Work, It Is Good For You, They Say

The walk into the CBD was brisk. Clear my head, bring me too.

I get there thinking this is a temporary assignment, for a few months, maybe longer, while they recruit somebody new. Easy. Knock it over in 30 minutes. (Short meeting, long lunch, sweetie)

I pretty soon realise this was a permanent role, and it was full time. What the fuck? I'm a bit stunned by this turn of events. I am also a bit stoned still, I realise. So that clearly isn't good, I remember thinking to myself. (I didn't mention that bit to Sam, as you may understand) I realised I, perhaps, hadn't sobered up quite enough, when I attempted a joke, near the beginning, and it went south very fast, my mouth started running on. I just stopped telling it, nobody noticed, we were still in the get-to-know-you, still smiling at everything, stage.

I fully concentrated after that.

I got it back to 3 days, really smartly, I was straight on to that, the finance director was taken back for a minute, I saw the flicker in his eye. The rest of the time, I was thinking, so I get the dud colleague,  in a job that is undefined, with no handover person, and I don't want to do it... and it is for the rest of my fucking life. What could go wrong? says Christian as he looks from Beck to [name of finance director] We're all talking as though we are going to knock this over in 30 minutes. I thought I was filling in for a couple of months? How did our communication go so horribly wrong on that one?

We went out to lunch afterwards. I was still a bit stunned into silence, bunny in the head lights, the full bit. I was being very careful to be chatty, I could have slumped into the "stares", very easily by that stage.

Everybody is excited to see me back.

Yes, it will be rich and real, I think.

I walked home up Collins Street, still dazed and forlorn. Oh, how did I get myself into that? Defeat snatched from the jaws of victory. I just had my life where I wanted it. Well, almost, you know. Who knows?

Up Early. Into the Office.

A couple of spliffs at 5am, I couldn't sleep. Then another at 6am, and a second coffee. It is cold outside at 6am.

I've got a job interview at 12.30pm. Sam doesn't think I am taking this seriously.

"She'll be right," I say. "A couple of coffees at 11am, perk me up. Brisk walk into town, I'll be fine."

Do you think it is all the coffees, not being able to sleep? This is the boy who could have an espresso night cap and still get a full night's sleep!

An hour later, I'm good to go.

It's not really a job interview as such. I've worked there before, I've worked with all of them. It is really just to discuss hours. Maybe a 3 month contract to sign.

Eat some chocolate just before you leave, that's good for a spark up. Suck a mint, the worst thing is the dry mouth, but if you can master that... What could go wrong?

How do you think all those top lawyers manage it?

Sam's going for a job interview too. A job in the finance sector, which he hated last time, I might just add. But the offer is too good.

"You have a job 5 minutes from home, with normal hours that you love," I say.

I think he just wants to be offered it.

My friends treat me like Patsy Stone, when I have a job on.

"You?" they say. Quizzical looks. "Going to work?"

"You have a job?" they ask, looking around the room.

"An office?" They look perplexed.

Rude bitches.

David is in Amsterdam, so I'll have to wait for his expression.

Jill is in London, so I'll have to wait for her expression.

Mark is in Hanoi, so I'll have to wait for his expression.

I Don't Remember Anything

The day is a blur. Just how we like them. Big smile. I think I watched YouTube. Fell asleep on the couch. Sam woke me up. We took the dogs to the dog park. Gorgeous day.

A Cat's Life

I realised that our cat, Milo, is the most chilled member of the house. Of course, truthfully, he has the least to do. Sleep on the couch, eat breakfast, head upstairs to the vacated bed, lie down for the day. Head down stairs, eat some more, get on the couch. But is it traditionally the cat that is the most relaxed member of the household?

We’re all pretty chilled, really, even Bud, just don’t try and take him off the couch, then he turns into growling monster bulldog, until his paws touch down on the carpet. Then he has his mad eyes on, willing me to explode, as he sits between my legs. Then he relaxes, I feel his tension go. He harrumphs. And he goes to his bed.

It’s a cat’s life though. Only the very best people must get to come back as cats.

I put Nancy Wilson on. It always reminds me of being a kid with a migraine. When I say kid, early to late teens. It was the only thing that fixed it, Nancy Wilson. I was lucky I had a father who joined up to one of those record clubs, and who got a number of albums he, perhaps, didn't want before he mastered the automatic monthly order facility. Lush Life, in a dark room, hand, literally, draped over my brow. Migraines are debilitating. Not to be disturbed.

And they were still mystified when I came out as gay at 25. (chuckle) The clues were there people.

Now it is into a $500 pair of noise cancelling headphones, so you can understand that it is my own peculiar little world. My very own solitude. The outside world goes on as if in some else’s peripheral vision somewhere.

Some memories you just have to laugh at. Another person. Another life. But, it gave me my first taste of great jazz, and a great black lady singer, the stars had aligned.

Nancy Wilson is the best. Now a days. Smoke a joint. Put your feet up. Where did that behaviour come from, I ask you? Busy day. I just have to get the cat off the couch. Laptop on my lap, who'd have thought.

They call it stormy Monday, but Tuesdays just as bad...

Of course, it drives Sam mad, we know that. The sitting back, feet up, stoned thing. Apparently, you have to do something, every day. Who knew?

This job thing is very curios, coming alone at this time, you know after a delivery, and two weeks alone, the house to myself. I have to pull it together for, essentially, a job interview, 12pm Thursday. (Oh, the pain) They all know me, I have worked there before. I still can't go in in track suit pants with my eyes hanging out. Still, if I work for a few months, tops things up for this year and for next year. Groan. Too sensible. I hope they don’t want me to work for more than a few months, and then I could only commit to three days. I can’t do more than that per week, otherwise my week morphs into something completely different, all work, no play. It seems the bone idle even have to work sometime.

I met up with an old friend, a writing friend, for breakfast Sunday morning. I can do mornings, I quite like them. Just don’t ask me to come out in the evenings, they can be so long and boring. I’m glad she didn’t ask me if I have been writing. I hate that question.

I find my emergency secateurs, I haven't been able to find my real pair I have looked everywhere. And its rubbish day. I never throw things out, I knew there would be a pair in one of the cupboards.

Adele is the anti dote to Nancy Wilson.

I chop up all the branches that have been falling in all the wind we’ve been having lately. I clean up the back yard, swept the paths, picked up the debris. Who says I don’t do anything?

11.11am. It rains.

I stew apples and pears. Green and yellow fill my kitchen. Autumn colours. It is a good batch too, sweet and juicy.

Sam is at some conference, so he won’t be home for lunch. He walked off on the wrong side of our street this morning, I meant to question him. Send him a message. Ask why? Now I know.

I am getting my own lunch. That calls for a joint.

11.30am. I light a fire.

I contemplate a movie, just like a song, my god this reminds me, of when we were young.

Buddy

There's a moment with Buddy when I take him for a walk to the dog park that I always look for. Buddy is usually in a rush to get there in the afternoons. As soon as we get to the park, he takes a dump. Then he does the obligatory lawn mower impersonation. After that, just before he bolts off to sniff arse and wag tail with the other dogs, just as he is breaking into a gallop, he looks back over his shoulder at me as if to say, "You go that."

It's cute, our eyes meet for just a millisecond, over his shoulder like a free-style swimmer, "Pick up my shit."

And then he blasts off across the reserve, into the sunshine, to the other dogs.

It makes me laugh.

Guido's Portrait

 

Roseanne

I had the first 3 episodes of the new Roseanne recorded, but I hadn't watched them. I loved her show the first time around. But, this time there was just something about the fact she could support a liar and a cheat and a racist that made me think about supporting her new show. I just deleted the episodes. I decided that if I was going to be true to myself and how I feel about people in the world, I couldn't support her.

She made her choices. I made mine.

Saturday the Sun Shone

I made apple pancakes for breakfast. Sam said to use the receipt that only made four pancakes, then proceeded to eat four himself. Suffice to say, I used a different recipe.

The sun shone, it was nice. I walked to the shops in my t-shirt, the sun on my skin was nice, after the last few days.

We had BBH in Victoria Street. I always dribble it down my chin. I drink the last of it by picking the bowl up in both my hands.

We shopped. I bought pears to stew with my apples. I ate last weeks pears, and I still haven’t stewed the apples. Good thing Granny Smiths keep okay. They will have brown spots boy now, but it all comes out in the stew.

We came home and had a nap on the floor, resting my head on the big, orange cushion that I keep for those occasions. There is something nice about the hard floor, it stretches out all the kinks. I slept and hour, or so. But then, I can sleep any where, it is my best talent.

We ate curry for dinner. Red, Thai curry.

We watched Eurovision. Ah Eurovision, nothing is as tacky, but that is why we like it after all. I like the boy from Norway, he's just too cute.

The open fire burned. Buddy slep in my arms, as he likes to do, when I sit on the floor at the coffee table. It is interesting having a 26 kilo bulldog say, I'm going to sit here, and then he does, like the bulldozer that bulldogs can be.

Oh Jasus, I said Yes To Work?

It was cold and it hasn't stopped raining all day. Since last night, really. Of course, the news said it was going to be a down pour, batten down the hatches, we are in for it!!!!! Surprise sudden chilliest, despite it being just a few weeks until winter. What the fuck was the news on about, it is not January, I mean to say. The coldest day since last August, what, last winter? Really, the news really needs to have a long hard look at itself.

Translation, we were going to get some rain.

Midday. Sam decided not to face the rain to go out to lunch, so I got my own and he got his delivered in to the office.

Then there was only one thing to do, put on a Hugh Grant movie, Music and Lyrics. Open fire. Tuna on toast. A coffee. On the couch with a blanket.

Oh yes, Jesus fuck me Christ, I seem to have agreed to some work. I had fallen asleep on the couch reading my book wrapped in blanket with the cat on my lap. I was still in that stars in the eyes phase, delirious, some might say, when Beck, my old boss called and wanted to know if I wanted to do some work. So, of course, I said yes, anything for Beck. But, as it turned out, she is leaving and she wants me to work in her office when she has left. And I am realising what I have said yes to as she explains. I am sure, if you had been watching me, my eyes would have been getting bigger and bigger and bigger as I am realising my mistake.

And Sam is going home to visit the folks and I am not going, I don't do parents. Well, I do do parents if required, but on this occasion I am not. So, I am going to be unsupervised for two weeks well, you know I have a potfest planned. Well, it is directly after that, during June.

And dear god, I had said yes. Nyr. I'll do it for a bit, it is good to get out of the house sometimes, it is good to go out there and reacquaint oneself with the freaks. But I won't be doing it for long, you can count on that. 

Four People On A Plane About To Crash

An airplane was about to crash. There were 4 passengers on board, but only 3 parachutes.

The 1st passenger said, “I am America’s greatest sporting hero. The country and my fans need me, and I can’t afford to die.” So, he took the 1st pack and jumped from the plane.

The 2nd passenger, Donald Trump, said, “I am the US President, and I am the smartest President in American history, so my people don’t want me to die.” He took the 2nd pack and jumped out of the plane.

The 3rd passenger, the Pope, said to the 4th passenger, a 10 year old schoolboy, “My son, I am old and don’t have many years left, you have your life ahead of you, so I will sacrifice my life and let you have the last parachute.”

The little boy said, “That’s okay, Your Holiness, there’s a parachute left for you. America’s smartest President took my schoolbag.”

And, you know, I am not one normally for a joke where the Pope lives.

Street Scene

 

Cold Toast With Cold Tea

Sam eats cold toast, or cold tea, which I find really peculiar. The butter doesn’t melt on cold toast. The taste changes completely when tea is no longer hot.

If everyone accepted cold toast and cold tea, society would break down, as we know it. Cafes and restaurants would close. Supermarkets would go out of business. Trade would be put at risk. I tell him.

He calls me a Promite lover.

My mother fed me Promite when I was young because she read it contained less salt. "But that is in conjunction with Vegemite," I say. "I love them both. Your tastes are just unnatural."

"Ha ha, I disagree," Sam says.

"What are you thinking?" I ask him, as he sips his tea with that clearly visible cold tea film on the surface.

Sometimes he sits there and consumes both. When I am watching him alarmed, he tells me to look away.

Whenever he asks me if I want tea, or toast, I politely decline.

Cold tea with cold toast, I can hear all of my great aunts restless in their graves. Grande old English Dames (okay, not quite Downton Abbey) who'd make me tea pots of tea covered in tea pot covers, tea that would come out the colour of mahogany, who'd have neenish tarts and fairy cakes and cream sponges and eclairs to eat with our afternoon tea. My grand mother and her generation of women who taught me how to drink tea on Sunday afternoons. So please, before you question me, I want you to know that I was taught by experts.

I Was Going To...

Sam is sick and home from work.

“Oh, honey, that is no good.”

I was going to curl up on the couch with In Cold Blood, but Sam being home sick stopped that.

“Oh, you are staying home.” I slid my novel back onto the coffee table.

We watched Lost In Space on Netflix.

Don West was one of those guys who sparked my interest in men as a child. You know, back in the day when I was too young to really know what those feelings were all about, but those feelings were there, being born gay like all gay people are. I can still feel those yearnings to this day.

Don’t you love those right-wing commentators, usually, always, hamstrung by Christian belief, or some other childhood trauma, who claim being gay is a choice, when they have no idea what they are talking about. That would make me laugh, if it wasn’t so serious, denying us our life experiences.

Don West in the new Lost In Space does not disappoint. I’d… well, you can guess what I’d offer to do for him.

Feeling the Difference

It is cold this morning, as I cuddle up with Milo for our morning routine on the couch. I can feel winter in the air, I can feel it coming.

You know, I don't mind feeling cold, maybe I am a bit weird. Maybe? Or hot, for that matter, in the summer. I like feeling the seasons. I like feeling the difference.

Milo doesn't care, he has a luxurious blue coat, even it he does snuggle close to me.

We don't want to feel the difference any longer. We switch the heating on the minute the temperature drops below 21 degrees. We switch the air conditioning on the moment the temperature rises above 21 degrees. We don't want to feel anything, is that conclusion to take from this?

This is all at a time when our quest for insulation from the world and the increased power needed to fulfil that need, is further poisoning the planet on which we live? Are we all in a collective state of denial?

I pat Milo's thick fur, his coat seems thicker. I sip my coffee and gaze out the window at the morning sun shining on the trees in the back yard.

The sun is shining on the stack of fire wood I had delivered a month ago in preparation for the winter. I can’t wait to have open fires. The burning of fire wood puts the same amount of carbon into the air that it would have if the wood was left on the ground to rot and disintegrate back into the earth. That is my environmental justification for having an open fire. I must google that fact to confirm that it is true.

Life Is Short and Regrets Get You No Where

I get up early and sit on the couch in the semi dark cuddling up with Milo next to me and think it is Saturday. Again. Nyr. The day slowly brightens outside and the first thing I can see clearly are the pink geraniums flowering profusely. I used to think geraniums were an ordinary flower, but recently I have decided they are cheerful, and I am growing red ones to plant out my front yard next spring, or whenever you plant geraniums. I must google it.

I don't think I will ever regret stopping work, going to my specially allocated office, or, at other times, my very own cubicle, to bosses who were always more stressed than they let on and colleagues who felt set upon for the ever increasing hours they had to work for the every diminishing pay. The company can't afford pay rises despite their ever increasing profits, the usual mantra of the modern organisation. Bosses now cheat workers to make the profits look better.

Even though it cost me, but did it cost me, really? I was lucky, well clever. Lucky that I was always a saver and never really a spender. Some people may say I am stingy, I get it from my mother, but those same people are still in the rat race going to work trying to make ends meet.

Yesterday, I caught the train to Prahran to look at CDs and when I came home I wrote poetry and looked at historical photos of Melbourne, with Buddy sitting in my lap. And Friday disappeared and then it is Saturday again. No matter what day of the week it is they all have the same meaning to me now, so I don't live for one and hate another, in fact, I like Mondays, it is the first day of the week I get to spend on my own, after spending the weekend with Sam, doing what I choose.

Of course, I stopped working so I could write the great Australian novel, well, a novel, my first novel, writing something. And I am not doing that. So that is not so good. But, there is always tomorrow. I am also not in peak hour traffic struggling into an office I hate, to a job I'd rather not be doing, working for bosses who are just self interested cunts, no I am not doing that, so that is good.

This is not really how I saw it, spending my time, but life is short and regrets are not productive.

Okay, so I won’t be able to afford a new car, or to spend the weekends at shopping centres spending money for entertainment, but, I don’t drive the car I have now, and I never wanted to hang out at shopping centres anyway. My theory is, that if we all settle for a bit less, we will all be much happier. Do you really need that new 4WD, or that new phone, when your old car and phone still work perfectly well? Why do you want to work so hard to buy things you don’t really need? Work less, and only get the things you really need. Don’t get hooked into the buy, buy, buy, spend, spend, spend, mentality. How many of the things you have bought recently do you really need?

Rain On The Roof

I fell asleep on the couch. I love that, don't you? I woke to the sound of rain falling heavily on the roof. I love that too. It had been threatening to rain all day. Of course, Sam woke me, he hates me falling asleep on the couch. It was lovely to hear the rain. It seems to have been so long since we heard the sound of rain drops falling from the sky.

I had watered my garden early in the day, as suddenly I notice the plants were looking shrivelled with cat's arses for lips as if to say, "We are dying here!" As I said, it seems so long since it has rained. It makes no never mind though, a bit of extra hose water can only be a good thing.

Sam wanted to take the dogs out for a piss before bed, but how could he, they'd get drenched. Bear is staying again, Jill has pissed off to the US again. And London, too. And Paris, I think. I wasn't much help, as I lay languorously on the couch, as Sam Stressed about what to do. Funny how you care about very little having just woken up. He eventually took the dogs out with an umbrella when the rain lessened off for a few minutes.

I'm a big lazy arse
my requirements are sparse
all I want to do is eat and sleep
beyond that I won't complain, not a peep.

And then they left me and I was all alone with the rain. Ha, ha. I had to gather my thoughts, and my stuff and follow them up to bed.

Then I lay snuggled under the doona as the rain fell on the roof upstairs. Drift off to sleep and dreams as the world was washed new again. It is romantic. I took hold of Sam’s hand, but he was already asleep.

It is Autumn, go outside, play in the leaves and there is no better place to do it than The Fitzroy Gardens, there is a magical sea of yellow, there is yellow everywhere, run through it, throw it in the air, put in your hair, you know, if you dare.

Mindlessly Reading The News

I stayed up late. I read the news, mindlessly, really, like I was expecting what? The TattsLotto numbers? I hadn’t read the news in how long? Oh, hours. Moments. Are we all addicted to the news? Even despite ourselves? I even hear myself say to smart people at BBQs,

"Oh, I don't watch the news, it is the only way to stay happy in this world."

The news services work is done. We are all hooked. Truth, or lies. Real, or fake? I’m guessing it doesn’t matter. Australia, or anywhere in the world? 24 hours per day. We are all tuned in.

Really, at the expense of reading a story, a poem, something fascinating a non-fiction writer may have written, looking at art, some beautiful photographs, or just cuddling our lovers as we go for a walk in the garden, in coats in the winter grey. It is autumn now, get outside and kick some leaves in the park.

When The Moon Hits Your Eye Like A Big Pizza Pie

Look at that blue, gorgeous, isn't it

I Am The Power Pole Advertising Nazi

Sam woke me just as the clock passed 8am and said, “Go downstairs and make me toast. I demand toast.” He gave me an impish smile. He was already dressed.

He makes me laugh. He cooks every night. "7 days a week," he would say. Thumbs up, it saves me doing it, which I think is great.

I’m comfortable, but awake. “Rightio then,” I say. “Since you asked so sweetly.” I looked at my clock and it said 8.05am. I got out of bed and pulled on my house frau outfit.

“Make me toast with the bakery bread.”

“No, that is all gone.” I ate it with butter and honey, but I wasn’t going to tell him that.

“Oh well, don’t bother then, I'll get something on my way.”

“I can make you toast with other bread, from the freezer.”

“No, I don’t want Coles bread,” said Sam. “I am not eating Coles bread.”

I shrugged. And, I crawled back in under the doona.

“I see,” said Sam. “Your services are no longer needed.”

“I am like a robot going back to my docking station,” I said.

“Nice life…”

“Off you go to work,” I said.

“You have to get up and feed Buddy.”

“I see. I do, do I?”

“Yes, it is all about Bud Bud, you should know that by now.”

“I do know that,” I said. “I know I am number 2.” I am number two, I know that. I know my place.

“Good, as long as you know that,” said Sam.

Can do no wrong angel dog.

All three of us padded downstairs.

I turned the coffee machine on and turned my laptop on. I was heading back to the kitchen.

“Feed him, feed Buddy.”

“Will you stop it,” I said. “I was just going to do that.”

Sam snapped his fingers, twice. Sam is much more on things than I am at 8am, but then, he has to be, huh?

So, Buddy got fed. And I made coffee.

Sam left as soon as he put his shoes on. I walked to the door to kiss him good bye like Donna Reed. The door was open, Sam turned back to for the good bye kiss, I looked over his shoulder and then I spotted it.

“Oh, no.”

“What?” asks Sam.

“Wait until I get my shoes.”

“What are you doing?”

“Just a minute.” I got my shoes and a pair of scissors and returned to Sam standing on the veranda. (Do we actually have a veranda? I’m not sure. We have an Edwardian porch, I am guessing, is the correct term for it)

“I’m not having it, that is what I am doing.”

“Huh?” said Sam.

I headed out the gate and to the power pole outside our house to where somebody had wrapped an advertising sheet for some café in the main street. I cut it down. And as it so happened, the neighbours rubbish bin was still in the street just underneath the offending sheet of paper, and I just dropped it in.

“I have to go, Mrs Jessup,” said Sam. He rolled his eyes. I smiled.

Kiss, kiss, and then he was gone. I waved him good bye until he was out of sight. I then gazed down the street and could see the same advertising paper wrapped around all the poles.

“Don’t you worry about that,” I muttered. “I will get all…” The pretty young things must have just finished their yoga sessions at the yoga centre and were at that very moment heading down my street towards me, so I stopped talking to myself like a mad thing. A beautiful blond girl with an expression like a cat’s arse walked passed me, with her yoga mat in a bag over her shoulder. Then another gorgeous girl too busy looking at her phone to pay me any attention. I stepped out of her way, and I don’t think she noticed me at all. Then a very handsome young man in with shiny brown hair and good legs and red shorts walked by. He had an impish smile. And a nice arse, as it turned out.

I was soon looking back at the row of power poles all wrapped in crisp, white advertising posters. I walked down to the next power pole and cut that paper down and returned to drop it in my neighbour’s bin.

Oh, I am not having that, I thought.

The power poles in our street used to be covered in posters and papers and tatt and yellowing sticky tape, some of them hanging off, some of them blowing in the wind, some of them referring to a concert, or an event, from 1998. All old and water stained and disgusting, really. Okay, so disgusting is really maggot blown meat, or physical abuse, or robbing the elderly, or a compound fracture, but you get what I mean. Visual pollution, all tacky and unnecessary.

The thing is, they are very good at putting their posters up, with their kilometres of thick-arse sticky tape, but they never return to take them down, now do they? And we have to live with the visual pollution forever after that.

I used to think to myself, that is like physical graffiti, as I walked passed, shaking my head. That was until one day when I had a bright idea. Yes, I am very slow, I acknowledge that. I could take them down, clean it all up, and get rid of them, and so I did.

We walked Buddy every day anyway. So, one by one, bit by bit, I removed them from every power pole in our street (the poles that I walked passed) much to Sam’s chagrin. I didn’t do them all at the same time, even if my fingers itched to do so. But one by one, bit by bit, slowly, slowly catch the money, I took them all down.

I also learnt, the hard way, that with old wooden power poles you can easily sustain really big splinter injuries, sometimes down under your finger nail, which are a bitch to get out and a pain to have heal.

I have maintained a vigil ever since.

I am the power pole advertising Nazi.

And anyway, whoever looks at those pole advertising anyway? Can any of you genuinely say that you have caught a great show, or found a cool café from reading it on an advertising sheet on a power pole?

Can you?

The new lot are all the way down the street, on every power pole, I can see that from my front gate. I have to admit, I am itching to get out there and remove them all.

Anzac Day

I wanted to go to the supermarket to get ingredients for cake icing for a banana cake I am making for a BBQ lunch today at David's place. There will be a group of about 15 friends, all of them are bringing a dish. 

I bought all the ingredients for the cake yesterday, but I forgot about the icing, stupid me. Usually, I don't ice this cake, but for a BBQ, I felt it needed its party dress on too. 

But, the supermarket isn’t open until 1pm. Really? The BBQ starts at 1pm. Grrr! What kind of 1950s throw back is that? Damn, I thought. 

If people want to celebrate Anzac Day that is their decision, and good luck to them, I hope it brings them whatever it is they hope it will bring them, but Anzac Day means nothing to me, so why am I, effectively, forced to celebrate the day too? It is just another public holiday, and supermarkets are usually open on public holidays. 

People who want to go to the movies, or shop, or whatever else they want to do, in the morning, why shouldn't they be allowed? I am really not sure?

The Shitful Liberal Party

The Liberal Party’s core aim is to abolish Medicare.

The Labor Party is dedicated to free medical for all citizens.

It is the Liberal Party’s fault that I have to pay $75 at my normal doctor.

You must remember this distinct difference when you vote next.

Flu Shot

Sam has been nudging me to have a flu shot, as Sam likes to do. The fact that I have had a flu shot every year for the last 20 years, doesn’t seem to register with him when he is, um, is nagging too strong a term? I checked with the doctor last Friday about having a flu shot and the doctor was closed. He was open again 8am Monday morning. Okay, I am up early, I can get there by 8am, easy.

Of course, 60 Minutes did a piece on flu shots, covering how people die from the flu, concluding that if those people who died had had a flu shot they probably wouldn’t have died.

Hmmmm? I wonder how many people watched 60 minutes, who are now be going to the doctor first thing tomorrow? Thanks 60 minutes.

So, of course, I woke up this morning at 7.45am. The morning I needed to wake up early, I didn’t. What happened to my normal 6am rise? Grrrr!

So, I am out of bed by 7.50am. I’m dressed by 7.55am. I am out the door by 8am. I am at the doctor by 8.05am, by which time there is six people in front of me.

Damn!

So, I hadn’t had a coffee, clearly.

And Doctor Ward seemed to be in a world of his own, wandering around the surgery doing god knows what. Jesus, man, get your act together, we’re on the clock here. He’s looking much older since the last time I saw him, close to retirement age, possibly?

The first guy sits on the seat closest the Doctor Ward’s door, as you would imagine. The old chick sits on the other end of the seats closest to the doctor’s door. The three other girls sit down and put earphones in their ears. The pretty one also opens one of those two thousand page novels and starts to read. I hope that isn’t a sign of how long we are going to have to wait. The lank-haired blond girl looks angry, she could be a closet serial killer, I think. She is wearing a very tight black outfit, long pants and a jacket, possibly neoprene. Maybe it is the tightness of her outfit that is making her angry? Maybe, the 100% synthetic material is slowly suffocating her, which is making her crabby. Who can say? The third woman looks too young for a hip replacement, but she limps to her chair none the less.

No one wants to sit near each other. I sit in the seat I would classify as Siberia, around the corner of the reception desk.

The first guy goes in. I cheekily move to the seat closest to the doctor’s door, that the first guy has just vacated. I start to write my journal on my phone. I write about what I can see. The old, the pretty, the angry and the lame.

The first guy is inside for 5 minutes, then he comes out and walks straight out of the surgery.

The old girl heads into the surgery.

Then we wait. And wait. And wait.

The chick with the bad hip, buggered knee, whatever, chews gum, with an open mouth. I’m sure her lips would be making slurping noises, if I didn’t have headphones in my ears.

The first guy comes back with, what I assume, is his flu shot and he is ushered into the other room, what turns out to be the injection room.

I think, do I have to wait here for however long and then have to go and get my flu shot? Couldn’t I get my flu shot while I am waiting, cut down on time. Win/win. There must be a better system?

And we wait. And wait. And wait.

I start sending derogatory messages to Sam about all of the other patients in the waiting room.

Sam replies, “Calm down, mate, calm down.”

I tell him old people should just die, and he tells me to head out into the shopping strip and get myself a coffee before somebody gets hurt.

Ha ha, I laugh. “I am just bored and trying to be funny.”

“You are not being funny,” replies Sam.

“I think I am really funny.”

“You think you are,” replies Sam.

“I am being charming and witty. Well, perhaps more witty than charming.”

“You are engaging I hate speech, and I am in a meeting,” says Sam.

Finally, the old woman comes out of the surgery. Doctor Ward heads into the second room to give the first man his flu shot. The old woman attempts to follow Doctor Ward like a puppy, which leads to an awkward moment in the doorway to the second room. The doctor and the old woman try a two step in the threshold, which almost turns into a waltz, until the old woman seems to understand she is not to follow him. She slumps down in a chair by the pretty girl with the head phones reading the encyclopaedia.

The first guy comes out of the second room and the old woman stands up and heads into the second room and the door closes.

And we wait. And we wait. And we wait.

The woman with the limp gets up and leaves the waiting room as quickly as the lame can exit a room.

Doctor Ward and the old woman come out of the second room giggling to each other. They stand at the reception desk, as if they have time on their side, which neither of them do. The old lady gets a plastic container and heads to the toilet. I try hard not to think about that.

Doctor Ward calls the pretty girl into room number one and closes the door.

Another woman arrives dressed in an awful outfit, white with lilac and red and lime green stripes, in a cheap chiffon material, with her arms exposed. She sits next to me.

Doctor Ward’s door opens and he heads into the second room. He comes back momentarily with, what looks like, a syringe, presumably a flu shot in his hand.

“I had one left,” he says, addressing the pretty girl inside his room. He has that dopey look on his face that straight men get on their faces when their attention is taken by a pretty girl. He shakes the syringe in his hand like it is the prize that he had won for the pretty maiden. Stupid smile. He closes the door behind him.

I see, the pretty girl gets the flu shot gotten for her, while the rest of us must go and collect our own from the chemist next door. Lovely. We’re all equal in Doctor Ward’s world.

The door opens and Doctor Ward heads to the second room followed by the pretty girl. Not long after, Doctor Ward appears back out the door like something dirty had just happened, big eyes and a mouth shaped like an O. He calls the angry chick into the first room, she stomps across the waiting room. The door closes.

A man with curly hair fronts up at reception. He is complaining because he’d arrive an hour before at the chemist to be told that the chemist shop didn’t do flu shots, with no direction to the doctor’s surgery next door.

“It would have been nice to have been told about you guys in here.”

“Well, I can’t speak for the chemist, you understand,” says the doctor’s receptionist.

“Oh yes, I appreciate that,” says grumpy curly-haired guy. “But I have wasted an hour.”

“Well, I am sorry about that,” says the doctor’s receptionist.

“It would just have been nice to be given the correct information an hour ago.”

“I appreciate that,” says the doctors receptionist.

“I could have had it done by now.”

“Yes, I can see what you are saying.”

“It is just very frustrating.”

“Yes, I am sure it is.”

“No, really…”

“If you would like to take a seat sir?” says the receptionist with a sale of the Century hand wave towards the waiting room.

Curly-haired guy turns and looks at each of us, vaguely, like he wouldn’t like to sit next to any of us.

The injection room door opens and the pretty girl appears, still adjusting her clothes as she crosses the waiting room.

Doctor Ward’s door opens and angry girl stomps out of the surgery.

Doctor ward calls my name.

I get a script for something else and then I am sent to the chemist to get my flu shot. As I am waiting in the chemist for the chemist to provide me with my filled script, the woman in the awful outfit arrives to collect her flu shot.

I sit back down in the doctor’s waiting room with my flu shot. The woman in the awful outfit is soon sitting next to me with her flu shot in her hand.

Doctor Ward’s door opens and he walks to the reception desk. He looks right passed me to the woman in the awful outfit. The dirty old man’s eyes light up gazing upon a woman in need. That same dopey look spreads across his face. “You’ve got your shot,” he says. “Come with me.” He starts heading towards the second room.

Bugger that, I think. “Um, I have my flu shot too,” I say.

Doctor Ward turns in my direction. Of course, the dopey I-spy-woman expression disappears from his face. He looks at me. Oh yes, him, I can read his mind. “Oh, ah.” He looks back at the woman in the awful outfit. “I think this gentlemen may have been first,” he says like a regret.

There is no may-have-been about it, I think. I’m on my feet and heading to room number 2 with old man Ward. I’ve nearly got a skip in my step as I cross the waiting room, nearly released from purgatory. Come on old man, let’s get this show over and done with. I want to take him by the hand but, of course, I don’t.

I am back out in the sunshine by 9.30am. My flu shot has taken an hour and half. But now it is over and done with. I could, of course, made an appointment with my normal doctor and got a flu shot with him. I wouldn’t have to wait for him, well, not for very long, although… wobbling my flat hand from side to side in the air. I would, of course, have had to drive to his surgery, or I could have ridden my bike, I guess, instead of walking. I would have had to pay him $75 for the appointment, half of which I would have got back on Medicare.

I made banana cake, it was a good one

Burning Skewers

When I cook a cake and use a skewer to test if it is cooked, I break the skewer in half, when I am done and I throw it in the rubbish. There is no secret message, or hidden ritual, in the snapped skewer, just a desire to make it smaller so it doesn’t pierce the rubbish bag on rubbish days, tearing the liner, enabling piles of refuse to tumble out onto the front path, or the footpath, as I transfer the rubbish from kitchen rubbish bin to the outside rubbish bin.

Some days I even snap them into four pieces, they must be the days that I feel more uneasy with the world – or feel reckless, or would that be powerful?

Not such a big deal, you would think.

However, I keep getting into trouble for this, from Sam. The electric starter on our oven no longer works and Sam uses burning skewers to light the oven now. Bad me.

“How many times do we have to go through this with you?” asks Sam.

“Do you want a number?”

Plain look from Sam in return. He has no sense of humour when he is telling me off. Not sure if that is a Sam thing, or a boyfriend thing in general?

“You are serious?”

“Yes, of course…”

“Listen to yourself?”

“The environment is a serious business,” says Sam. “You bang on about it all the time.”

“Someone has to?”

“But apparently it doesn’t apply to you?”

“What are you saying?”

“You are a hypocrite.”

“I’m hurt,” I say. I fain a debilitating wound. “It is a skewer.”

“From small things,” says Sam.

I laugh. “I thought you were doing a banking ad.” I do the square hand gesture in front of myself.

He doesn’t laugh. “I think you will find it is a superannuation ad.”

“Okay,” I say.

“Okay,” says Sam. He gives me one of ‘those’ looks where he slightly tunes his head so he is looking at me, predominantly, with one eye. Eye lid slightly closed for effect.

“In the yellow porcelain box on the mantle above the stove, where the matches and the fire sticks are kept?”

“Now you are getting it,” says Sam.

“Noted.”

“Do you think you will remember?’ asks Sam.

“It is just a skewer.”

“So simple to remember,” says Sam.

“So simple,” I say.

“And yet, in the bin every time…”

“I’ll remember.”

We went walking in the country over the weekend. Here's Buddy walking back to the car

I'm glad my favourite cottage in the country is still standing. I haven't been to Hepburn to check for ages.

Autumn Leaves. How green is that green?

Just The Religious Nuts Rattling Their Disenfranchised Cage, Yet Again

So, the Victorian Liberal Party is debating torture for young gay people, in the guise of conversion therapy (I am barely able to give it that name, as it is too respectful a term) and that fool Greg Hunt likens it freedom of speech. Really?

Greg Hunt, it is child abuse. Would you give the same lieu way to child abusers?

Of course, it is just sour grapes from the religious right having lost the battle over gay marriage. It is the religious rights bitterness leaking from everyone of their holly orifices because more and more of society is rejecting their out dated religious beliefs.

The Victorian Liberal Party has been taken over by conservative Christians, so who knows what they are planning for the future.  Just another reason not to vote Liberal in Victoria, or Australia, for that matter.

Recycling

Our recycling only works if somebody is willing to buy our recycling material, said the council representative.

Governments still don’t get it, do they? Recycling is not an opportunity to make money, recycling is an opportunity to save the human race.

Natural Selection and 40 kph Speed Limits

So, why do we have 40 kph speed limits?

Well Little Johnny, that’s because there are so many dumb people in the world who don’t know not to walk out into the traffic.

Really?

Yes. And for some reason, those in power decided that instead of letting the stupid people get run down, they have decided to go against millions of years of evolution, deeming that all of society should be slowed down and inconvenienced because of the stupid people.

So, are you saying that all of Melbourne has to drive at 40 kph because of stupid people?

That’s what I’m saying, Little Johnny.

Thanks a lot, stupid people, said Little Johnny.

But more than that, by going against millions of years of natural selection, opting for 40 kph speed limits is, actually, putting the future of the human race in doubt.

Because allowing the stupid people to live and therefore breed, said Little Johnny, we are weakening the human gene pool?

Exactly, Little Johnny. It is in all our future interest to maintain 60 kph speed limits and let the stupid people be run down and killed in the street.

Thanks a lot stupid people in charge, said Little Johnny.

Such a gorgeous sky, just look at those colours

It Is Only Free Speech If You Agree, Is That What We Are Saying?

Israel Folau’s tweet that gays will go to hell “unless they repent of their sins and turn to God” is causing a storm with critics accusing the Australian rugby player of being insensitive and homophobic.

That storm of criticism is said to be stifling Israel Folau’s free speech.

Really? His right to voice his opinion was not taken away from him, people simply responded to it.

Free speech is a two way conversation. Israel Folau said what he thought and the community has responded, it is nothing more than that.

His sponsors have the right to respond as well, if they believe his conduct is not in accordance with the sponsors values.

Responding to his statement is free speech working the way it is supposed to, he is not being stifled.

Good morning world, just gorgeous, my favourite time of the day

Unseasonably Warm

It is such a warm morning, I can sit outside at 6am with a t-shirt on.   I like it, it is fresh, skin to the air, washing over you.

It is nice. It has been unseasonably warm these last few days. Coffee and computer out early in the garden.

I guess we'll be saying that a lot in the years to come, as the temperature rises. And since collectively the governments of the world are doing little about it, I guess we'll be getting used to it.

30 Newspolls

Malcom Turnbull loses 30 Newspoll surveys in a row, equalling the appalling Tony Abbott.

Congratulations guys, you are both rubbish.

I think it is probably a shame that Malcolm joined the wrong political party.

It is a shame that Abbott joined any political party.

Another lovely golden brown banana cake

See What A Good Boyfriend Am I

I made banana cake, so Sam has something to eat for breakfast all week. See what a good boyfriend am I.

Hunter Gatherers

If men were traditionally the hunter gatherers, shouldn't that translate into them doing the supermarket shopping today?

Up Early With Milo

Up early, very early, my nose was blocked, I couldn't get back to sleep. I hate that.

Milo comes in and rubs his head against my hands as I type. With him standing on my thigh and rubbing against my hand every time I try to move my fingers makes it impossible to type. 

I wondered if his food bowl was empty? Then I heard him crunching on it, milliseconds after he seemed to be rubbing against my left arm. 

Silent as a... well, perhaps not mouse, he glides around the house hardly ever making any sound. Quiet as the wind. Velvet paws.

Then he is back next to me on the couch, pushing himself up against my left thigh. He's got to get his 20 hours sleep in, let's face it.

 

 

Up Early Again

I woke up early, it was dark outside. It was even worse when I got down stairs, day light savings had finished, so it was, actually, an hour earlier, even if I looked at my watch upstairs initially, which would have changed automatically, it was still bought home by the incorrect time on the kitchen clock.

Oh, the dark is about to descend. It is the dark about the winter that I hate, the cold I don't mind. Images of peak hour traffic rumbling along all in the glare of headlights, comes to mind. Throw in some rain some night, with the rain drops caught in the multitude of head light beams.

It is cold in the mornings, now. You can feel that summer has slipped away. There's a chill that wasn't there just a week ago.

I made coffee and had a piss. I tried very hard not to dribble in my track suit pants. Oh, nothing worse on these cold mornings, down your leg what's more. The guys know what I am talking about. I laughed to myself. I didn't, though, so yay for me.

Up early again. Grimace. I must have fallen asleep on the couch again.

Winter is upon us. I can feel in that a t-shirt isn't enough these early mornings. I need socks too, to keep my feet warm. Sad face. That wasn't the case just a few weeks ago. I hate cold feet. No more complaining about the odd day, I'll deliberately go for walks in it, just to enjoy the last of the warmth.

Milo appears and cuddles up.

It's Still Dark

I woke up early, 3.30am. I needed a piss. I looked at my watch, it said 3 something. Buggar, I thought. I knew I was awake.

I rolled one way, and then the other, and then back again. It’s the other end of falling asleep on the couch at 8.30pm in front of the TV. I’ve only ever needed 7 hours, oh, since I have been an adult, as a teenager I could sleep the weekend away, oh for that stress free life again.

I got out of bed and started getting dressed. Instead of hissing from the dark about it being too early and to give smoking pot a rest, a voice said, “Nana getting up time.” That’s my joke about him always wanting to head to bed at 10.30pm. It is like clockwork. “Nan’s off to bed,” I say to him.

Sam whispered in the dark that Buddy had choked on something during the night, the chicken wings he ate for dinner under great suspicion. All I could hear was Buddy snoring contently from his bed next to ours.

I trotted off downstairs. I always walk through the house in the dark, I always have. At night, you see so many other angles you never see normally with the lights on.

I made coffee. I washed the dishes and cleaned the kitchen. (When kitchen duty is skipped, I just know I was dead to the world on the couch)

I roll a joint and sat in the garden.

Buggar the Apex Gang. If they were anything like the black commission boys who play soccer on Atherton Reserve, that have some fine arses amongst them. “Ha ha,” he says out loud, as he reads back over what he has written. That’s terrible. I don’t really even believe that the Apex Gang exists, I think it is more likely a vehicle used by the media, much more likely. I think there are all colours of kids in the bored little hoods, denied money by a cruel out of touch Liberal Government, who feeling like they have no other option, quite possibly, they hit out. I do think of them coming through the garden, though, when I head outside in the dark, but then I shake my head and it goes. Sign of the times in which we live, mind control works better than war, and it is cheaper too. Billionaire political media donors help out in his papers, as he’s of the same ideology.

4am. I put Beggars Banquet on my noise cancelling head phones and returned to the garden.

The noise cancelling headphones are good, the garden is noisy in the night, there are always cracks and crunches, and twigs falling.

You start with the Rolling Stones Beggars Banquet (1968) and you play right through to Tattoo You (1981), and you will hear the best blues rock ever recorded. They are the great albums, in my opinion.

1968   Beggars Banquet.

1969   Let It Bleed

1971   Sticky Fingers

1972   Exile on Main St.

1973   Goats Head Soup

1974   It's Only Rock 'n Roll

1976   Black and Blue

1978   Some Girls

1980   Emotional Rescue

1981   Tattoo You

And the Stones have four albums pre Beggars Banquet that are listed in the 500 greatest albums of all time. Between The Buttons, Now, Out Of Our Heads, and Aftermath.

They have 10 albums in Rolling Stones Magazine 500 greatest albums of all time.

357. Between The Buttons

270. Some Girls. Miss You is one of their greatest songs. The 2011 tracks included.

213. Tattoo You

180. Now

116. Out Of Our Heads

109. Aftermath

64 Sticky Fingers. Can’t You Hear Me Knocking, is sublime.

58 Beggars Banquet

32 Let It Bleed.

07 Exile on Main Street. The 2013 tracks included.

Except, of course, I would add Black & Blue. That was the first Stones album that I bought, it has to be said, so maybe I am a little biased. So, I discovered everything else before Black & Blue, after Black & Blue. I found the sixties stuff, after I was sick of the crappy eighties stuff.

I see the two beady red eyes of the security camera light up, like the devil, every time I come in from having a smoke. Sam can see on his phone every time I go out, recorded while he sleeps. He usually enters the room reciting the number when he gets up.

Milo cuddles up next to me on the couch, he does this most mornings I get up early. He'll stay on the couch until it gets dark again, so that's about fifteen hours, or so. Still, I reckon Buddy gets in a good 20 hours sleep a day. My little blue guy.

My little Blue Guy.