Life Is Good

8am. Drinking coffee with my bulldogs wrestling at my feet. Life is good.

Public holidays are always good. There is some horse race on which I couldn’t really care less about. Is horse racing cruel to horses? [grimace] Er?

The sun just came out. Lovely.

I only have to work Monday and Wednesday this week, you’ve got to love that. I only have to work one day before I get a day off. Of course, it’s not good for me, give me a day off and I never want to go back.

Oh, I’ve got to get writing, and then I can stop work. I can’t give up work and spend my time watching Youtube. I still watch too much YouTube on my days off, still.

You'd think it would be easy... an easy choice. Sit back and write? But, when I have all the time in the world, I find every distraction there is. How do I stop that happening?


The things we want to do, hey? What is it that stops us? Fear? Laziness? A combination of the two? Sometimes it is the things not standing in the way, as much as those that are. Of course, they are not the same thing. Physical. Mental. Is it a fear of failure? Or a fear of success? Maybe, sabotage is preferable? Maybe? Maybe, life is just too good. Maybe?

A happy life never did a writer any good? Is that what they say?

I've slid down onto the floor, I have my back against the couch. Brun breathes heavily in my ear like a pervert on the other end of the phone, then he licks my ear like he might go a pice of steak.

I love a plant that flowers inside

It Rained

It rained and rained. It rained all day. The sudden blast of summer we’d had for the last few days, gave way to changeable spring. We had to run as the rain drops fell, as we left the safety of the car, which we hadn’t done for... I kind of liked it, if I had to say. Windows fogged up, everything was washed clean, washed new. We were cool, the oppressive heat was blown away.

We shopped at Preston Market, we got a parking spot straight away.

We ate dumplings in High Street, fried and steamed. And we ate some spiced fish.

We came home and sat around, as you do on rainy days.

Saturday. The best day of the week, because of Sunday. On Saturday one can relax because the next day isn’t going to spoil it. It is just the start of something that is promised to continue. Relax. Put your feet up. Fuck the world can go to hell, who cares.

The house was hot, the heat had got in, but a breeze was blowing. I love that about Melbourne, no matter how hot it gets, relief is just around the corner. Throw open the windows and doors.

Let’s do it all again tomorrow.

Hot Friday

Pinch, punch, first of the month.

Who works on Friday? I just like saying that, it is sort of a self congratulatory pat on the back, more than it is me wanting to annoy all those people who have to work 5 days. But it is so dull, soul destroying for most people, without them ever knowing it, for the most part. Just conform and hand your life over to your boss, so your boss can make money and have an interesting life. Yeah, no thanks.

It's lucky me, I guess.

Lucky, in as much as I never really had a plan, I just fell into stuff, and that has always worked out well for me.

I mean, I did go to uni so I guess I had some sort of a plan. I never wanted to work on the 32nd floor of an office building, but guess where I am, getting caught up in the petty tyrannies of those people building themselves empires within the corporate structure, I can only assume, to make themselves better about their small, dull lives. It is nonsense for which I have no time.

Work is not the most important thing, it is just a means to an end.

It is just nice to have a day to do as one pleases. A hot sunny day too. Lovely. I have a chair to fix, I have a back yard full of flies to attend to, and I have some tap washers to change. As exciting as that sounds, it still beats going to work.

Brun and I headed off to Bunnings, as it is hot today, 35 degrees, and that is too hot for a bulldog to go to the park. Buddy didn’t even want to leave the house. He looked out the door, I swear he shook his head and went back inside.

So, Brun and I climbed into the car and headed off to Bunnings. Really, air conditioning on and the car is the best place to be on a hot day, no really it is, even if the road stretched out in front seems to shimmy like a mirage in the midday sun.

Bunnings is full of cute tradies too, so what is there not to like, I ask you?

We bought a fly trap, as yesterday, another hot day, when I went outside I was swarmed by flies. I was going to buy a large G clamp to fix a chair I have acquired (translation, picked up from someone’s rubbish in the street) but at $32 I wondered if it was really worth it, stupid me, I should have just bought it. I like doing stuff like that and the pleasure of getting it done is worth the $32, even if the chair isn’t.

So, then I had just a $3 fly trap and I looked in my wallet and I had $2.60. Could I put $3 on a card? It is kind of old fashioned thinking that I can’t put $3 on a card, I mean, if they want us to be a cashless society we’re going to be putting a lot less than $3 on our cards.

So, Brun and I wandered around Bunnings wondering what else we could buy so that the amount on the card would seem worth it, as stupid as that sounds? (Maybe, I have too much free time on my hands?) And then we headed out to the garden section and, of course, I need potting mix, so I bought a bag. I was going to get a trolley and buy a few bags, but Buddy freaks out with wheelie things, Bunning’s trolleys in particular and I wondered if Brun would be the same, so I just got one bag so I didn’t have to risk the trolley saga. And when I looked around there was a suspicious sprinkling of what could have been piss, but Brun had been right by my side all along, so I asked him if he did it and he shrugged and wouldn’t say either way, so me the fly trap, the potting mix, and the bulldog got the hell out of there. To be fair to the little guy, it is outside the back of the store and (cover your ears Brun) he is just a dog, when all is said and done. Also to be equally fair to the little guy, it may have been water from one of the pots plants.

Brun hesitated at the entrance to the lift. Sniff, sniff at the crack in the lift floor. The tradies banked up with a laugh.

“They don’t do what they don’t want to do?” suggested the cute blond tradie in shorts and work boots.

“If they really don’t want to do something, they sit down and you can’t shift them,” I replied.

The cute tradie smiled with, what I can only say was, admiration.
I put the fly trap out the back, and not one fly has gone near it.

I left the potting mix in the hallway, and Sam complained about it when he came home for lunch. He cooked green curry. Heated it up, whatever, it was nice.

Now, Buddy and Brun and I are sitting in front of the fan together. Last year, we bought one of those super fans so we are being blasted with volumes of fresh cool air.

The thing I like best about a hot day is watering the garden late at night. When I had a convertible car, I used to like driving that at night on a hot day, but I haven’t had a convertible car for a long time now, they just don’t seem worth it, because on a hot sunny day, the last thing I want is a car without a roof, on a hot sunny day I was a roof over me and really good air conditioning cooling me.

Car Parks and Aardvarks

Late in the morning, I headed to Abbotsford to do some shopping.

I wanted to park in the side street next to the shops I wanted to visit, the big Salvos, I love a bit of old tatt when I have a few hours to waste, but there were no car spaces, so I stopped under the tree in the street and waited for someone to go, as I was in no real hurry. (How fast do you have to waste hours?)

It is a dead end and quite a few cars came down turned around and left again, as I waited, all looking for somewhere to park.

I had to wait for about 10 minutes, maybe not quite. There was a guy waiting in his car, seemingly reading the newspaper. Eventually, his wife came along with her shopping, he'd clearly been waiting while she shopped. He gave me a bit of a look, as he folded his newspaper and pulled his seatbelt back on.

As this was going on, a woman swanned into the side street in her large, white four wheel drive, did the u-turn and was heading out again when the old guy started up and pulled out of his spot heading to the dead end to turn around. At that point, the woman in the four wheel drive pulled up and put her car into reverse intending to back into the car spot, I presumed. So, I pulled around behind her, with a toot of my horn, and block her from taking the car spot ahead of me.

The woman drove off, the old guy drove off, and I took his car spot.

Later, I was picking Sam up for lunch to go eat Hong Kong food. I headed to the car after buying nothing and pulled a note from under the windscreen wiper, You are a pig of a human being.

You are kidding me, I thought. And you know, the thing that annoyed me more than anything, was that she will be saying to her friends that she had a car park stolen from her. She’ll be dining out on her ignorance, I thought. Men are pigs. Yap, yap, yap. I could hear it all.

My mind reeled with answers, she was a girl of larger proportions, after all, but I couldn’t make pejorative remarks, despite being a pig of a human being, apparently. One would think that would give me the right, being a pig, but we are now post-politically-correct. So, I whipped the note over and wrote, Your self focus is pretty much what is wrong with the world today.

I popped that under her windscreen wiper and I headed off to pick up Sam for lunch.

... no, there were no aardvarks, I just liked the rhyme, although, the lady four wheel drive driver may have had a large pig like snout to sniff out carparks, you know, if I squinted my eyes just so.

Theidiot

Oh dear theidiot and mum are in at the same time, and I go from peace and quiet to mind bending stupidity in a matter of seconds.

Yap yap yap yap yap.

Theidiot is complaining about the tram, as she does every morning when she gets in. Every morning it is the same story.

She is complaining about the fact her coffee shop no longer supplies take away cups. "It's $2 what is their problem," rages theidiot. "The world has gone mad, I tell you."

She doesn’t quite get it, she doesn’t quite get a lot of things. And I now have to listen to it.

Theidiot pronounces ask incorrectly. (I mean, do I have to say more?)

She got moved to in front of me after the most recent renovations. Open plan offices, you have to love them. Theidiot and her off sider Mum. (I have pet names for everyone I work with)

Theidot is complaining about the earth extinction protesters. Then comes the inevitable, get jobs and stop inconveniencing the rest of us.

Yesterday, theidiot was on the phone.

"OMG scary music, it's too loud," she squeals about hold music on the phone. "With a trumpet in my ear, and you know how much I love trumpets."

"Yes," says mum.

"Just no." Theidiot’s inane laugh is almost the most annoying thing. “Just no!” (Laughing like a moron after everything you have said doesn’t make what you said any less moronic)

We had nonstop complaining about the hold music, then when whoever answered,

"Hi Linda? This is… um…” inane laugh. “I don't know who I am today." More inane laughing. She actually revels in being an idiot.

Later in the day, Theidiot scoffs at some story about a company’s/bosses going to jail if an employee dies/develops an illness/commits suicide.

"What the hell is that about," she says. ""This govt has really lost it, when the Bourke Street guy gets a slap on the wrist."

What? I think. I can't keep my mouth shut any longer. "He went to jail for life, what do you mean?"

"Yes, but why was he out on parole in the first place?"

"I don't know," I answer. "Why was he out on parole?"

"I don't know," she says.

"Well, you'd need to know why he was out on parole before you…"

"I think he assaulted his brother."

"Oh… well… do you mean he was out on bail."

"I don' know, what’s the difference," she laughs her inane laugh. "All I know is this govt has lost it.'

"Why has the govt lost it."

"If I said why I might lose my job too."

"What?" I say. "Um, bail, or parole, are not set by govt, they are set by the courts."

She didn't answer. We didn't speak again.

She yaps on against climate change, she yaps on about the court system being broken, she yaps with her terrible conservative ideas, she yaps on and on and on, shit mostly, always shit, actually. I ignore her always, nearly always, which makes me feel a bit weird letting her misinformation go unchallenged, but keeping my mouth shut is the best way for me to be at work, I have learned that working at the awful, black law firm, Apples, Waterclosets and Northcote. What is it they say about today, the stupid are emboldened and the clever are nervous. But, today, I just couldn't keep quiet.

Mum was talking about the recent hot weather. (You guessed it, she talks about her kids alot. I like mum, though, she’s nice)

"You go out at lunch time," Mum says to theidiot.

"I might not go out at lunch time today. Yesterday, something went up my nose and I got a bit of a blood nose," says theidiot. "And now I am too scared to touch my nose."

“And people still annoy you…” says mum. Oh dear god – do you like the way I use god ironically – don’t encourage it, I think.

"Oh yes, and people annoy me with their walking," says theidiot. "They just stop in front of me and look up." Inane laugh.

I put my headphones on now a days and listen to music. I don’t care, this fool makes my ears bleed otherwise.

Jeff Titan

BigAnge is talking to some of her team about the time she was drunk after a Xmas party with a partner at her old law firm and, I assume a junior lawyer at the time, Jeff Titan.

My ears prick up. Jeff Titan. How many Jeff Titans can there be?

"Jeff would be a QC by now, most likely," says Ange, almost as an after thought.

"Jeff is a magistrate," I say.

BigAnge looks over at me, her eyes widen, her eyebrows rise up. (I wasn’t actually a part of their conversation) "You know Jeff Titan?"

"Yes," I say.

"How do you know Jeff?" asks BigAnge.

I think about my dick in Jeff's arse. "Um, er." I can't lose the image from my mind quick enough. "Ah." Think quicker. "We used to…" no, I can't say that, but that’s how I knew him. I feel my face break into a smile to bide my time.

Ange tilts her head and purses her lips.

Does anyone, actually, know Jeff is gay? "Ah…" He always told me to keep my mouth shut when it came to him, me working in law firms and all. "Um." Nyr, what do I care, Jeff and I don't see each other anymore. "Jeff and I had a thing… once," I stumble. "I guess that is what you'd call it."

BigAnge tilts her head the other way. “You and Jeff?”

“Yeah, it was a long time ago. We were,” I laugh self-consciously, I can hear myself. “Friends with benefits.” There, I’d said it. Oh well, fuck Jeff, he’d pretty much dumped me as a friend, more recently, so what do I care. All is fair in… “He’s some sort of mediation expert with the courts now.”

“I didn’t know Jeff was…”

“Oh, he is, as Xmas,” I say. I’m not even sure I understand that expression, but oddly I like it. Bright and cheery. I could feel my face crease into a big smile. I picture Jeff on all fours in front of me… his hairy arse. He had a way of grunting, deep and low, kind of contained, as though being fucked was a very personal, like it was just him, there, in that moment... “I can vouch for that.”

Suddenly, I think I am getting far too eager to blab. Pull back I think.

BigAnge laughs. “Well, you learn something every day.”

Jeff is a year younger than me. And we look a bit alike, like brothers might. And we have identical dicks, I smile slightly at the thought of telling that to Ange. Oh, could you imagine? I used to fanaticise that he was my little brother, that I was screwing him, my hot little brother… when we were together. Yes, that is where fantasies go, you are surprised, but it is just a fantasy, settle down. And Jeff was sexy and handsome and he looked hot in his red MX5.

Ice Cream

Sam likes to buy ice cream and then he never seems to want to eat it.

“Let’s have some ice cream,” I say. After dinner, when I’ve cleaned the kitchen.

“Oh, no, no, no, not tonight,” says Sam.

“What?” I try not to let my voice squeak with disappointment. “But…”

Sam waggles his finger.

“It’s not just for filling the freezer,” I say.

“You always want to eat it, as soon as we get it.”

“What else is it meant for?”

“Savouring, and enjoying…”

“Yes, but first you have to take it out of the tub,” I say. "That is the very essence of ice cream eating."

Sam Laughs.


Getting ice cream shouldn't be this hard, I think.

Sam always buys chocolate, without exception. It is me who is daring with the flavours, and if I don't choose carefully, wisely, criticism ensues. But, I hardly ever buy it, I hardly ever do the shopping. Sam shops and cooks, and I clean.

I could do an ice cream dance. Arms to one side, arms to the other side, hips in opposite direction. Ff ff, ff ff, ff ff, ff ff.

I could pull my most adorable face. See how cute I am. Yeah, no, nothing.

And funnily enough, not doing anything often works the best. It is when I completely forget about the frozen dairy treat in the freeze that Sam will say, "We have ice cream." Then there is no objection, there is no tutt tutt tutting, then it is clear sailing to the freezer and the desert bowls.

Sam will always add fruit, strawberries, or blueberries, where he pulls them from I have no idea.

Do you think it is a control issue?

Sam is ice cream in charge and I shouldn’t forget it.

Al

 

Gay 101

“What did you mean before?”

“What do you think I meant?”

He shrugged “I think I know…”

“What?”

“I want to hear you say it.”

“Say it?”

“Yeah.”


"Say it?'

"Yeah."

"Say wha..?"

"It."

"G..."

"Say it, I won't bite," he said. "That is unless you want me to."


"Gay? What do you think?”

He shifted uncomfortably on his feet.

That was unexpected.

"Do you mean.” He grimaced. “Sucking cock gay?"

"Well, it is a good place to start, although I always think that kissing is probably a better place to start."

"Oh, yeah, right."

I shrugged and rolled my hands in the air.

"Shouldn't you shave first?"

"Oh, I didn't actually mean me."

"Oh." I'm sure he looked disappointed. Or was that relief? It is hard to know when you are gazing into such beautiful eyes. I guess I should have been flattered.

I shrugged. "Okay then." I held my arms out. He looked scared. He closed his eyes. "I think we need to look into each other's eyes, as we do it."

"Really?" He sounded alarmed.

Gay 101. "Sure. It's easy."

"It's easy for you to say."

"Trust me."


He laughed, kind of self consciously. "Trust you?" He laughed again. “And I wake up in 12 hours in a strange house with no pants on.”

“Now you are getting the idea.”

His eyes widened noticeably. “What?”

“It’s a joke,” I said. “A little gay humour.”

“I’m not going to wake up in some strange house with no pants on, am I?” Still with big eyes.

“What?” I said. It was adorable, I had to admit it. Secretly, a small part of me wanted to keep him in that state. “What do you think, I have Poison Ivy’s poisonous lips on, or something.”

“Poison Ivy lips?”

“Yes. I mean no…”

“From the plant?”

“Batman and Robin…”

“Huh?” He looked like he was beginning to hyperventilate.

I held my hands in mid air to say stop. “I think we are getting a little off track here.”

“Yes,” he said in barely contained hysteria.

“You need to breath,” I said. “Come on. Breath in… good… breath out… that’s it.”

He breathed in and out rhythmically.


"Just kiss like you are kissing a girl."

"Don't say that."

That seemed like a strange thing to say "Why?"

"Because..."

"Because why?"

"I don't want to think about girls when... um... when... er... it is a boy I want to kiss."

I took that as a compliment.


I closed my arms around him and pulled him to me until we were only centimetres apart. "I’ve got you this far, haven’t I?" I moved my face towards him, he closed his eyes. My lips touched his, they were soft and warm and moist. Yeah... baby, I thought. He kissed back gently, tentatively, he was a natural. I pulled his body against mine and he relaxed in my arms. He tasted sweet, he felt big and solid in my arms. He smelt sweet, clean. His hair shined, his fringe was full and healthy. I rubbed the side of my face against his, he felt smooth.

“Your face is rough with stubble.”

“Sorry,” I said.

“No.” He smiled. “I… kind of like it.”

I slid my tongue into his mouth, which opened gently. His warm, smooth tongue found mine. We kissed passionately as our hands felt each other’s bodies. He wasn’t squeamish when I found the front of his briefs. I’d mesmerised him with my lips and my warm dewy saliva. My warm breath was pacifying him, as his was me. I felt his cock and balls, he didn’t flinch, he didn’t pull away instinctively. It was nice to feel too, he was getting hard, his grey briefs were filling out.

Then he pulled away and stepped back. “Um… er…” was what he said.

“What’s up?”

“I think that is enough…”

“Really?”

“Yep.”

“It seemed like you were liking it.”

He instinctively moved his hands in front of his crotch. “I thought it was just kissing.”

“That is the starting point.”

“I didn’t think you were going to?”

“Going to?”

He motioned down his body.

“Really? What did you think was going to happen?”

“I don’t know,” he said.

"Where do you think kissing leads?"

"I don't know," he said. "I was concentrating on kissing you."

"That's good," I said. "You keep thinking about that... and... I'll do the rest."

He looked nervous.

"Kissing is the first step," I said. "Do you think gay guys only kiss?"

"I don't know what gay guys do?"

"That's what we are exploring..."

"I thought we were kissing."

"We are, but if you have got that far, then we are getting close to what you thought in the beginning."

“Sucking cock gay?”

“Okay, I think you’ve got the idea, let’s start at the beginning.”

Little Johnny

 

David Leaves

Late in the afternoon we’re home and David is a mess. Crying. His voice comes down from upstairs, asking Sam to go and get him some serapax for his nerves. Again, so much for rehab. Sam also gets him a pork roll. David never says no to food.


“Is she is doing all of this just to get that reaction? LOOK AT ME! LOOK AT ME. I AM A MESS,” I say.

“I am a mess gets her more attention than anything else,” says Sam

“She’s a mess because she has no staff to do everything for her,” I say. “She is spoilt, she hates packing.”

“Well? Is it my problem?” says Sam

“No… nor mine,” I say.

“Yes, it’s your problem!!!” says Sam.

“Everyone thinks you are the nice one.”


David appears at the lounge room door, “Do you have any more toilet paper?” Really? I nearly laughed, he consumes toilet paper at the same rate as he consumes food, but I’m sure he wasn’t in the mood for me laughing.

I get the toilet paper for him.

A little while later, David is at the lounge room door. “I can’t do this.” I take him in hand. “Let me help.”

“I think I should just cancel my 7pm flight and go tomorrow.”

“What do you need to pack?” I’m not having his nonsense. He really didn’t have that much to pack. He has never liked packing, that is why he so often gets other people to do it for him.

He is nearly packed. He is crying. I get his packing finished. A couple of bags to go, some of which he simply had to put in the boot of his car out the front.

“Now call an Uber.” He bursts into tears.

He called an Uber. He is standing in the street looking pathetic.

We poured him into the black Camry and sent him to the airport.

David finally went at 5.30pm.

We ate sausages and mash for dinner.

I fell asleep on the couch for a few hours.

We went to bed at 11pm.

Bruns Balls, David's Addictions

I take Brun to the vet, he has scaly balls. My normal vet is booked out, so I take him to our second, emergency, vet. It is a bit further to drive, but still cheaper than the vet in Fitzroy. The vet I see is Scottish, and I truely can't understand every second word she says. I have to keep asking her to repeat what she is saying.

Brun gets nappy rash cream, I feel weird rubbing it into his balls, but, what can you do?

David is in the kitchen when I get home from the vet inhaling food. All I can hear is the coffee machine continually whining into action. David has quadruple shots.

"That's not drinking coffee," I tell him, "that is swapping one addiction for another."

It’s like living with locusts.

He slips quietly back to his room. I haven’t really seen him, he has been sleeping for the most part, and when he is not sleeping he asking for food.

David Comes to Stay

David came to stay. He's been back from overseas for a few weeks and he's been squirrelled away, nobody has seen him, which always spells trouble. I casually mention he could come and stay here if things got too much for him, so, of course, he did.

He's been staying in a hotel, as he sold his house before he headed overseas earlier in the year, finally going to decide where he really wants to live. He's planning to rent houses in various locations and when he decides where he wants to live, he'll buy himself a house. He has always complained about the cold in Melbourne and wants to live somewhere warmer, except he is never in Melbourne for winter.

The truth is he's been overseas, for the last few years anyway, tending to his sycophants. He was away for eight months last year working, 3 months of which he has been in drug rehab in Asia. Apparently, drug rehab in Asia is very big for the high flyers, as everyone thinks they are just having a holiday from their busy schedules.

(Don’t forget, most drug addicts are fully employed earning money so they can afford that lifestyle. Don’t believe what conservative politician tell you)

David is terrified his clients will find out about him, being the health guru that he is. An internationally respected health and spirituality guru that people flock to. I've had friends tell me they are going to a famous lifestyle guru, only to have them tell me it is David, whose name they speak of in reverential tones.

"Oh god, luv, I met another one who thinks you are a guru..."

"And what did you say to them?" David always replies with a distinct tone of alarm.

You get the picture.

Well, apparently, he had his drug dealer on speed dial as the plane came into land in Melbourne two weeks ago, and he has been off chops ever since.

So, he moved into our spare room telling us he could no longer trust himself.

"So," I ventured, "The 35K in Thailand was money well spent? Darling." Drug rehab doesn't come cheap.

No, he just doesn't get it at all. Apparently, it is all a process, and he'll just have to live with it for the rest of his life.

"Don't you need a little more will power, even to get to the end of the runway before you think about messaging your Guido for a hit?"

He just looks at me blankly.

"It will always be a struggle," he manages feebly.

I have to leave work early to go to the council to get him a parking permit for his car.

French Guy

 

Laneway

 

Tower

 

Man on the Tram

cute boy, face like a pretty bulldog

Jam & Toast

Hot toast, plenty of butter and lashings strawberry jam, so the jam and the butter kind of coagulates... as yum as that sounds. No, but it is yum. Oil and water, perhaps, and the butter floats on the surface of the jam. Yum, yum. It is the best thing in the world.

Did I tell you I like putting butter, honey, and then butter on warm wholemeal toast? I call it my special honey toast. It is only for the occasional occasion. Butter so it melts into the toast, then a generous covering of honey, then butter knifed into the honey, which doesn’t completely melt. Mmmm, mmm!

The strawberry jam and butter is for morning tea. Although, in my case, it should be called morning coffee. (Coffee in the morning, tea in the evening.) Did you know how many strawberry jams you can get from the shops? I have been trying them all, and there is one that comes from New Zealand which I like the most. Fresh and bright just like New Zealand itself.

Brun

I've been taking Brun places with me, because he likes to go places with me, where Buddy will only leave the house if it is both Sam and me.

It is nice to have a dog to walk again.

Everyone calls him Buddy, and when I correct them, "That's Brun." They say they can't tell them apart.

"That's the puppy?"

“That's the puppy." I'm surprised they can't tell them apart.

"He's got big, hasn't he."

"That's what puppies do. He's 8 months old now."

"He's only 8 months old?"

"He is."

"He's going to be big, isn't he?"

Now, bulldogs aren't big dogs when they are fully grown. They are medium sized dogs.

"Um... oh... maybe. He will probably just fill out now." He still looks like a puppy to me.

“Look at the size of his paws.”

He does have big paws.

“He’s as big as Buddy now?”

“He’s as tall as Buddy, but not as stocky... not yet.”

Scumo Dumbo

Did our Prime Minister, that idiot Scott Morrison, just embarrass himself on a world stage?

Um… that would be a yes.

He addressed the UN saying the media had got the Liberal Party's environmental record all wrong, when the UN knows damn well that the Liberal Party has no environmental policies.

The Liberal Party are still a party of climate change deniers.

Scumo is so used to lying to the Australian people that he can't any longer recognise the time when he should tell the truth.

The UN knows damn well what the Liberal party’s environmental record is. Talk about make a fool of yourself, Scumo.

Get Out In The World

The sun is shining, the sky is blue. Time to shut down my computer and head outside. Do something real. Go for a walk. Suck all that fresh air into my lungs. Absorb all of that sunshine. Lovely.

Walk, skip, run.

(Oh what fun)

There is no substitute for the sun’s rays on your skin, the fish air against your face, and the cool dirt between your toes.

Talk to real people... oh, hang on, let's not get too carried away with all of this.

Ha ha.

Seriously, when was the last time you ran? I think that most of us give up running at a relatively young age.

Gorgeous Weather

Take the dogs for a walk early. Buddy off his lead says hello to everyone he meets. Out in the spring day. Lovely.

Some guy is at the dog park nervous when any dog comes near his staffy, so we keep walking. there are two kinds of staffy owners, it is the dickhead variety you have to avoid.

I write for the rest of the day, one of the bulldogs usually in my lap.

Bruised Finger

It really fucken hurt

If your dog's harness has a very useful elastic strap, be careful to grab it properly, when you grab hold of him. Don't miss grabbing it badly with one finger allowing the elastic strap to somehow snap back on your finger, because it really, really fucken hurts. It was that kind of pain that just got worse and worse and worse as the minutes passed. The pain just didn't subside until I got home and applied ice, only then did the agony plateau.

Fools in the Liberal Govt

We had a member of the worst government in Australia's history, the Morrison Govt, Craig Kelly, stand up in parliament and say man made climate change is rubbish. That's right, a member of our current govt stood up in parliament and said man made climate change doesn't exist.

What Does A Balanced Budget Mean?

The worst Australian government in Australian history, the Morrison government, yaps on about the budget being in surplus. The fact that it is the current account they are referring to, like who cares. The fact that the economy is tanking isn't mentioned. And they are calling it balanced when, in fact, it is in the smallest of deficits.

But my point is, people nod and say, "Look at that, the Libs have balanced the budget, finally."

But how many of those people nodding sagely actually know what it means?

They only think it is a good thing because the conservative politicians continually tell them it is a good thing. But that is just conservative political ideology (translation – the wants and desires of the very rich who give the Liberal Party money), nothing much to do with the good of the country. You know unless you are rich and successful the Liberal Party doesn’t give a shit about you, actually, the Liberal party despises you. And some of those people they despise continue to vote for them.

A surplus budget, by its very definition, has to take services away from the people, or fails to supply new services to the public, because the Liberal Government, driven by ideology, has refuse to spend the surplus money on the needs of the people for who it is, allegedly, working.

What is the true ideology of the Liberal party, to reduce government spending more and more, more and more surplus budgets, so that the govt departments can be closed down and given to their rich mates to run instead. The power companies are a good example here. Or, govt spending is reduced to such an extent, the govt business isn’t a competitor for the Liberal Parties rich mates, the NBN being a prime example.

On The Couch

This is Buddy, but you get the picture

I lay on the couch all day and watched Elite, the Spanish Netflix series about the rich school kids. Has there ever been a more beautiful cast? I don't think so. OMG. Every one of them. Fuck me up the arse, Jesus…! And a number of the boys aren’t backward in giving it to each other. Woof.

Brun has the sniffles too. Told you we were simpatico! I googled what to do about him, as I did not feel like going out to the vet and google didn't seem to be too hysterical about him having a snotty nose. Keep him warm and quiet and let him rest. Don't do any exercise. See your vet if symptoms persist.

Define 'persist', I thought.

It seemed to be the same course of action for both of us. Lie on the couch with your owner and keep your nose moist.

I lay on the couch covered in my jade green blanket, and Brun lay cuddled up between my legs. That is how we spent the day. He snores for most of it. I may have drifted off to sleep and joined him in the snoring stakes, maybe. I can’t remember.

Apart from the unwell feeling, I quite like that drained feeling, if all you have to do is lie on the couch, it is all comforting, oddly.

Still Sick

I still feel sick. I have a shitty cough.

I took Brun to the dog park to chase ball, the sun was shining and you have to leave house sometime when you are sick, it is just good for you. (As much as leaving the house and mixing with the stupid people is ever good for you)

I toss the ball across the park as soon as we get there, and Brun is right on it, of he hares across the green grass. Just a little bull obsessed is my little guy. (No so little any more)

I throw the ball as soon as Brun drops it, and he is off again, charging across the green,

Third throw, same story.

Forth throw, as fast as his short red legs would carry him.

Then there was a look, after he dropped the ball. Then another look.

“Er!”

“What’s up little guy?”

“Er!”

“You okay?”

Brun vomited up his breakfast after that. There was his soften chow laid out in a phlegm mouse. He looked up at me, sad face. But, not to worry, Coco rushed in and ate his sick right up again, so don't worry, num, num, num.

Oh, I'm guessing it was too soon after breakfast for him, actually, but I'll take it as a simpatico move. You unwell, I’m unwell. I’m sick just at the thought of you being sick.

Paw-5.

Now, if I could just stop dry coughing.

Home Sick

I was home from work today. Brun and I lay on the couch and watched Netflix. Buddy stayed in his kennel, as Buddy does. I didn’t feel like doing anything else.

Funny, how there is always a bit of guilt staying home sick, there is some anxiety. I shouldn't be doing this, just a feeling, somewhere in the back of one's mind. I find it weird, there is always that slight feeling and when I think about it, it is like trying to see things in my peripheral vision, it just slips out of reach every time. (12th Oct – OMG! What bullshit. I don’t feel guilty about taking a sick day. I’m like a pig rolling in shit on a day home from work… I think what I am trying to say is that I only take sick days when I am sick, so I am always feeling poorly when I am home sick)

I struggled with Netflix. I always struggle with Netflix. Too many choices. There is so much to choose from it takes me forever to think I have made the best choice. And then I can't settle on anything as I am always thinking I want to watch something else. FOMO to be sure. Too many choices always seem to morph into indecision. FOMO is a 21-century illness, and I am not immune. 

I'm Sick

I'm home sick. I thought I was teflon coated, as everyone was getting sick around me, and I never came down with it. I walked through with wings of steal. But alas…

You see, Sam had it last week, and it was he who bought it into the house, and now I have it, thank you Sam. It is hard to avoid it when you are sleeping with it.

Grrrrrr!

I woke up last night a couple of times with the thought, I feel like I am getting a cold. Fucking hell, what a bitch!

I went to work, but it was no good. The feeling of getting a sore throat persisted. The feeling of an imminent cold rang through me.

Then the loss of energy started, you know that kind of tiredness, and I thought I should go home and stop giving it to other people. (Do you like that, sounds good, huh?) The truth is, even though I don’t take may sick days, I’m just a slut for a sick day the moment I feel sick.

I left at 11.11am. I timed that deliberately. Skid marks on the carpet where I took off out the door.

Still, it is lovely to be walking home at midday when the sun is shining. You know, look for the bright side. That lovely sunny midday feeling, it is the very definition of relaxed.

Chuckle

Spring

The first day of spring, lovely. It is always a glorious day of the year. In the best month of the year, what’s more, better than any other month. The sun shone, and late in the afternoon the rain fell, such spring weather, you've got to love it. Heat, moisture. Sunshine, rain. But mostly the sun shone and the sky was blue.

The changing of the seasons. The changing of the guard. Old Man Winter shleps off as Lovely Mr Spring dances into view.

“Sashay away,” Lovely Mr Spring says to Old Man Winter.

I love the difference, it is great to feel the change.

Alive!

Nothing much in this modern world is designed to make us feel alive, in fact most things are designed to make us fearful. A happy society never did any political party any good, nobody to save from evil. (the fact that most politicians around the world are “the evil” is the irony here) So, when the sky turns blue and the sun shines down crisp and clean, take a moment to feel alive.

Such a gorgeous sunrise

Pink Woman

 

Red Ferrari

 

Religious Discrimination Laws, and Other Fabricated Problems

In the Dog Park

It was a glorious morning, day off number 2 for the week. I don't even want to work the 3 days that I do, but I can do my job with my eyes closed now a days, so it seems stupid to give it up. Of course, being able to do your job with your eyes closed could be argued to be a good reason to get a new job, however... I now have the easiest job in the world and still I don't want to do it, what is wrong with me?

Oh, working seems so last century, don’t you think? Certainly working 9 to 5, 5 days a week. Oh, work if it gives you a sense of purpose, by all means, but surely there is a better way.

We should all be perusing artistic pursuits with the same gusto that fuels the fear of losing our jobs.

Don’t you think? The world would be a much nicer place, certainly. Sure, it would. It would have to.

Anyway,

Off to the dog park just after breakfast. Brun and I threw ball in the sun, with the other dogs. Buddy slept on the couch with the sun coming through the window. Buddy’s, shall we say, idiosyncrasies won’t allow him to leave the house unless his full pack is present, which, of course, includes Sam, so in Brun it is nice to have a dog now that I can walk.

We threw ball for about an hour. The sun shone. It was a glorious winter's day. The other owners threw balls for their dogs. They all sniff and play and jump about, as if they are friends. I guess they are friends. Who knows what dogs think.

I like the chick with the Boston Terrier called Nola, we chat naturally, she is easy to talk to. She seems cool.

The Vizsla that normally comes with the woman in the evenings is there with her cute son in track pants. I return his dog’s ball to him several times and smile sweetly at him. Only I know the basis of the sweet smile. Oh, come on, he’s pretty. And it is just a smile, nothing more.

I have great sympathy for the woman who can’t catch one of her two dogs. I can see it is really frustrating when that happens. Her dog has another dog’s ball and doesn’t to give it back so he doesn’t want to be caught. Its owner is really frustrated and leaves the park with her other dog but the recalcitrant dog doesn’t really fall for it and the owner is still unable to catch it. Eventually, the dog sits close to Nola’s owner, who just casually bends down and grabs him.

We walk home after about an hour, when Brun looks like he has had enough of chasing the ball, you know, when I throw it and he looks in the direction the ball went and then looks back at me, and I have to be enthusiastic about him going to get it so he goes and gets it, so I don’t have to walk all the way across the park to get it. The sun shines, a gentle breeze blows, lovely Friday.

Then the two of us have a snooze on the couch. That’s what days off are for, after all.

Brun Chasing Ball

First day off of the week. The sun shone. (It is all sweetness and light when I don’t have to go to the salt mines) Brun and I headed to the dog park and threw ball. Brun is ball obsessed at the moment, very keen is he. Lots of people are amazed to see an English Bulldog run. Brun and I think that is exceedingly rude. They laugh and think it is the funniest thing, which kind of compounds their rudeness. Brun and I roll our eyes when they aren't looking. English Bulldogs can run... when they want to.

Brun was making friends with a couple of rescue dogs who were only just venturing out with their new owners for the first time. Everybody was having a lovely time. The new owners were very pleased that one of the rescues let me pat him.

Then the park nemesis, Cain, a little wiry terrier, turned up. Suddenly there he was right in the middle of everything.

"Oh, Mr Cain," I said. I could see he owner Mr Chatty approaching. I was thinking I haven't seen Cain for ages. I was thinking is Cain going to behave himself. I was thinking should I grab Brun and tell the rescue dog owners to beware? Buddy and Cain get on okay, Buddy ignores Cain and Cain leaves Buddy alone. But Buddy is a big, mature bulldog for who turning the other cheek is quite easy. I was thinking all of this when Cain, true to form, attacked Brun.

Mr Chatty had go to us by then and he put Cain on his lead and said, "That's unusual for Cain to do that?"

What? I thought.

He meant attack Buddy. "This is Brun," I said. I don't think Mr Chatty really understood that Brun wasn't Buddy. I don't think he really understood that I had a different dog. I have never been completely convinced of Mr Chatty's mental capacity, shall we say. Vietnam Vet, conservative voter, not that I asked, thinks everyone on the dole is a dole bludger, again, not that I asked, can talk until ones ears bleed.

“It’s been a while,” he said.

At that point, Brun and I left. "Time to go," I said.

"Good to see you," said Mr Chatty.

"Um... er... yes," I said. I couldn't manage anything other than that.

Mr Chatty is in complete denial about Cain. He has upset many people at the dog park with Cain's bad behaviour. As Brun and I walked away, I glanced back and saw he had taken Cain off his lead again. Complete denial, I thought.

I felt bad for the rescue dog owners, who were at the edge of the park by now by the drinking fountain, so I gave them a run down on Cain. I could see that as I was chatting to them about Cain and Mr Chatty that as I looked over at them, Mr Chatty was looking at us. I wonder if his ears were burning?

Lovely Day

It was a beautiful spring day. Winter is on its way out. The mornings are brighter and lighter, that makes them feel busier, even if they aren't. I think we all blossom when the light is plentiful, when the dark lifts. The sun shone today and the sky was blue. I wore a t-shirt for the first time in weeks. Light and the sun makes us happier. Smile. Let the light in.

Cancer

My best friend left me, does that say he wasn't a best friend at all? Because, surely, a best friend would never leave you, they'd be by your side until the end. That must be true? That is what clarifies the 'best' in best friend, surely. A best friend would never leave you.

I feel let down. I now have to go through life without a best friend. I have to head towards old age without the guy who understood me the best, standing next to me, supporting me when I am right, telling me quietly when I am wrong, carrying his share of our collective history with him, as I carry my share. I now have to go it alone.

Nobody to say to, remember when we did whatever, or so and so did that, or whoever failed at that?

Remember when?

I remember too?

It went like this.

No, it went like that.

Really, like that?

Yes, yes, just like that.

You know, I think you are right.

What happened when?

This is what happened.

Oh, yes, so it did.

Now that is all gone. He carried more than half of our collected history, so more than half has gone, because our shared memories bought us to life. Our shared memories are more than the sum of their parts, they bought life, and pizzazz, and brightness, and truth to the memories being remembered.

You left me before you joined Facebook, funny to think now that there was a life before Facebook, but that was where you left me, before you joined up. And you would have loved Facebook, it was designed just with you in mind. All that time on your hands, to chat and put your opinions out there for everyone to see, you would have loved it. And you just missed it. Is that what they mean by sliding doors moments? Is that what they mean?

You were so strong and vital and unique, you would have owned social media, but you didn't make it, blinking out just as social media blinked into life. Blink, blink. Lights, action. Silence.

We could have had such fun, so much more fun, but no, it wasn't to be, your blood turned against you. And you didn't hold up your side of this bargain we call life. You were supposed to be here still, but you are not. You and me. Not.

I'd love to see you again, even just once, to explain everything that has happened. I'd love to see the look on your face, and hear your take on it all.

“Donald trump is president.”

“What the fuck.”

The smartest man I ever knew.


The smartest men I’ve ever known? One is dead, one is insane, and one moved far, far away. I’m getting short on smart friends. And you were possibly the smartest.

We laughed, we played, we partied, we schemed, we gossiped, we played tricks, we were mean just to amuse each other. We dreamed. We were going to write our lives together. We had fun, more fun than most people were ever allowed to have, we always thought. So much fun.

Gone. Like the nights I went to the Camberwell library with my dad. Gone. Like holidays at the sea water skiing. Gone. Like happy school days. Gone, gone, gone. Like Oscar my dog. Gone. Like our youth. Gone.

You went and left me. I found a new love, Sam, you would like him. You never met him. I never got to see you and Sam. Sam would like you, would have liked you. Never to meet, even if Sam and I live until we are 100 years old. 120. 130. You are never coming back. You two are never going to meet.

I miss you every day.

Global Warming

I just got our first load of fire wood delivered for the year. Usually, by now, we'd be having our second ton of fire wood delivered for the winter.

Sure, we had some left over from last year, but that was only the back of a hatchback's worth. There was a shortage at the end of last year and we couldn't get the usual delivery, so I bought $50 worth from Thomastown, and we had a small pile left over from that. We still have some of that left now, we are not completely out, in fact, we'd probably had enough to get through to the end of this winter.

But now we have a full delivery setting us up for next winter, which will have dried out nicely by then. In fact, judging by this year, the delivery we got today may last us for a couple of years, if global warming keeps up its cracking pace. (cross your fingers)

We'd normally be having a fire every night, Melbourne winter's being what they are, but we haven't had that. We haven't even burnt through what we had left over from last year, as I said. There have been many fireless nights around the teli.

We haven't had a fire every night of winter, which is the norm, and that is a first for us, unheard of for Melbourne. Ask someone from Sydney? (Whining fucken Sydneysiders) So, this winter is the warmest we've had, I don't have to wait for the inevitable post mortem to be released to know that.

And kudos to the wood guys. It was pouring with rain at the time they were meant to be delivering, and they called and said they’d be arriving in 10 minutes with the wood. I mean, it was belting down. It had stopped raining by the time he got here, as it turned out.

A new blonde boy was the driver, I hadn’t seen him before. A big solid 20 something year old. Cute, beard, a bit of a snowflake on the quiet. My next door neighbour cracked a joke as he was backing up the ute. He wanted to be offended, thought it was a quip about his driving. (You know that equates to dick size, or something) I assured him it was not something with which to get offended, and he relaxed. He had a sweet laugh. He seemed like a nice guy. I don’t know what the angst was all about.

But I digress. Not even a full delivery of fire wood burnt this year. It is unheard of.

Death

That concept of never seeing someone ever again after they die is a really hard idea to grasp. Gone. Forever. It is like visualising infinity. Or understanding the distance to Pluto.

Gone.

Forever.

As long as you may live.

Time keeps ticking. Days keep passing. Years keep ending. Decades keep disappearing. Centuries roll over. Millenia change. The earth keeps spinning silently in space.

No wonder people invented supernatural beings and myths and legends and gods and monsters, to fill in the gaps in their understanding, to explain truths to huge to grasp.

It has to be something super natural, because it is beyond our comprehension.

And 2000 years ago, one could understand why we did that, especially. We were all illiterate and ignorant back then, grappling with concepts even the most learned can’t process now.

It is mind boggling, sure.

However, how do people still choose illiterate cave dwelling ignorance over fact and science by which to live their lives today.

The last state in Australia is in the middle of legalising abortion, and the usual religious nutjobs have oozed out of the wood work to try and stop the process by any means, lie, with whatever they can. (Their delusion is powerful)

The concept is very simple, if you don't believe in abortion don't have one. It really is that simple. But what makes these people believe they can impose their beliefs on everyone else. Yeah, I don’ know. I’m guessing that they have such a tenuous hold on their (what are nonsensical, after all) religious beliefs, that they need to make others, at least appear to, believe their nonsense to bolster their own beliefs.

It's not 2CE any more people. You don't need your gods any more, let them go, they are redundant. And those people who may seek an abortion in the future don't care what you think. Not a wit. You are just making a nuisance of yourselves, like eczema, or blowflies.

Newspaper headline, Annie Called Police 19 Times Before She Stabbed Her Husband, Now She Is Facing Jail

Annie stands by the telephone table, receiver between her head and her shoulder. She jabs at the buttons on the phone with her finger as she dials the number.

There is a moaning sound.

(Pan back.) There is a man hog tied in front of the couch.

"Okay, okay, I'm up to number 18," says Annie. She jabs at the buttons with her chubby fingers again. “There, number er 19. Still no answer." She shrugs. She can feel her eyes open really wide. She exhales so seriously it nearly hurts.

She grabs a 30 centimetre knife from the couch.

"Number 19," she says. "Number 19, you know what that means," she repeats. The man starts to moan more loudly, more desperately. “There is nothing left to do.” She moves closer to the tied body. “It is beyond my control.” He moans more loudly. Annie brings the knife back level with her shoulder. “I’ve got to do it.” Annie plunges the knife through the man's back. He stops moaning instantly, there is a rushing sound of air. “I had to do it.” He makes a faint gurgling sound, momentarily. Then there is silence.

Annie lets go of the knife.

Strawberry Jam

My snack de jour is toast with strawberry jam, and coffee, of course. Everything is better with coffee, that goes without saying.

I've had a liking for strawberry jam ever since cute French Leo stayed with us. He made great strawberry jam, half fruit and half sugar and whatever else boiled up in a big pot. He made so much that he let me eat some of it for breakfast, or lunch which is when I tend to eat jam toast. His strawberry jam was sweet and tart and flavoursome. It had a lovely stiff texture, I mean, thick texture.

I'm still talking about, actual, strawberry jam, you understand, I have not strayed in to euphemism.

Although, I am sure Leo would have had sweet, sweet jam. Actually, I have never liked the taste of it, to tell you the truth, so I don't think sexy Leo would have had sweet... no, I’m not talking about strawberry jam any longer…

Can you imagine if men… came strawberry jam? Imagine how that would be transformative... well, it would have been for me. It would have help greatly as I grew up gay. Imagine all the knobs with which I'd want to have seen it through to the end. Imagine gobbling up that? You know, instead of spitting it at them and calling them pigs.

Chuckle. Oh… I have done that. Pfffff! “You dirty pig!”

He takes another bite of his toast and he sips his coffee.

But I digress, thick wholemeal bread, lashings of butter and that smooth, smooth strawberry jam, with just the right amount of tart to make the coffee wash done sublime after every bite. It is my very favourite thing, de jour.

Love