to the 21st century, his look said. 

I love the feel of a book in my hand, I love the smell of it, I love the feeling of the paper on my fingers as I turn the page. I like to put the book on my book shelf after I have finished reading it. I have book shelves crammed with books and, truthfully, I am running out of room for new books. All that being said, I didn't take long to get used to the reader. With an iBook reader, you don't have to worry about sitting where there is good like, which is great, because in a terrace house good light is sometimes hard to find.

Today it is a not so pleasant, rainy, day in Melbourne, so I am now curled up on the couch with my new book. Lovely.

Sometimes the old Fashioned Way is Best

I was making coffee in the kitchen and Sam was out the back messing around in the garden. I sent him a message, coffee? (We have unlimited messages and calls on both our phones)

He didn't answer and I was sure he had his Apple watch on. I'd finished making my coffee and I was ready to make his, should he want one.

We have a clear view from  the kitchen through the lounge room and out the windows to the back yard. 

So I made the sound, "Pssst!" and held up a coffee cup.

He looked up and nodded in the affirmative.

Modern technology eat your heart out.

Update on Tony Abbott Head-Butt Story

So, the update on this story, is that the attacker says it had nothing to do with marriage equality. He said he saw Tony Abbott and he thought to himself, he would never have another another opportunity to head-but the vile oaf. So, nothing to do with marriage equality, Tony, you contemptuous prick

You know, I never condone violence, but occasionally exceptions can be made 😬

Round of applause.

Tony Abbott, allegedly, gets assaulted in Hobart, by a man wearing a 'Yes' badge no less, and he doesn't call the police, he calls 2GB. In fact, Tony Abbott never calls the police, the police have to call him to find out the details.

Vote Yes

Muesli

250 grams of wheat bran, half of the bag, for batch one. 500 grams [approx.] rolled oats, maybe a few more if you raid the porridge canister. Up to you. Cut up your 80 gram, bag of pistachios. Don't look at me like that, it doesn’t take that long.

You could use almonds, but I have an intolerance to almonds, so I use pistachios.

Never use walnuts, peanuts, or hazelnuts. I have learnt from bad experience. The walnuts take over, the only flavour you get is walnut, peanuts are too dry, and hazelnuts do the same as walnuts, except not quite so bad.

Add the rest of the ingredients, 500 grams [ish] sultanas, to taste, 150 grams currents, 170 grams cranberries, 200 grams pepitas, 200 grams sunflower kernels.

And mix. It is the mixing I love. Be careful not to spill any out of the side of the bowl, you should have plenty of room if you are careful.

Add a second 500 gram bag rolled oats. [fill a big mixing bowl, the type granny made fruit cakes in, with all of these ingredients, however many rolled oats it takes to fill a big mixing bowl?]

Mix again. The mixing bowl is now really full. Gently, you can do it, there is enough room to mix.

When the mixing is done, put the muesli into the muesli canister.

Done. A new batch of muesli, filling my two pantry canisters, it is a good feeling. No added sugar. Plenty of Fruit Muesli, because my mum told me I could eat as much fruit as I liked.

Ham Burger

 

Dave Hassel

 

The Very Second of Waking Up

I was up early 5am. I just woke up. I always have really vivid dreams, so much so that they sometimes wake me up, often, with a start. And unless I remember them in that very second I take to wake up, I forget them in the next second. The third second of the day and my dreams are swimming away from me like fast fish. Rub one eye, rub the other eye, they are gone.

What? It was? A fast car skidding in the gravel on a country road. No, it is gone.

There was a full moon, at 5am, it shone brightly. I called Buddy inside. He didn’t move a paw in his kennel. I wrote my journal for a while, until I felt tired again. Milo snuggled up in the blanket that was covering me on the couch. We both dropped off.

Sam got up and made porridge. The blueberries and strawberries were sour on my oats. The maple syrup countered that, almost. Fruity, syrupy, mily, oaty is what I get. I eat it horizontally.

I had a nap on the couch while Sam showered. He exhaled when he re-entered the room, seeing me still on the couch. His kissed me good bye from the couch.

“You stay there, kiss, kiss.”

Perhaps, I should have a no joint before breakfast rule. He chuckles away to himself. Sam says he hates 'that' face gazing moronically.

I chatted to Mark, yesterday. He gave away what happens to Jon Snow. The last episode I watched was Jon Snow getting stabbed. I kind of thought Jon Snow was still in the show, I couldn’t resolve it in my head, but then again, they kill everyone in that show.

I said something about the red witch, and Mark responded, with what the red witch did. I’m not going to be a spoiler too. But in that second, Mark gave it away, so easily. He said he was sorry, that he didn’t mean to. I said it was oaky, I don’t take it that seriously. At that moment, I remembered all the occasions that I had, almost bragged, that I’d never watched Game of Thrones. Boy has that changed in the last month. We’ve got season 6 to watch this weekend.

Milo and I sleep a little longer on the couch.

I put Aerosmith on. I fertilise all of my indoor plants, and my house is like a jungle, but it doesn't take long. Four twelve litres made up and we're done, until tomorrow.

I’ve been thinking about guys who could sing Son of a Preacher Man. Wouldn’t you just love to see a straight, male singer perform that song, with a gay sensibility? I reckon it would be hot.

I watched Queen play with Paul Rogers, one of two guys who have fronted Queen, one of only two guys with the chops to come close to replacing Freddie Mercury.

This is the guy who Freddy Mercury idolised as a vocalist.

Actually, I tend to like him better than Adam Lambert, Paul Rodger's voice seems to be more organic than Lambert's singing machine.

Maybe I should play a bit of Jagger, and have a morning of great rock vocalists.

I reckon the male singer to sing Son of a Preacher Man would have to be younger than the rock titans. Maybe Harry Styles, I wonder.

My Second Basal-cell Carcinoma

I had my second Basal-cell carcinoma cut off my face today. Me and Hugh Jackman, just like that [holding up two fingers that are crossed] 

My smoking surgeon, who didn't stink quite so bad of cigarettes today, is nice. Not that I care, I used to smoke, whatever, but I imagine some of his patients may care. The first local anaesthetic stung like a bee sting. The second, third, was there a forth, didn't hurt so much. 

We talked about car accidents, the old lady who drove into my front wall, and a bike rider that rode into the back of his car. The key factor was that both of the old lady, and the bike rider, had done exactly the same thing not long before they crashed into us. The old lady wrote her car off driving over a round about, and the bike rider had ridden into another car the day before he rode into the good doctor.

I could feel my forehead go numb, it was a strange feeling.

A bit of a tug. I couple of stitches.

Then the tiny bandage was put on and it was done. I nearly asked for a bigger bandage, as I was not going to get any sympathy with that tiny little square of cloth, magnifying glass in and out, as nobody will be able to see it. Actually, that is good, I jest, as the last one was on the side of my head and due to its position it needed a great big, cumbersome bandage.

The removed flesh was sent for a biopsy.

I'm back next week to have the stitches out.

Fixing My Knee

I have had a sore knee for a number of weeks. I don't know what I did to it, but some how I hurt it. I figured it would just get better, no need to go to the doctor, it would heal itself. Well, some weeks later it just wasn't getting any better, if anything, it was getting marginally worst.

Damn it, I thought to myself. I am going to have to go to the doctor, who will refer me to some knee guy, who'll send me off to have scans, of some kind. Damn it, how boring, bloody hell.

So, I haven't done anything about it, but it was dawning on me that I would have to do something about it very soon. Clearly it isn't getting better, I am going to have to buy into the medical system to get it fixed. It seemed like 'now' was the time, I had to finally admit to myself, whether I liked it, or not.

Apart from anything else, I needed to start doing some exercise again, I can't just sit around all day, because you know what they say about sitting.

Yesterday, my ex-boyfriend called me to tell me that his ex-wife and the mother of my step-children had died. She has had bowel cancer for quite a few years, so it wasn't altogether unexpected. It is quite sad, as she was still relatively young.

After we had chatted about that, Mark asked me when I was coming to visit. I said that I would, if only my knee would get better. He responded with, "I guess you are going to be rather sceptical about this, but go and get yourself some Comfrey Cream and put that on." 

Once we had a baby kangaroo - when Mark did animal rescue stuff - with a hopelessly broken arm which from all accounts would have to be amputated. At the time, Mark knew quite a renowned a Chinese herbalist who suggested comfrey and it healed the kangaroo's leg. And more recently, Mark hurt his little finger which he suspected may have been broken, but he put comfrey cream on it anyway. It clearly wasn't broken, as it was well on the way to being healed within 24 hours of the application of comfrey.

Knowing all of this information, I replied, "I'm not sceptical, and at this point I will try anything."

So, 24 hours later, having just applied my forth application of comfrey cream, not wanting to get ahead of myself in anyway, I will cautiously tell you my knee seems to be much improved.

Sitting on the Couch

Watched What's My Line for most of the day. I love that show. I only watch the celebrity mystery guest, I don't both with the ordinary contestants. Although, I watch some of the ordinary contestants occasionally, it is a window into a world that doesn't exist any more. Ava Gardener must be the most beautiful woman in the world, followed closely by Hedy Lemarr. Paul Newman is the most handsome man. Robert Morse and Steve Lawrence are also kind of hot.

The weather was shit. My knee is still sore.

Lazy Days

1959 Chevy Impala 2 door in cameo coral for cute Ryan with that big arse

I still haven't finished the front wall. It's been cold. My knee has been sore.

I’ve been watching YouTube, brushing up on my American cars. I never knew much about American cars, it was always my car knowledge weakness, but now I I’ve got a pretty good idea. My favourite era would be 1958 to 1959, but I have brushed up through the fifties, sixties, and seventies. The late fifties and the early sixties was the pinnacle of American car design. I don’t know why, but I have always been fascinated with cars, ever since I was young.

I’ve been watching car restoration YouTube channels, it’s fascinating. I love the guys who get old cars and get them going just with their mechanical ingenuity.

I should have been a mechanic, I reckon I could get into car restoration right about now. I’d like to restore VW Beetles.

I always wished I’d learned the piano. I should learn the piano.

I’ve always wanted to sing. I should take singing lessons. David has a teacher he recommended to me. He’s taking singing lessons with her. He sang a song at his big birthday party in Amsterdam. He was pretty good.

David has just split up with his latest boyfriend, another basket case that needs fixing.

“What is wrong with me, why can’t I get a boyfriend?”

“It’s not you, it is them,” I say.

He quotes his favourite line from sexy in The City, a line Charlotte uttered. “I’ve been looking for him since I was sixteen, where is he, I’m exhausted.”

Saturday, Saturday

Today it was walking with my sore knee in the rain, which was painful and I complained until Sam told me to shut up.

"Why don't you try stretching it?"

I rolled my eyes. "That just works your thigh," I said. I kept walking to Victoria Street, trying not to complain too much more. At the lights, I did tentatively grab my foot and attempt a stretch, and it felt good, but I am sure it did my knee no good.

Oh how boring it is to have a knee that is not getting better. I thought it would have by now, but it hasn't. I don't know what I did to it, nothing specific. I'll have to go to my GP, who will have to send me to some knee guy, I presume, who will have to send me to get an x-ray, or something equally as boring. Oh, annoying. I read that knees were the most common joint injury, it is a thrill to be so common.

We ate Pho. We chose the wrong Pho shop and it wasn't so good. As nice as it could be. Oh well. You live and learn, hey. It is not so important.

We shopped at the Hive for groceries. Or, at least, Sam shopped and I sat at a table rubbing my knee.

The druggies were out in force, with their toothless smiles and their looks of fear, or was that concentration, as they rushed to somewhere, bare-foot, chewing.

One of them insisted he got the wrong change for his purchase, which cost $5.50 for which he swore he gave the girl on the register two fifty dollar notes. Which made no sense. The girl he couldn't identify, despite the girls on the cash registers having worked all day, which also made no sense. The boss was very patient, and the guy was clearly off his chops.

And we made wantons at the kitchen bench for chicken soup for diner for the coming cold night when we got home, which we ate for diner.

Sam's Got My Cold

I've had a cold for a week and now Sam has it. He's home from work, yesterday afternoon and today. We've got season 4 and season 5 of Game of Thrones to watch so we'll be alright.

We've just started watching Game of Thrones in the last month. One of Sam's colleagues has it all on Blu-Ray and has been lending them to us. We tried watching it once before, a number of years ago, but couldn't get into it. I'm enjoying it this time, but I don't really get why it is the biggest TV show in the world, there are too many holes in the story line. It is incredibly violent, there are some images that will never leave me. I find it kind of disturbing that such a violent show is the most popular in the world. 

And all the gay characters have been killed off. My favourite characters keep getting done it.

My favourite character is Tyrion Lannister, the dwarf brother. He's been my favourite from the beginning. I hope, with trepidation, that he isn't killed off suddenly, you know, with an axe through the head. The rest of the Lannisters, nyr.

I hate the Dragon Queen, she is a terrible actress, but she does have really hot men around her, that is true. Although, most of them have come to a bad end, of course.

Sad that Robb Stark died and that his mother died. But, why did they wander around the country side until they died though? I never got that?

I loath the Queen Regent and the Red Witch. I love Arya and Brienne.

Jon Snow is more than serious, now isn't he. But who wouldn't want a wolf of their own?

And then there are all the swarthy men.

And now the self-righteous religious types are ruining everybody's lives, so in that sense nothing has changed over the years. The poison of the pious, have always been the nightmare of the masses.