It's Xmas

We were going to a Xmas BBQ at Rachel’s, her annual Xmas “do”. I had been allocated a cheesecake to bake, which I baked yesterday. It was a hot day, so I had to transport the cheesecake and the sour cream topping down to Rachel’s place, half an hour away.

Sam wanted to buy an e-pen for the new (second hand) Surface laptop (He likes to use all of the laptops being a programmer, but don’t worry he’s Apple through and through) that he bought, from some guy in Oakleigh meeting in the carpark of some baby shop I’d never heard of. 

“Was Oakleigh on the way?”

“Yes.”

“How long will it take to get to Oakleigh?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “How will we transport the cheese cake to Rachel’s?”

“Why, don’t you know how far Oakleigh is?”

“In what am I going to transport the cheesecake?”

“E-pen?”

“Cheesecake?”

“The cake-carrier…”

“Half an hour, or so.”

“I’ll carry the cake.”

“We need to be in Oakleigh about 4.30pm, as we are due to Rachel’s at 5pm.”

“I’ll text him and say 4.30pm.”

“I’ve got everything packed.”

It was hot and as we drove south, the sun seemed to be beating down on the side of my face. We kept trying to extend the time so we didn’t arrive at Rachel’s as the first guest. We said we’d be there at 4.30pm. We said we’d text this guy when we were 5 minutes away. And then we said we’d be there between 4.30pm and 5pm. We left home at 4.30pm, and moments later he said he was already at the meeting spot. He said he didn’t mind waiting. He was really lovely, like one of those guys who are really too good to be true. Nothing was a problem, after which he said have a nice day. Not your usual car-boot salesman.

Far from being the first to arrive, I think we were the last to arrive. Rachel, Adam, Alexandra, Alexander, (we call them Alex and Alex) David (a different David to my close mate), Harry Whit, all the old gang were all there. Not that Harry Whit is a part of the old gang, he is David’s boyfriend. He is a nasty, bitter queen. I reckon his father hated his guts and his mother, although the salt of the earth type, naturally, she never really cut it as a good mother. He is a loud-mouthed, opinionated pain in the arse. I have never liked him. He is just too full of himself. I like calling by his full name, as it always sounds to me like I am saying half whit.

I said hello to Rachel first. Then I headed over to the bar to get some red wine where David was hovering. We kissed and chatted. David told me how well he’d done lately, financially, as he is quite pretentious too, of course, but he does have his sweet side too. Harry Whit is devoid of any such thing. They have bought a country property recently. “We’re going to sit on the deck and put our feet up,” he said. I kind of smiled across the dining room table at Harry, or the poisonous one, as Jill and I like to call him, and waved in his direction. He smiled his fake smile back at me. And the hellos were done.

I haven’t seen David for ages. He’d never met Sam, and Sam and I have been together for nearly 8 years. Pretentious people just irritate me, despite David and I having a secret that nobody knows.

The kids were there. We all now have grown up kids, the straight ones, none of the gay ones have kids, I guess that’s to come. Rachel’s daughter, Oreya, looked beautiful with a crew-cut platinum blond haircut. Charlotte, Alex and Alex’s’ daughter arrived for a while, before she headed out with some bloke for diner.

We headed outside to the smokers table and claimed our seats. I’d bought a packet of cigarettes just for the occasions, much to Sam’s chagrin.

We sat outside with Jesse and her kind of cute boyfriend Matt. Jesse got drunker and drunker and drunker and drunker, drinking espresso martini’s. She was using a martini glass, so with the amount of alcohol she consumed, and big hand gestures, many of us wore Jesse’s drinks. Lovely. Somehow, she mentioned something about me being a writer, to which I told her that I was, not something I would usually tell people, so I had to try and justify my writing history. Pretty quickly, I regretted that admission. Anyway, drunk, or not, Jesse is a hoot. We laughed and laughed.

Jesse questioned Sam as to why he didn’t drink, slurring as she spoke. Funny, the irony is always lost on drunks at that point. She questioned me about how little I was drinking, it always seems to be safety in numbers for drunks. I don’t know what possessed me, but I told her that I had always been a pot smoker and not much of a drinker. The next thing I knew, she had sidled up to me and was shoving a joint into my mouth, which I really didn’t want after consuming red wine, but she was insistent, as drunks always are, so I took very small puffs, hardly puffs at all, and she didn’t really notice, and she felt pleased with her gesture.

The food was amazing, Rachel is an amazing cook. So much food, so many choices. Every Xmas option was covered. Of course, different people bought different plates but, I think, Rachel did most of it. 

Everybody loved my cheesecake. 

“Oh my god, that is the most divine cheesecake.”

“It’s like a New York style cheesecake.”

“It is a New York style cheesecake,” I’d reply.

It is really not hard to make, really pretty easy, actually. Just throw it all in the Kenwood, and select beat. Okay, the foil and the water bath as you cook it is a bit fiddly, but not hard once you have done it once.

All the old gang gathered outside, at one point, and we discussed how long we had all known each other, which the non-gang members are always surprised about. We’ve all been friends since we were teenagers. 

We chatted about Sam, and my, Xmas trip up north. (boy) Alex asked if I was dropping into see my ex-girlfriend, Leah. I said no, and we all laughed, as Alex’s question was deliberately pointed, as he knows Leah and I have fallen out in recent years. 

Leah is one of the old gang, after all. To my surprise, everybody agreed that Leah Borg was far too much like hard work to be bothered with now. I thought that was interesting, but not surprising. It, actually, made me feel sad, despite my position on her now. Deep down, she is a great person, deep down. David told me that she did exactly the same thing to him as she had done to me… the whole ‘what are your 5 year goals’, ‘where can you see yourself in whenever’, all the same stuff. The corporate world has fully taken her over in recent years. Is it a Sydney thing?

I gazed at David as he spoke and my mind went back to the days when we were all friends. David and I were, kind of, best friends, I guess. I wondered what happened to that? Well, David wasn’t pretentious back then, he was sweet. We didn’t stay friends, David and I, not really.

David talked about his money and how well he has done finically, which is normal for him. Adam was Adam, sweet, but kind of ‘surface’. Oh, that’s not very nice of me. Everybody would conclude that Adam is “lovely.” Alexandra was her normal self, funny, down to earth, self-deprecating. They are off to Mallacoota, as they do every year. She laughed as she told me. Alexander was funny, with his wry humour, asking me if I still lived in the same house, and if I was ever going to get around to renovating it. He doesn’t smoke in front of everyone, don’t really know why, so I kept offering him cigarettes for the renovation quip. Harry Whit ignored us, me and Sam, which is par for the course. He stayed inside all night, well away from me, so I didn’t have to make small talk with it, which, you know, if everyone agrees, I am more than happy.

Adam and David mentioned their forthcoming weddings. But, of course. I wondered if there would be page boys and flower girls and wondered which of the brides would wear white. I’m guessing there would be doves released at the appropriate moment.

They all left en masse at 10pm. Alexander was the designated driver and he decided that it was time, so he rounded them all up in his inimitable style, as only Alex could.

David had wedding cake samples in his hands as he left. I asked him what kinds, he responded with, “Very expensive kinds, that’s what.”

No, David, I meant the flavour, I thought. I don’t care how much you are paying for them.

I said good bye to David. “Enjoy your retirement in the country,” I said. We both laughed. Then I turned and the poisonous one was there, so I stretched out my hand, just as I realised he was trying to get out without saying goodbye to me. Oh, that would suit me too, I thought. Could I just pull my arm back and ignore him? No, I couldn’t, I had committed by that point and I had to follow through. Oh, it made me want to wretch. Kiss kiss, in the air. That was it, I said little. (I reported this into Jill and she enjoyed it nearly as much I did)

We left at not long after. Rachel did a Jill bitch as we left. She was drunk. She seems to have issues with Jill and her money. “Why does she want to come back to Melbourne and work,” Rachel slurred. “Just sell some shares. Just sell some shares.”

I’m not really sure why Rachel cares? I thought Jill working was a good thing, even if it didn’t really matter what I thought. It was up to Jill, whatever she wants to do.

Sam and I headed home. I’d only had two glasses of red wine, but it still makes me think when I am heading back into the city on a Saturday night. And there was the matter of that joint that Jesse had shoved into my mouth.

You Know What Annoys Me

When I am trying to put my phone in my pocket and my t-shirt gets in the way. Grrr!

regionally coded DVDs

keeping my eye-brows trimmed

of course, stupid people, they annoy me.

things that don't need to happen, you know, like dropping a whole carton of milk on the floor... and not being able to cry

Pretentious people

Quitting smoking. Well, not so much quitting, as that 48, 72 hour period just after when I can go from gorgeous to psychopath in .5 of a second.

Stale cakes, that is just a complete failure in organisation... that we throw out 30% of our food, when people are starving in the world... but mostly the wasted cakes.

Having to restart my computer when I am all set up with everything open that I want open

When your toes get caught in your underpants when you are balancing on one leg trying to put them on.

People yapping on their phones loudly behind me when I am walking down the street.

Taking Buddy to the park at 6am, before the temperature climbs to 36 degrees

Christians Can Dish It Out, But They Are Pretty Thin Skinned When It Comes Back At Them

There was a discussion thread on Facebook about gay marriage.

A christian woman laughingly stated that an application for the first gay divorce had already been lodged. (Just days after gay marriage was legalised) Luv is luv, hey? she said. (I could so see her permed hair and her twinset)

So I wrote the first thing that came into my head. It just felt like she needed some sort of reply to what she had written.

Luv is luv. New research shows John, son of Zebedee, married his long-time partner Jesus of Nazareth in a simple ceremony in Nazareth in Galilee. John’s older brother James the Apostle is said to have been best man. Joseph gave Jesus away, who is said to have worn a simple cream outfit. Joseph and Mary were said to have been over joyed with the nuptials. “We love John like a son,” said Joseph. The happy couple are said to have honeymooned at the sea of Galilee. "Luv is luv," said John, who is said to be over the moon with his betrothal.

Then she wrote.

No one mocks God and gets away with it. (I could see her eyebrows knitted downwards in disapproval)

That made me chuckle. Really? God is coming to get me, I can only assume? The God Squad are going to get me. What do you think, they'll be kicking down my door with their snowflake jackboots? Ooooooooooo, I am shaking. Christians are so weird, they still think that a belief in some mythical sky fairy is reverential, or something.

"You must believe in vhat ve believe! (Think Davros, Doctor Who) You must believe! You must believe!"

I first wrote, I am really scared by the figment of your imagination, but then I thought I could be cleverer.

Oh luv, my atheist wings🦋 are like a shield of steel.

Psychological Disorders

We headed into the city for Saturday lunch. The three young Asian twenty-somethings, sitting next to us, had their ramen delivered to their table, after which they bowed their heads and prayed before they ate. I am always taken aback, just a little, when I see mental disorder up close and personal. (Oh, I know, what am I like?)

The Most Disgusting Movie Ever Made

Not so long ago, I was in Cash Converters looking at DVDs when I came across a movie on the cover of which it was stated, "The most disgusting movie ever made." Well, that got my interest. That is a big call I thought, best I buy that and have a look. It is a rape revenge movie, so today when I was home alone, I thought I'd pop it on and have a look.

Sam's and my taste in movies couldn't be more opposed. He likes big action block busters like Transformers, Avengers, Thor and the like, and I like movies that are not that, so he wouldn't want to watch this movie anyway.

Not that this movie is to my tastes. I hate violent movies, but when they make such a claim as the most disgusting movie ever made, well, you just have to give it a go. I'm pretty sure I will turn it off before it gets to the end, but be that as it may, with much trepidation I slid it into the DVD player.

Buddy headed to the back door and to his kennel as soon as the movie started, as if he knew.

Sometime later...
don't go outside. Why are you going outside...

Sometime later...
you go Jennifer!

11.30am.
That was pretty lame. I Spit On Your Grave (1978). It was pretty B grade, kind of amateurish, bad acting, holes a mile wide in the script, but, I guess, it gave a bit of a snapshot of the 1970s.

I see that it has many sequels and a number of remakes. Well, I won't be watching any of them, any time soon.

The sun is shining, I'm off to get lunch.

Aussie Parliament Legalises Gay Marriage

I've always wondered why gay people want to get married?  However, that just seems to be me. 
I mean, it has been such a success for straight people. Can anything be described as a success that has a 50% failure rate? Can it?

However, I have, on the other hand, always believed in equality. Everyone being treated equally in the eyes of the law is a no-brainer. And the Federal Parliament agreed today and legalised gay marriage, which is good, because of the message that sends. We are all now equal, as it should be. The message to all gay Australians is now unequivocal, the rest of the country now sees you as equal.

So, stay tuned for gay divorce. Too cynical?

I Bet Freddie Mercury Never Crawled In Behind His Camellia Bush

Finally, I got back to re-pointing my front brick walls. I had completed most of it, there was just the last bit where I had to get in behind my pink camellia bush. About a metre left to do, not even a metre, which I had left for some weeks. Oh, it was too hot and then it was too cold and then too wet, and I was too tired... Sam's eyes begin to roll at this point.

I had to crawl along the garden bed in behind my large camellia bush, in amongst the aspidistras to get to the remaining brick work. The aspidistras were more than annoying, continually placing themselves between me and the brick work, as if they were doing it on purpose. (They had copped a beating by the time I had finished) The camellia bush, with its meandering limbs, seemed to take every opportunity to poke my skin, smack my head, scratch my arms and legs, as if it was a plant specifically created by Roald Dahl. Sticks poked into my knees, my legs and anywhere a stick could poke in. Over the years, it is where I have thrown all my garden clippings, behind the aspidistras and out of sight, so I only, really, have myself to blame.

As Queen sang, I Want It All, in my ears, I thought to myself, I bet Freddie Mercury never crawled in behind his camellia bush to re-point his brick walls.

I stewed apple and cooked a banana cake in the morning

Turn Your Laptop Off, Christian

9.45am.  Turn Your Laptop Off, Christian. There is only so much YouTube you can watch. I never thought that was true, but just lately it is becoming apparent to me.

The shower tap has been dripping for a few weeks. It was only a few months ago that I replaced the washer. That time it was the hot water tap, but I replaced the cold water tap as well, as a matter of course. I found the problem with the cold tap in the shower was that the new washer I installed a few months ago had broken off its t-piece, so that was an easy fix. I didn't have to buy a new tap after all. I walked to Bunnings and got two new washers for both shower taps.

I can sew buttons back on shirts too.

I met Charlie in the city at 1pm, in Exhibition Street outside his work and we headed over to the carpark on Bourke Street and ate Thai food. I had spicy Laksa soup. Charlie, the quiet talker, I always find so hard to understand, so, of course, I was going to suggest somewhere quiet, but he seemed keen on the place we went to, so that is where we went. It was noisy, and I missed half of what he said, maybe a 10th, but I faked it and it all worked out fine.

Charlie had to go back to work, and I headed home or, at least, I stared to. The sun was shining and I wondered what I could do before I headed home.

So, I went to the DVD shop in that small city side street and looked at the DVDs. Jill called me while I was looking for Hugh Grant films, 3 for $10, she said she had all his films. 

"Not much help to me now that you have moved to Queensland."
"There is that," she replied.

My Hugh Grant movie collection would have to wait, as I could only find Notting Hill (in the cheap movie section). There was Brokeback Mountain, which I never really liked that much, Charlie St Cloud, but maybe I am too old to be fawning over Zac Efron, and the Golden Girls, which I can watch on Youtube. So, I left empty handed.

Jill wanted one of us to drive home with her in January, as she has got the job next year for 6 months. She said she’d call me back in an hour, but she didn’t. I laughed to myself, as Rachel’s words came into my head.

“She says she is going to call back in an hour, and then says rings at midnight and wonders why I don't want to talk.”

I called Jill 24 hours later.

Living In Hope, As They Say

I wasn’t short listed for the Lord Mayor’s Writing competition, boo hoo. I thought that might justify my existence. You think I am kidding. Living in hope, as they say. Some recognition would justify my writing, and as I spend so much of my time writing, it would justify my existence, to an extent since so much of my existence is spent writing, if you know what I mean. But that didn’t happen, sad face. It won’t stop me writing though, but it would have been nice. I just write, I always have, so that won’t change. 

 

The big gum tree seeds for weeks like it is snowing on the ground and then it turns a lovely shade of pink and it sheds it bark, like a snake might shed its skin, except in pieces and the ground is covered once again

Gumboots and Umbrellas

Pinch, punch, first of the month.

We were both awake at 6.45am. It was raining outside, although that didn’t last long. At least the 36 degree days are over.

It is humid and grey and still. It is strangely quiet, although that may be in my mind, as we wait for the torrential rain that has been forecast. An alarm sounds in the distance just as I write that. Funny. A once in a life time weather event it has been called by the department of meteorology. Apparently, Melbourne is either going to be flooded, or washed away. Good thing I live at the top of a hill, you'd hate to be in a low lying part of the city around about now.

It is hot, and still and overcast.

Birds are singing in the trees.

I wonder what disaster we are all in for? The entire rainfall for December to fall in the next 48 hours. The news broadcasts have been ominous. It is like waiting for some kind monster to turn up. Godzilla is due soon and we all wait holding our breath.

Too Hot for a Bulldog

We've been taking Buddy to the dog park each morning around 6.30am, before the heat. There are plenty of dog owners there at that time, so Buddy gets to run around with the other dogs.

Then Sam goes to an air-conditioned office and Buddy and I sweat. Too hot for a bulldog. I've got a fan blowing. All the doors and windows are closed around 9am. Buddy is snoring next to me.

There are predicted rain storms from tonight, which will be nice, make sleeping much easier. They say we are going to get a month's rain in 48 hours, global warming anyone.

I'm entertaining myself by cleaning out kitchen cupboards, we've had a big clean up lately and this is the end bit. Every now and again the salty sweat runs down into my eyes stinging them.

Gotta luv a hot day.

This morning's, pre-heat, Buddy walk, 6 something am

Morning sun 6 something am taking Buddy for a walk

I love the sun on this old red brick wall

A friend of my fathers used to restore these Alfas when I was a kid. I sometimes used to sit in his garage and watch him, as he and dad drank a beer. He had two white ones and a silver one over a period of time, so I have an affinity for them.

Order

I like mismatched grocery in the kitchen. I have white plates. I have while plates with a large green floral pattern. I have white plates with green stripes. I have some that are predominantly green, but have other colours in them. I like an eclectic collection. I remember buying the white set, and the white set with the green leaves, but where did the rest of them come from? I think it is something about the randomness of breakfast? The randomness of breakfast, that sets up the day, the endless possibilities. Or, is it a stand against the constructed order in our life?

It is not a fondness any of my partners have shared. The mismatched plates, not the order of the universe. Maybe, I'm just mean with my money? No, I think I do genuinely like old things. I think this came from getting hand-me-down-clothes from my mother's friends sons. I was the youngest, so pretty much my older brother had grown out of them too, and I'd get the lot. I still remember holding the loot to my face and smelling the other boys, the older boys.

I put the dishwasher on, we're out of bowls. Okay, so it does look as though I am preparing goods for the charity shop. The dishwasher door shuts with a comforting click.

Time to take Buddy to the dog park.

6amers

After neglecting my Aloe Vera plant for years, to the point it had changed from its foppish green to a deathly beige, I repotted. Now, I have 10 Aloe Vera plants, which are slowly turning green again, now they are in proper soil, in some soil, not squeezed twenty into one pot. I keep moving them around the garden to get the full sun. The two on the windowsill, with my baby succulents, are turning green quicker than the ones in the yard. I move the ones around in the yard, morning and afternoon. Water them every three weeks, how the hell do you remember that? Of course, if I told Sam, I'd have it repeating in my calendar every three weeks for the rest of my life, in no time.

It was humid and steamy at 6am, a summers day on winter colours, until the sun comes out, if it ever does. We took Buddy to the dog park to run around. He knows all the 6amers by now. The white and black curly-coat. The caramel curly-coat. The caramel staffy. The puggle. 

A woman was there with a sick Labrador, she got very anxious every time Buddy approached. So, of course, he was the only dog Buddy was interested in. She wasn't very pleased about it, not at all. Oh yes, I could have been quicker, oh yes, I could have actually given a shit, but there is also a good argument to be had for not bringing your sick Labrador to the dog park. Buddy only wanted to say hello, if you’d have let him, it would all be over now, but no. I can move my arse just a little quicker, I grant you, to alleviate your anxiety, I could. I can see that look on your face. Yes, your Trixie-Bell is precious, I get that. How old? How much did you spend? Wince, at the thought. You don’t know what this brute is capable of, looking down at Buddy. Big grin, tongue hanging out the side of his mouth. Really? Him? Neither do I, some of the time, I whisper. A real bulldozer. Not comforting?

Let's find out what's wrong with this Labrador, yes, that sounds like a fun game, decides Buddy.

Really? Bud? (You're letting the side down, little guy)

Yes, I’ve got him. See. Lead on. Click sounds his lead. "What is wrong with you?" We leave.

Buddy is exhausted on the walk home, Captain Slow at every corner.

Bud lays spread eagle across the kitchen tiles, bugger anybody else.

Kiss kiss, at the door. Wave till Sam is out of sight. He goes to work early, 7.30am is early. Is 7.30am still early? He’ll be in the office in 10 minutes.

Another coffee, of course.

A bit of Gladys Knight, Since I fell for You...

It's Friday. Again. Good thing I write a journal, otherwise, not a clue.

God Bless The Child...

Monday morning, and Friday, they seem to be the two constants in my life at the moment.

Come Sunday, oh, come Sunday, that's the day.

Harry Nilsson

I discovered all of Harry Nilsson's albums on Apple Music. So instead of only ever playing Nilsson Schmilsson, I love the coconut song, and Without You, of course. It is interesting to hear his other stuff. That's todays soundtrack. Starting with Son of Schmilsson, the troubled album, riddle with farts and burps, I kid you not. 

I can’t listen to Son of Schmilsson anymore. He sounds like John Lennon. It’s a bit angsty, the music, really. I can sort of feel my anxiety levels rise as I listen to it. My fool proof question whenever I am listening to music, Would I want to hear this again?

No. Perhaps the next album. Pussy Cats, made by Harry and John Lennon, when they were out drinking together, partying in between sessions. They famously got asked to leave a Smothers Bros concert because of their heckling. How would that be, getting heckled by John Lennon and Harry Nilsson.

Pussy Cats sounds like John Lennon… because it is John Lennon, funny about that. Too confusing.

Next. Duit on Mon Dei. A play on… something. Opens with piano, that’s good for Harry Nilsson.

This is good.

the next day...

Sandman was good, so was,

... That's the way it goes

Knnillssonn and Flash Harry.

They have a whole new album of vocals set down. Harry Nilsson finished them just before he died. No music, I presume. How hard can it be? Give it to Paul Mccartney to write the music. Harry Nilsson is very Beatles.

The Seven Year Itch

The sun is shining, the sky is blue.

I'm getting chuffed and watching The Seven Year Itch. Busy morning, hey?

I've got the Misfits, which I love.
And Bus Stop, also good.

sometime later...
A load of old tosh, really.
Madonna's cone bras, on all the ladies, and lame, uninteligable  melodrama. It was as though all the writer's had a really bad pill addiction. There is a level of anxiety in the script.

Oh hang on, here comes the dress in the subway scene. It is all kind of pervy, as though the leading man could easily turn into a deranged, psycho killer by the end.

Sam got caught up at work and didn't come home for lunch.

Bullitt was the second feature for the day. Jacqueline Bisset, she's rubbish. Her acting always amounted to an apology. McQueen is dead. I'm guessing not many of the millennials know who he is? Sex symbol? He looked old. Green Mustang Mach 1, a yellow Porsche 356 convertible, the best ever car chase captured on film. 

Another load of dross, really.

It's Good

David is in NSW with Mark. Sitting on Mark's deck, touching down from his ever increasing international jet setting job. Bali, Berlin, Italy, Brisbane, Gold Coast. Stop.

Mark sent me a photo of madame lying out on one of the couches with a huge grin on her fat face.

I tell him he looks like a whale.
He said it was straight back onto paleo when he gets back to Melbourne.

Mark asks me if I was looking forward to lying on the couch too. At Xmas? It was the first time it has been mentioned since we argued. (We bought tickets to go visit him at Xmas the day before well fell out) It is good, we made up on the sharing of a photo, of a friend. (That must be pretty zen?) I didn't realise how stressed I was by it until that moment, it felt like such a relief. It's good.

My headphones battery goes flat, the music stops. My Parrot Headphones battery is flat. They have the better sound. (I can only wear them at home, otherwise they sweat in great pools on the sides of my head, sweat runs down my cheeks) Plug the headphones in, (am very thankful it only takes seconds to pull the right cord out of the pile of cords on the coffee table, sometimes it can take forever) I swapped to EarPods. You know, I can put the wrong pod in the wrong ear and it feels perfectly natural, just the sound is off.

Gladys Knight, So Sad The Song. (I think my phone must be on shuffle. Oh, no, it is the instrumental at the end. Kind of pointless without her vocals. Consider deleting that track.)

5am. How many matches do I have to use to have one smoke? My lighter died in the dark. Sitting outside in a t-shirt, you've got to love the approaching summer. I think that is when summer is at its best, when it is approaching. The hint of summer, is always so much more joyous than the 3rd day of over 40 degrees.

I play my Gladys Knight mixed tape from the beginning again. I don't ever get sick of hearing her voice. 

Every beat of my heart.

The birds begin to cheap, the sky has turned to ink blue. The sun is rising, 5.20am, the birds are tweeting its arrival.

The world is steadily coming into focus. I see my coffee cup, I hope there is still coffee in it. A full cup. Now that is truly joyous, a full cup of coffee, at sunrise.

Couldn't Sleep

I’m awake at 3.30am. As I glanced over at my watch, I really wished it had been later. 5am, perhaps.

I’d been dreaming about Dusty Springfield recording sessions, which is kind of unusual as I'm not a big Dusty fan. Hours of Dusty singing like a black lady. Endless questions about how black she really sounded. Endless listening to tape play back of her voice, as she stood in the recording booth very patiently. Endless recording studios, always filled with people. Big wide brimmed hats, flared jeans. Everyone smoking. The heat of LA and their afternoons where the shadows threaten to stretch to forever. The cold of winter, in crammed London recording studios setup in bluestone warehouses. Wide piazzas of Italy, sun drenched as if in honey. Hot and dank New Orleans, giant rubber plants and mangroves, eating fried donuts dusted with icing sugar. Strong coffee. Always coffee. All with a soul soundtrack playing relentlessly over the top.

What? Ah? Er? The bedroom was dark. Oh, its early. It was no good, I was awake.

I made coffee and rolled two joints. I sat out the back and found that a shelved album from 1971 was released a couple of years ago, making it her final album. It is called Faithful and it is not available on iTunes. Bummer. But I did find that a rarities album of Reputation, which includes four previously unreleased songs from that recording session. It is available on iTunes, and as I don’t have the album, Reputation, at all, I want it.

I came in and made a second coffee to go with my second joint.

I listen to the four extra Dusty tracks, and I can kind of see why the tracks weren’t included in the first place. Pity. But a 12 inch cut of In Private. Oh, even that is very 80s.

4.50am. I sat outside, listening to Reputation. Do I, actually, like this album? It’s very dated. Would I play it again once my current appreciation of Dusty dies down? Like, day light. $19.99. Dusty’s talent has to make up for the very 1980s arrangements. I would only listen to this, essentially 1990s dross, again for very few artists. He voice has to shine, to get me through it.

It is nice sitting outside in a warm summery kind of, almost, evening. Apex Gang home invasions withstanding. It has crossed my mind. Anyone could walk up with me in my own private LED screen bubble bliss, Dusty Springfield singing. Surely, nobody would get assaulted listening to Dusty Springfield, Black Sabbath, maybe. Oasis? (Just because of the angry one, punch him) I’ve got another joint to smoke before I get the scared-of-the-dark and scurry back inside.

5am. Well, I might as well smoke it and get back inside. 2 hours before I see anybody.

“I’ve been arrest by you, take me in.” I love this.

I want my third coffee, is that bad? I must goggle coffee drinking.

I don’t think I would listen to Reputation, much. But it is an important part of her anthology.

Oh, I could imagine listening to this in ten years, perhaps, and thinking, you know, that wasn’t a bad record. I loved it when it first came out.

Oh god, we have a house guest at the moment, a nice French lad. He was a friend of a friend. He must think I am the strange old man who is always sitting on the couch with his laptop, day and night.

I have been going for walks, which I will do again in 4 hours, I expect. An hours walk, everyday, it must be doing me good. Not that it is fixing my fat stomach. I am the BlobberMonster, at the moment, I can feel it around my stomach.

I must think about riding my bike. I can walk when I am stoned, easy peasy, it is kind of relaxing, really it is. But riding a bike, no that wouldn’t be smart.

I think it is a no to Reputation. Strictly an iTunes favourite. Apple Music, if I want to listen to it again, I think.

Monday Morning.

I go for a walk early. 

“Before it gets hot,” says Sam. 

Am I someone's nana, I think?

Sam leaves @ 7.45am. So, do I. 

We head in different directions, at the corner. We still wave until the other one is out of sight. We’ve always done that.

I walk for an hour. Love Never Felt So Good.

I smoke pot in the garden in the sun, listening to Michael Jackson's hits, His number 1s, when I get home. All the good stuff. He is a musical genius. 

The sun is glorious.

Sam messages me for a mid morning update. I tell him I am meditating. Shhh! I’m in no state, er, mood to be giving anyone an update.

At some point, I check to see where Buddy is, his big brown eyes gaze back at me from his kennel. I say, “Oh, good lad.” Oh, he could have been on our bed. He could have been on the couch. “Good to know,” I also hear myself say. It was getting horribly close to lunch to be trying to drag him down from upstairs. 

11.05am. I’m a bit wasted, still bopping to Michael Jackson, not a care, if I was really honest, he giggles as he writes that. The best we can hope for now, is leftovers. Think! Think! What did we have for dinner last night? We had crumbed chicken. It could easily be chicken and salad. I wonder. If I wasn’t so ah… comfortable, or really cared for that matter, [chuckle] I could go and look in the fridge for clues? But really? Why? It will be what it is? That’s pretty zen, isn’t it? I can tell you, I’m feeling pretty fucken zen out in this perfect summer’s day, in the dapple sun shine.

My headphonebuds stop working.

I break out the headphones, full muff style, (a couple of vaginas on either side of my head. I wonder if this is how straight boys feel in a threesome?) and lose any semblance of having done anything all day, or indeed, giving a shit that I haven’t done anything. I did the washing. I cleaned the kitchen. Did I clean the kitchen?

11.30am. Kitchen is clean. There is chicken curry in the fridge, I think we are saved. Going out could have been a bit of an effort.

I smoke another joint in celebration, and to get in the mood for chicken curry, you understand.

Then the afternoon just kind of evaporates. Oh, don’t ask me what I did. That’s pretty much what I said to Sam when he got home.

Ah Monday? Such a problem day.

A Day In The Country

We drove to the country for the day, to take Buddy bushwalking in a national forest. It was a beautiful day.

We stopped off to see LouLou, cup of tea, whatever (you know what ‘whatever’ is with LouLou). A block of chocolate, (always with LouLou) some pork buns, a rice dish steamed in a pandan leaf. 

Buddy was slipping himself into his own harness, and gazing at us from the door, in his final plea to be taken for a walk. He knew where he was. He knew the big wide woods were out there where he could run off his lead. He knows exactly how to tell us it is time to go.

The big park they have up there is gorgeous, you can walk forever. The sun shone. Summer is here.

Bring them to Australia because it is the right thing to do, it is the humane course of action, the current system is a huge waste of money, refugees shouldn't be used as political footballs, and Australia can stop being looked at as the country that shirks its responsibilities.

I went walking in the rain, it was that sort of day

I bought a bottle of red wine for the risotto I am going to make for dinner. I put the bottle of red wine on the kitchen bench when I got home from the supermarket.

I got the fan out of the cupboard last night using it for the first time since last summer. The fan was covered in dust, so I leant over to the power point to unplug it, so I could take it outside to brush the dust off it.

My arm moved as far as it takes to pull a plug out of a power point. How far is that? A few centimetres. My elbow just caught the edge of the top of the bottle of wine. Looking over my shoulder, I watched the wine bottle rock on its base, in slow motion, backwards and forwards. Then it rocked back, and over it went.

I watched the neck break off the bottle as it hit the granite bench top.

As though the jugular vein was severed, it was suddenly a crime scene, blood seeping quickly out from the body. I had wine going in all directions. Away from me, heading to the far side of the bench and the carpet in the lounge room. And it rushed back towards me. One water fall, two waterfalls, three waterfalls, as I caught one, another started to flow, down the kitchen cupboards and onto the kitchen floor.

I grabbed kitchen paper towel, unravelling huge strands, and dumping it in clumps on the kitchen bench to stem the flow of wine heading towards the carpet, as the water falls gushed over the kitchen bench pooling in great lakes on the floor at my feet. Looking back now, I think the ‘great lakes’ stopped the flow of wine onto the carpet.

“Ah! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”

Buddy ran to the back door thinking I was yelling at him.

I madly started lifting things out of the sea of blood. My phone, the wooden garlic bowl, the onion basket, envelops, jars with pens in them, tea tree oil, bills, biros, tweezers, scissors, air freshener, my wallet, a plate with Buddy’s red meat defrosting. I pushed the red wine paper machete towel dripping mess towards a supermarket bag I had grabbed, it clumped together as if it was clotting. More paper towel, more murder scene bandages.

The cupboards were streaked and I scrubbed them madly with a sponge so they wouldn’t stay that way.

The base of the wine bottle still contained wine, and it was cracked down all sides. I picked it up and it crunched and ground, like a body with all of its bones broken, a bag of skin threatening to let go of its remaining bodily fluids at any moment. 

Then there were the splinters of glass, shattered fragments spread across the bench top. I picked at them one by one. I got the vacuum and sucked them all up, once the fluid was gone.

Our bins hadn’t been collected by then, so I was able to take it all out to the street and have it taken away. Just as a side note, when I was out at the bin disposing of the mess, these two hot guys approached me, dressed in singlets and shorts. Hello, I thought, who are you? They were the rubbish guys. We have really hot garbage collectors in Fitzroy. I watched them collect the bins, momentarily… with a whistle on my lips. I watched them walk to the other side of the street. A silent whistle.

White roses on my morning walk. It was hot today, 35 degrees. I had to walk early, then I hid inside. I only ventured out to get cherry pie, for my afternoon coffee. Tomorrow, I will have to walk twice as far.

I Stayed up Late

I stayed up late and wrote poetry until just after midnight.

I've been walking every day. The weather has been great. I walk for an hour every day, that way I can sit on my arse for the rest of the day. That's 5 hours per week, sometimes more, like I walked last Sunday, but I don't think I walked every other day, now I think about it. But it must be good? Surely?

Out on the street. Is that a tragic story of loss? Or is it just rubbish put out for the council? Is that someone losing their money, their family and their home? Or is it just trash?

Apparently, you aren't supposed to walk across here, there are a plethora of signs telling you not to.

Sign, sign, everywhere a sign

Blockin' out the scenery, breakin' my mind

Do this, don't do that, can't you read the sign?

Walking through Carlton, crossing Swanston Street at Grattan Street, by Melbourne Uni.

How Many Hands?

I saw a guy walking towards me on Gertrude Street with a white stick texting on his phone.

That is not something you see every day, I thought.

He had a take away coffee, and a violin, and his white stick, and, of course his phone in his hands. I didn’t really notice until the last minute. I had just started walking, and I was just settling into my music choice, and I was just waiting for the pain in my right foot to subside.

As I passed him, I looked at my hands, how many hands did he have? Stick, phone, violin, coffee. Waving the stick and texting, all at the same time. What? How many hands? (Was he a blind octopus in disguise? How do we know they are not hidden amongst us. Momentarily, I saw through his disguise.)

I didn't want to look back, I thought that would be rude. Then I laughed to myself, he was blind. He was out of sight by the time I looked back.

First World Problems

I go and have a shower, today it was a shower, but other days it is something else, I get up and do something, during which time Sam starts using my computer.

He never really understands why this might make me cranky, when he has exactly the same laptop just sitting there unused.

"Can I have my laptop back?"

"No, busy here," says Sam.

"How long are you going to be?"

"A few minutes..."

"Does that mean ten minutes?"

"No..."

"Realistically? I ask."

"More than 10," says Sam.

"Grrrrrrrrr!"

"Lean some patience."

"Ah! Learn to use your own laptop."

Sam is having trouble with his new Google assistant, he made adjustments for a 6 month offer from YouTube to have no adds and it blew all the setting on the voice activated Google assistant, so he is on the phone to some call centre somewhere. He's trying to get off the phone because yours truly is getting hangry, but the call centre professional in the Philippines, or Myanmar, or wherever the fuck,  is being conchie and persistent. (Can you tell I am hungry?) What a time for that?

It is grey and cloudy, threatening rain. The wind is blowing. What happened to summer?

We're going out to eat sloppy American sandwiches in Smith Street. American food, not usually the best on the planet, traditionally large, tasteless serves, but what the hell. We had it once before and it was okay.

Now, Mumbai, wants a promotional code. Go away, I'm hungry.

Just Another Mass Shooting in America

Another mass shooting in America. I'm sorry, but shrug? What are we supposed to feel? I don't even read the news on these shootings anymore. I know this is harsh, but America gets the mass shootings their gun laws promise them. I thought they were a smart country? They claim to be a smart country.

Until American changes its gun laws, why should we even be that interested in their gun atrocities? Surely, by being interested in these atrocities, we are investing a certain amount of energy in wanting a solution to the problem of mass shootings? However, when 26 kindergarten kids are blown away by some nutjob with a gun, and that still does prompt any action, I'm not holding my breath for change.

There will be all the usual arguments about gun laws. The pro gun lobby will say all the same nonsense, yet again, and nothing will change.

There will be another mass shooting, soon, that will probably be worse than this one, as sure as there is mom, baseball and apple pie. Shake of the head. Only in America, is that what they say? 

It's like watching an idiot parent's toddler continually banging its head against a wall, eventually you just have to look away.

Yesterday, another doorway, such a comfort

We walked into town and ate sushi train. We bought a case for the new iphoneX, because phones always need cases. Myer only got them in today, so they said.

Buddy's Swollen Face

When we woke up this morning, Buddy came in with a swollen face, he looked like a boxer who had done 12 rounds. We both looked at each other and then looked back at Bud. 

"What the hell?" 

So it was off to the dog hospital first thing to have him looked at. It was not a good way to start the weekend.

It is most likely that he was stung by a bee. The upside is that it most likely means that he is not allergic to bee stings, as dogs can be, otherwise, I am assuming, there was a good chance we  could have woken up to a dead Buddy. So, at least there is that.

He had some injections, antihistamines and a steroid shot, and he is fine now.

iPhone X

Sam and I decided a couple of days ago to get up and do the phone queue thing for the iPhone X. Sam suggested it, kind of half joking, and I think he was somewhat surprised when I said I go and wait in line.

"But you'll never queue for anything," he said.

"I won't queue an hour for the Russell Street Ramen shop, when there are many good Ramen shops in the city. I won't queue like that. people queue for dumplings and I automatically thing loser.

But, a one off, for a new phone, a few hours, why not. The fact that I am getting Sam's iPhone 7 with double the capacity of my now short of capacity iPhone 5 has little to do with it. No, it doesn't.

The first tram was 5.15am, but that was too late. So, we got up at 4.15am, drank coffee, and walked into the CBD. Of course, it rained as we headed into town. Of course, it did.

"Really? Rain? That wasn't meant to be a part of the deal." I kind of wondered how much later the tram would have made us.

We both had on black hoodies, so we pulled the hoods up over our heads and water drops sprinkled down upon us. Did we look like a couple of crims passing through the shadows of the morning? There was one girl dancing on the footpath, completely out of it, looking at a bin as if it were her dance partner. “I guess Thursday night out is still a thing,” I said. Sam shrugged. There were a few other guys tripping along as thought they’d had too much to drink, appearing like lost souls in the murkiness of the night turning to day.

The homeless people seemed to be increasing, they seem to be in every second doorway. It is a very sad indictment on a wealthy city like Melbourne. The most liveable city in the world, I wondered if the homeless would agree?

“If you were homeless, wouldn’t you make your way to Brisbane where, at least, it is warmer to live out in the open.”

“Do you really think homeless people have those choices?”

“I think, I’d be able to manage that…”

“If you had no money?” said Sam. “Really?”

“I’m guessing it would be a one way trip,” I said. “Surely, I’d always be able to afford a one way trip to Brisbane?” I wondered?

It was cold and wet in Melbourne, being out in it would be miserable. Then I wondered which part of homelessness wouldn’t be miserable?

I tell you what, though, 5am is the time to go to work. No traffic, no people, none of the really annoying things of the usual morning traffic. Yes, I know, that is the people.

We'd were in the city last night to eat dinner and check out what was what with queuing for a phone? The Myer staff told us they had 200 units and that people needed to be lining up, physically present, chairs with bags and notes on them weren't good enough. People were already lining up last night.

It was still dark when we got there, at 5am, this morning, and the line was around a different way to last night and there were many seats, some with people actually sitting in them. We were informed by a couple of people who were assuming captainship of the whole operation, it would seem, that there was now a list and we had to put our name on it and the list would be checked by Myer staff at 6am and if your name wasn't on the list, you were out, or if you weren’t there, your name would be removed from the list.

That seemed very different to what we'd been told last night, but we reluctantly complied. We were 57 and 58.

Who put you guys in charge, we thought?

There were lots of people, playing supervisor, with lots of people giving their opinions. There were nice guys in the queue who were chatty and friendly. My iPhone 5 was probably the oldest phone in the queue. It was the first time I have queued.

“There, you get to hang with the nerd boys,” said Sam. “How was it?”

Eventually, the lovely Myer Apple Lady turned up and, after that, it all ran pretty smoothly.

In due course, we were given numbers, we were 49 and 50 respectively. And when we checked there were 60 units of the phone we wanted, so we were going to get what we wanted. Yay us! Yay Myer!

The Myer staff were lovely, they gave us coffee. Anybody who gives me coffee is alright in my book. The whole process was relatively pleasant.

So, 4 1/2 hours from getting out of bed, to walking up Bourke Street with our new phones, we bought one for a buddy, I didn't think that was so bad.

Sam went to work. I've been home half an hour.