Wet Sunday

Shower early. Go shopping. Breakfast food needed to be got. Purchased. Procured. I am out of my track pants and explorer socks and hoodie, it almost feels a bit weird to be in jeans and a jumper that doesn’t have any holes in it.

9.25am. We head off to The Hive (shopping centre) in the rain. The streets are deserted, nobody is around, it is a ghost town outside. Lockdown and heavy winter are taking their toll. It is bleak, grey, the day is colourless. The rain hasn’t stopped since yesterday, since Friday. We mask up before we go, of course, strange times indeed. It is cold, uninviting, and the morning is silver with moisture.

We get a park right out the front. I love it when Jill is with me, you always get a park out the front, she says. It almost seems to be a waste to get a park right out the front if no one is there to appreciate it. Sam doesn’t care, he doesn’t drive, so he doesn’t understand.

We walk around Aldi. Sam is taking his sweet time, I try to hurry him up.

“A quick shop is a good shop,” I say. He doesn’t react.

“Let’s get what we need and go.” He keeps browsing the shelves unhurried.

“I’m going to look at the junk bins in the middle of the shop.” I’m hungry.

Why do some guys look so good in tracksuit pants? I ask you? Tall and blond and athletic, I suppose, has a lot to do with it. Damn, that is a fine piece of mea… er, man.

I take stuff to the car, as Sam goes to Woollies for juice, which Aldi didn’t have. “Aldi doesn’t have juice?” I question. He heads off to Woollies without answering. (I’ve never liked Aldi)

I stand in the centre’s doorway, like I normally would when I have Buddy and Brun with me and start writing some journal notes in my phone. Some aboriginal girl asks me for money, which I try to ignore, but she is insistent, asking louder and louder until I have to react. “No, sorry,” I say. She doesn’t look underfed, I think. Oh, I’m just cranky, remember, I haven’t had breakfast yet.

Things still hurt, my chest and my back. My feet are still hum, at times. David said the other day he didn’t expect middle age ailments to hit quite so hard, or so early. I shudder at the suggestion. Ah life? What is there to say about it now?

10.15am and still shopping. I sit on the seat at the front of Woollies and wait for Sam, and write some more of my journal. When I see him come into the self-service checkout, I text him. “Look over your right shoulder.” He gazes around like Stevie Wonder until he sees me, then he smiles.

I ferry more bags out to the car, running in the rain. (Going back to check if I locked the car in an OCD fashion in the rain)

We go to Saigon Village and get fruit. Mandarins and bananas for me. My snack food, now I can’t eat sugar. (I guess I must go to the doctor and get my next blood test to see what my sugar levels are, actually, doing?”)

Sam goes to Minh Phat supermarket and wanders about leisurely. I stand out the front and write some more of my journal. I watch the people passing by.

The rain still falls. The rain hasn’t stopped. It is even colder, and wetter, and greyer. Good thing I like the rain.

I’m even hungrier.

I remember the white bowls I want to buy from Minh Phat, some large white bowls, we seem to have had a Greek wedding with ours lately. They, of course, have every size but the size I want. The size I want is just an empty spot on the shelf. Naturally.

Sam is finally done shopping. We run to the car in the rain. We perform hopscotch in the puddles, or maybe that was just me.

We are home by 10.30am, with the milk for the porridge I was going to make us both, the reason for going early in the first place, but we have ginger and sesame ball soup for breakfast instead, which Sam makes. I could eat the crotch out of a low flying whatever by this stage.

10.50am. I light a fire. A fire in the morning warms the room for the day, and because of lockdown where going to be here for a while.

The rain is still falling. I pull on my track pants and my explorer socks.

I put the old yucca, we chopped down from next door last year, on the fire and it burns well, even if it does smell just a touch, still it is better in flames in the fire place than dropping its leaves in my gutters to block them up when it rains.

We put The Grand Tour on. I cuddle up on the couch with Buddy and Brun.

Midday, the weather clears up a bit, the sun comes out momentarily. Just a touch, just a hint, just a idea of what else it could be.

We watch the Grand Tour all day. Binge watching, that is the sort of weekend that it was, that is the sort of weather we had.

Rainy Saturday

It seems weird to be watching teev at 10am, but that's what kind of day it is, wet and cold. Boy is it wet! Has the rain stopped since yesterday? I think not. So, I have pumped up the open fire, munched down my porridge, with banana and peaches and honey, cuddled up to the baby bulldog... and I have a few series of The Grand Tour to watch, to boot. Sam has been buying things online from Amazon, so we have signed up to Amazon Prime again. Yay.


And after one whole season of The Grand Tour, the sun came out, for what would turn out to be, a millisecond and then Sam was keen to take Buddy and Brun for a walk.

“Really, that is five seconds of blue sky?”

“They need a walk?”

“This is a momentary reprieve from the rain.”

“But what it it’s not?”

“I’m guessing that’s all it is.”

“They need to go for a walk,” said Sam. “They can’t be cooped up inside all day without exercise.”

“No, we’ll just get caught in the rain when it starts again.”

“Yes, we have to take them,” said Sam.

“No,” I said.

“Yes,” said Sam.

“No.”

We got 100 metres up the road and the sun disappeared, it clouded over and the wind picked up. We got another 100 metres up the road and a cold wind blew. We got another 100 metres up the road and Buddy effectively bailed on us, heading across the commission flats parkland to the dog park, so Brun, Sam and I followed. We effectively got another 100 metres along and the rain came down. The dog park squelched under feet, parts of it were under water.

Of course, all the usual faces were in the park, dog people are weird.

“Let’s go,” I said.

We headed for home as the rain got heavier. The far side of the dog park was, pretty much, under water. We tip-toed through, even Brun who hates to get his paws wet. Buddy doesn’t care, he just walks straight through anything, mud, water, whatever.

100 metres from home we were running to get out of the rain.

Then we were back inside out of the rain. It is moments like this that you really love an open fire.

Conservative politics doesn't care about people, conservative politics only cares about money. 

And so typical of conservative politics to accuse those of which they are guilty themselves. Conservative politics, are the biggest game players, straight out of the conservative politics play book.

You Fat Slag

As I turn off the end of the ramp coming down from Flemington Bridge train station, where I fell off my bike the other day, grazing my knee and tearing skin off the end of my finger, thinking about falling off my bike the other day, a chick on a bike comes riding along the bike path from Flemington Road, just as I am executing my turn and I have to pull up suddenly. Ah! No! The things you resist! Ah! No! Deja vu! Not… again! Nooooo!

“You stupid, fat slag,” I say out loud, (Truthfully, I was sure I saw headphones in her ears) as my brakes make that "errrr" noise, and my balance was undetermined momentarily. (Oh yes, I know, shameful, but I didn't mean to say it out loud, or, at least, I didn't mean for her to hear me say it out loud)

“I can hear you,” says her voice as she rides away.

“Oh, sorry,” I say. I ride off after her, noting how far her arse was hanging off either side of her bike seat. (But, truthfully, us fag boys always think that, it is beyond our control)

“And you wonder why women bang on about misogyny,” she says.

“I’m not misogynistic,” I say.

“It sounded like it to me.”

"You got in my way..."

"And that is your excuse?"

“I’m gay,” I say. “Boy, or girl, you are all stupid, fat slags to me.”

“Oh,” she says. “You rude, filthy faggot.”

“Touché,” I say. "Good for you."

We both laugh, cackling as we ride along the bike path next to one another.

“What are we like?” she says.

“What are we like?” I say.

“Red ruby…”

“Slippers,” I say.

“Great minds…”

“Small minds,” I say.

“Think alike…”

“Seldom differ,” I say.

“I reckon I could like you,” she says.

“Funny the people you meet, hey?” I say, as I ride passed her. “Just a moment in time.”

“Criss cross,” she says.

“From bad, to great,” I say.

"Have a nice life," she says.

"It was lovely to meet you," I call back to her.

"You too," she calls after me.

She was having a leisurely ride with a basket of flowers on the front of her bike, her straw hat tied with a floral ribbon under her chin. I was exercising, so I rode away, my black leather racing gloves gripping my handle grips tight.

The sun came out.

It was a great day after all.

A Large Seed

Toast and vegemite, and coffee, of course, the breakfast of champions, is that what they say? Australian champions, to be sure.

I picked up a large seed from my kitchen bench, which had fallen off my boutique baked, seeded spelt loaf of bread, and popped it in my mouth. You know, as you do as you clean up the bread board and put it away. And it crunched between my teeth, but it wasn't a large seed at all, it was a dead beetle and it was sour tasting like ear wax. Nothing I did got that taste out of my mouth for the longest time.

Beautiful flowers in Gertrude Street

People? Sheesh!

I don't have much of a filter, sometimes it works in my favour, some times it does not. Although, I have to say, rarely does it get me into trouble. Some people love me because of it, and some people like me despite it.

I used to work with a woman who used to say, "I just say it how it is, I am pretty blunt. I don't have a filter, please don't take offence. I can't help it, I was just brought up that way. I can't change, that is just who I am."

"Oh, that's alright," I tell her. "I don't have much of a filter either, I think we'll get along just fine."

She ended up reporting me to HR saying she was offended by things I'd said.



Fucken amateur, I thought.

Of course, I bluffed my way through it with HR, because HR ostensibly does not want to hear about employee's gripes, they want to do lunch and swap baby photos.

I laughed, "She must have misunderstood what I meant." Smile. Quizzical look.

And HR Karen was happy to drop it as soon as she could, she didn't want to do anything about it, let's face. Light and breezy gets you through any discussions with the HR professionals. Ask her about her kid, or that handsome boyfriend you have no idea how she hooked, she is easily distracted.



We never mentioned it again, me and the fucken amateur. She went on claiming to have no filter and, truthfully, I, effectively, had my filter in place, well, when it came to the amateur, well, kind of. I kept it away from offensive for the one who claimed never to offend, deliberately. I just stopped engaging with her, really. I think she and I knew the truth, though, you know, on some level, that she was a fake, and I was what she always claimed to be, although we never spoke of it.



Do I have to say she was a fucken nightmare, Janine, with her dead peroxide blonde hair, her acne pox marked skin, and her black panda eyes. The way she used to grab the men by the nipples and sing/yodel “Tune in Tokyo.” (I always wondered if she had any clue where that came from?) And that’s not mentioning the dirty stories she used to tell. What was it, her husband used to get all excited watching SBS after midnight. "Tittees galore," she used to say. She was quite a piece.

She, of course, thought she knew everything, and yet she knew nothing. She didn’t like me taking away her mantle of “the one with the most experience,” and I can still picture her standing at the Director of Finance’ desk when she was clearly running me down, because she never had the good sense to stop looking at me, with that expression of a 14 year old dibber dobber.


Then, I got a better job and left. Or, I got itchy feet, or I got bored, or I just wanted something different, and I left. I, of course, slated Janine to HR on my way out, when they told me they didn’t want me to leave and was there anything they could do to make me stay?

“Get rid of Janine, she is one of the reasons I am leaving,” I told them. “I just can’t work with her.”

(Truthfully, it was the dead end promotion structure, and the lack of opportunity to advance, but, hell, why let the truth ruin a good story, I've always said that. I was leaving to get away from Janine too, but she wasn’t the main reason)

I heard later, through the grapevine that she got moved sideways, which was, essentially, a demotion. I kind of hope I had something to do with that.

The Workers

Somewhere along the way, citizens got conned into caring what happens to corporate profits, like they were all important, all the while corporations cut the worker's wages and raise prices any chance they get.

Oh, boohoo, the poor hard done by business sector, what about the Howard-govt-induced twenty year flat wage growth the workers have had to endure, not to mention the casualisation of the work force, and therefore employment insecurity, while corporate profits increased exponentially.

So corporate Australia is doing it tough... la la la la, that's what I hear when they yap on about that... the workers have been doing it tough for two decades. If business hasn't invested some of its record profits over the last two decades back into itself, well, then, oh well, bad luck guys. There will be plenty more businesses to take your place.

Yellow & green... should never be seen...
no, that's blue and green.
Blue and green should never be seen, except with yellow in between

Stirring The Porridge

"You don't have to stir the porridge constantly," says Sam. Apparently, it is the metal spoon scraping on the bottom of the metal pan that annoys him. Who'd have thought?

But, half the fun of making porridge is the stirring, I think. Toil and trouble, boil and bubble. Nobody wants to feel the oats stick to the bottom of the saucepan, nobody wants that.

Feel it get thicker against your stir. Watch it absorb the water, before your eyes. See it turn from a bunch of ingredients, into something in itself. Stirring constantly, that's how it goes.

What is Sam thinking, pffffff. It is all about the stirring, round and around. The challenge is to not let it stick to the base of the pan. That is the game, here. So, the metal spoon may scrape against the metal base, that is just how it goes.

Sultanas cooked in the porridge, are like popping fruit. Then Bananas, honey, strawberries, blueberries and warm milk warmed by the coffee machine, as the time it takes to make the porridge, is the same time is takes to make two coffees, are added one by one.

The warm milk is a warm hug for the oats, as the porridge warms you through like an inner glow. Honey from the bees turns it to a sweet harmony. The bananas are smooth and the strawberries are tart, and the blueberries add colour like nothing else.

It fills me up creamy and smooth, and all the stirring is worth it in the end, despite what some may say.

Flea Face. Street Art China Town. I love street art, don't you? There should be more of it, it makes our world more interesting.

You Know What I Hate?

You know what I hate? When you are standing on one foot and you are putting your other foot through your undies and your toe catches on the leg of your trunks and you can't get it unhooked and you jump around on one foot trying not to fall over. That's what I hate. Why do those sorts of things need to happen?

And you put both feet back on the ground before you topple over altogether and you lean down and you snatch your recalcitrant toe from the hen of your knickers, shaking your head. Pointless things, why do pointless things have to happen, you say to yourself yet again? But that is what life is, after all, I'm guessing when you are at the other end of it. Maybe? I'll be able to tell you when I get there.

Lying To Get Into Queensland (Yeah, I know, that in itself...)

You have these two pneumatic lipped dreamboats lying to get home to Queensland and we are all collectively shocked, and we play the pile on game in chastising them. 

But, you know, we have a Prime Minister who makes his living out of lying to the public. “No, I didn’t cut and cut and cut funding to Aged Care to create the mess we are now in.”

You have Tony Abbott lying directly to camera, what was it, “There will be no cuts to Medicare, Education, the ABC, and SBS.”

Did we ever find John Howard’s weapons of mass destruction? (Other than his policies) And let's not forget John Howard very conveniently separated out his lies from his, er, not lies with his core and non core promise definitions.

There are the Murdoch Newspapers that are so criminally biased it is not a stretch to claim that no lie is effectively beyond them to push the old man’s conservative agenda.

Sky News where they will forcefully pass off opinion as fact to push their conservative ideas onto the public. What was it, Peta Cretin yapped on about recently? The Muslim Sudanese completely ignoring social distancing to celebrate Ramadan, therefore picking up a few old punching bags of the conservatives, the problem being that the Sudanese typically are Christian and do not celebrate Ramadan.

All these authority figures continually telling lies to further their careers, and we’re all shocked when two 19 year olds follow suit. Shocked, really? They’ve learned from experts.

The Liberal Party Economics

The Federal Australian Budget

So, the budget? What did our fat boy treasure say? He invoked the spectre of the king and queen of darkness, Regan and Thatcher. He reaffirmed his belief in the much debunked theory of trickle down economics, a theory that arguably has destroyed the world as we know it. And then the well fed fool went on to laughably trot out that ridiculous conservative cliché of "nothing" that Australian’s should go ahead and have more babies, which is not only, well, pathetic, it is downright dangerous in a massively over populated planet. All of this proving once and for all that this dimwit, and this government, has absolutely nothing to say, nor any sort of plan, or, in fact, any ideas, for that matter, to lead Australia out of the current recession.

Oh, that’s right, sorry, they do have a plan, they want to give tax cuts to the wealthy even earlier than they originally planned.

Boy, did Australian’s get the last election wrong. Or was that, the Murdoch press got it so right?

I guess it doesn’t really matter anyway, as we will all be dead from climate change in 10 years anyway. The Australian Liberal Party has also seen to that with not only having no policies to combat climate change, but they have the dubious honour of being the only western government to repeal laws designed to fight climate change.

My hands are getting really sore from all this washing from the big virus that is fucking up our lives. The backs of my hands feel like old crinkly brown paper bags. I can't believe my hands actually hurt. I have never used moisturising lotion on my hands before, but now it is a daily event.

There is a French crepe shop near me that sells delicious crepes, which I love, but they do look like they are made from old brown paper, and they are what I think of as I rub the moisturiser into my hands nightly.

Yeah Good Onya Coming Around A Blind Corner On The Wrong Side Of The Road

Mid morning, I went for a bike ride. I have been walking these last few days, and I’ve had new bike riding gloves for days to try out, and all. 

I've lost 5 kilos in lockdown, and I want to lose another 5 kilos.

Now, with the lockdown, you are not supposed to exercise outside of your suburb, and I ride through Carlton to North Melbourne. But, I don’t get my heart rate up in the same way just by walking and therefore I won’t lose the weight walking, so I headed off on my bike. And besides, I don’t stop and talk to anyone, I don’t come anywhere near 1.5 metres proximity of anyone. It is an hour of social distancing in plain sight.

I’m not sure if riding a bike is the same as jogging as far as masks are concerned, I think it is. I fashion a mask out of a scarf for my bike ride. It is cold, it is winter, so I figure the scarf will serve two functions, as a mask, and to keep me warm. My glasses fog up when I stop riding, but they defog as soon as I start riding again. It is oddly schizophrenic.

I head off, the scarf mask is working well.

At the blind corner turning left onto Alexandra Avenue around the Fitzroy pool, a woman came around on my side and we nearly crashed into each other. “Jesus Fuck!” I exclaimed.

We both slam on our brakes. She doesn’t have a mask on, I notice.

She’s sweating, she looks embarrassed, and so she should. “I’m sorry I’m on the wrong side. I’m sorry I’m on the wrong side,” she kept repeating. Not really good enough, I thought. You idiot! Not good enough at all. I have witnessed bike accidents, where two bikes crash into each other, and they are nasty.

I give her my best dirty look, but I don’t say anything. You bloody idiot, I think.

It’s cold. I get riding again.

The difficult economic times sure haven't stopped Josh Frydenberg eating. Have you noticed his chubby face popping up all over the media just lately as he engages in robotic, conservative politician speak? I used to think Josh Frydenberg was kind of cute, but now he is just another fat Liberal avatar with his face in the trough who will never give a straight answer to a question.

Look on the bright side, at least Covid19 might eradicate the antivaxxers. And, if you are an antivaxxer, stand up for your principals and refuse the Covid19 vaccine when it comes out, otherwise you are totally full of pointless shit.

But, I am sure there will be enough to go around, enough even for the antivaxxers, of course. What will happen, is that they will take the vaccine and then they will go on sprouting their usual rubbish about vaccines, of course they will.

Forgive them for they don't know what they do... say... understand.

Remember: You are never alone, Dog is always with you

The Things You Hear

As I came out my front door, when I was still undercover of my front yard, 3 millennial girls walked passed, they were like Tania Degano and her posse, this is the conversation I heard.

“... she’s saying, I gave you a rental reduction and you bought a Subaru! I mean like what did she expect me to do, walk everywhere. And then she just raged at me like she was unhinged. I mean, I shouldn’t have to put up with that...”

Then she was out of earshot.

I contemplated following her and her two friends, but it was a freezing morning and I had to get walking to the park.

Give Way To Pedestrians

I’m walking home, after doing my exercise, walking 5.5 kilometres, twice around the park and then home again.

I cross Napier Street. A guy in a white 4WD doesn’t give way to me, as I am crossing the road. Hey,” I say, “Give way to pedestrians.”

He stops and says, “Take them off.” He is referring to my headphones.

“What?” I ask.

“Take them off, you can’t hear.” My headphones are the Trax type which don’t go into your ear canals, so I can hear perfectly well with them on, even if that is beside the point at this moment.

The law is that cars give way to pedestrians. “Give way to pedestrians,” I say.

“No, I have right of way.” How do people get their licenses, I think?

“No, you don’t… learn your road laws.”

“You can’t hear.”

“You have to give way to pedestrians.”

He drives off. People think all they have to do is deflect now a days when they are questioned and it gets them off the hook of responsibility. I blame the politicians for this, or course, specifically conservative voters, because they invented the disinformation strategy way of operating, and it has spread like the corona virus.

My High School Boyfriend, Alex

This boy so reminded me of my high school boyfriend, Alex. I know it's not a great photo of him, but he really did look like him. I could hardly take my eyes off him. It was all I could do to stop myself taking more photos of him.

I was waiting for Sam with Buddy and Brun while Sam shopped. I just gazed at this and remembered… stuff… scenes… snippets. Funny where your mind can go with something coming out of the past to remind you.

How excited I was that first time, me and you, up the Kew Municipal Offices, after school. Kissing each other.

Ah Alex, lovely Alex. I used to go and watch those legs kick the football in year 11 and 12 footy matches. He used to come looking for me afterwards still with wet hair from the showers. We used to sit together in class and push our thighs against each other, I can still feel his thigh against mine. School camp, I used to sneak over to his bed when all the lights went out, just for a second, even with all our other class mates were in bed around us. Just seeing his handsome face light up when he’d see me. Standing together as equals, partners. Belonging, even if it was secret, the delight of the clandestine. Feeling what it was like having someone who picked me.

Two years of love and laughter and learning what it meant to be something to someone, for the first time.

Then after we left school, it kind of finished. Oh, those first summer holidays after year 12 ended when we got together a lot. Empty houses with parents at work, and siblings out, or working.

But then, with no school as our reason for being together we drifted apart because, of course, two boys just weren't meant to be together.

I really hope that has changed. I hope all the people who are against it are heading to hell. I hope the gays of the world, present and future, stick their fingers up at all those people who are against them.

I'm Sick Of...

I have to cut and paste if I agree with the following. Okay then, here goes.

I’m sick of covid-19!!😱

We’re all sick of Covid19, but we’ll get through it. We’ve been around for 100,000 years, so this is a relatively short time.

I’m sick of black vs. white!! 

Yeah, well, I’m sure George Floyd, or the 400 Aboriginals who have died in police custody are sick of it too.

I’m sick of Labor Vs Liberals. 

So, you are sick of the democratic process. I know it isn’t perfect, but it is better than the alternatives.

I’m sick of gay vs. straight!!🤠

That is probably because you are straight.

I’m REALLY sick of the media!!!!😦😱

Stop watching it, stop buying into it, otherwise stop complaining. Get Netflix.

I’m sick of the language being used and plastered all over the media! 

See previous point

I’m sick of no one being allowed to think what they want & feel what they do without offending someone!! 

Stop saying things that are offensive then, otherwise, you will have no problems.

I am sick of the people who are out there jumping on the bandwagon to protest just to cause mass confusion and more hatred and to riot, loot, and destroy!!!!!! (Please note, you only ever need one exclamation mark)

The tolls protesting are the vast minority, otherwise protest is a valid part of the democratic process.

I am sick of blaming the world for the sins of a few!! 

I’m not even sure what this means?

We’re one race—the human race. We ALL Matter!! 

That’s probably because you belong to the dominant group, usually, the white group.

You want to support PM Scummo? You do it! It’s your choice.

Sure.

You want to support Anthony Albanese? Fine... also your choice! 

Sure.

You want to believe in God? Okay, believe in God. 

Yes, but try not to use your belief in god to affect other people’s lives who do not believe in god.

You want to believe in magical creatures that fly around & sprinkle fairy dust to make life better? Awesome... you do it!! 

I can hook you up with a yoga guru who will guide you through all the nonsense.

BUT how about being mature enough to be able to deal with the fact that everyone doesn’t have the same exact mind-set as you. Having our own minds (I’m in two minds?) is what makes us all individuals and beautiful. If you can’t handle that fact... I’m sorry!! I don’t have to agree with everything you believe in.

Having your own mind, seems to me, what the previous points are arguing against.

So be a decent human being. 

Yeah, try not to be a cunt, I’ve always said that.

Riding to Coburg

Mid morning, I went for my daily bike ride. I am aiming for an hour every day, to lose 10 kilos. The sun was shining, but the wind was still cool on my chest. I’m wearing track pants these days instead of the shorts that I always usually wear for a ride, but it is winter now and even though I warm up once I’ve been riding for a time, shorts are still a shock to the system in which to start out.

I headed down Napier Street, through the Edinburgh Gardens, full of people with their dogs off-lead. I must bring my dogs here, I think, yet again. As I approached Park Street, I remember I was going to explore another bike path today, not cycle the same route, I am such a creature of habit, so instead of turning left, I turned right. I wanted to ride the old Merri Creek path, that I used to ride all those years ago, I thought about it last night. As it turned out, the turn off to the Merri Creek bike path it is just a little way along Park Street. I am so lucky living where I live, there are bike paths heading out in every direction, all one has to do is discover them.

So, I rode up the Merri Creek and it was fabulous, so changed and so much more developed than when I used to ride it way back when? Back then it used to peter out in a water logged goat track, long before it got anywhere near Coburg Lake. I laugh to myself, I wonder how many years it has been since the inner suburbs of Melbourne was home to flocks of goats.

All along the Merri creek, bits of land joined up to bits of land, and ovals, some girls sports field, the Brunswick velodrome, and then sundry tracks and scraps of land, the round bits of courts, and street ends, and bridges and sidings and the like all joined up to be a slash of land through the suburbs, separated from roads and cars. It is a whole other world, almost subterranean, but not quite.

There were lots of people exercising, and with their kids, in prams and out of them, on bikes, running, jogging, strolling. So many people with their dogs off-lead, about which I don’t care. Dogs should be off-lead, they should be free to run. It just becomes problematic when mixed with bikes. I wondered what the dog owners would say if you told them, bike riders accept that the dogs are off-lead, as long as dog owners accept that if one of their dogs runs in front of a bike and is hurt, or killed accidently, the dog owners can’t complain. It seemed a fair proposition to me, but somehow, I didn’t think it would fly. People aren’t inherently reasonable, people are essentially selfish or, at least, of self.

I set my timer for 30 minutes, at which point I’d turn around and then I ride for an hour by the time I got home. An hour ride is always my goal. Eventually, the concrete path turned into a gravel path, then it deteriorated to a mud track for a time in the middle there of the journey to Coburg Lake. And just as the concrete resumed again, my 30 minute timer sounded. So, I explored a bit further to the end of the dirty section that essentially became a maze of tracks along the river bank, and then I turned around for home.

I wondered why the middle section wasn’t sealed? But, all I could conclude was, it was for me to wonder. Presumably, the council in the middle didn’t care so much about its residents. I must google which council that is?

I followed a cute boy jogger home, for a bit, who had thick black hair, and a great arse and thick, hairy legs in his dark blue shorts. I followed him at a slow pace until I felt a bit stalkerish, well, a lot stalkerish, but he wasn’t looking behind, so what, then I passed him and headed home.

I was home just after midday. So, I rode for an hour and fifteen minutes.

Cancel Culture

Our fuckwit Prime Minister Scott Morrison's War Games

Driving to Thornbury

I am too intolerant to drive now a days, I just need to hand my license in, because people are fuckwits, just fuckwits. If I don’t drive, I don’t have to go out and mingle with the fuckwits.

I know I have a somewhat of a take no prisoners driving style, but, hey, I’ve never had an accident. But, if I am driving somewhere, I like to get there. And as Lottie used to say from behind the wheel as she was fanging it through the suburbs, “Get on, or get off.” But then we all used to drive at 80 kph back when I first learned to drive. I remember on occasions following my dear old mum some place, I could never keep up with her, she was just a set of tail lights somewhere in the distance.

However…

I was following a 4WD that put is righthand blinker on whenever it did fuck knows what, all the way up Smith Street and then Queens Parade, at 30 kilometres per hour I might add. I wondered if the driver had blinker Tourette’s. I was praying to god they would veer off the road suddenly and crash into a power pole, but as that didn’t happen it is more proof that god doesn’t exist.

I followed a learner drive who came up to the lights in the right lane in front of me and immediately put its left hand blinker on. When the lights turned green we proceeded forward and the leaner attempted to move into the left-hand lane, when he had veered back into my lane for the forth time, inexplicably, I tooted him. As I tuned up High Street the black 4WD behind me tooted me aggressively, I assume for me tooting the learner driver.

There was traffic everywhere in High Street. And old wog man in a gigantic Buick, as big as some people’s lounge rooms, who presumably got sick of waiting in the side street to turn right into High Street, just planted his foot and came out into two lanes of heavy traffic. I saw him coming out and slowed down, the car behind me and the car behind it had to pull up quickly, however, the bloke coming from the other direction didn’t see him coming and slammed on his brakes at the last minute skidding very closely to a parked car, the car behind him skidded to a stop right up the guy in fronts arse, as did the car behind it, as the large sky blue Buick accelerated steadily with a huge cloud of blue smoke pumping out both of its twin exhausts.

A nun in a mini van who stopped in front of me, veered into the middle of the road and swung the front of the car to the left, presumably going to do a reverse park, then proceeded to move forward swung over on the wrong side of the road, then swerved back onto the left hand side of the road put its left hand blinker on and turned right into a car spot.

When I came home, I came from the north up my street. A truck came from the south and stopped in front of my place. I was going to turn into the lane behind it, but there was truck in the laneway which we all then waited for it to go. Another woman came from the south, stopped for a while because the truck and I were blocking the road, then she drove forward and blocked the truck coming out of the lane. Then proceeded to toot the first truck. And had no idea why any of us weren’t moving.

And that was just driving to Thornbury.

Egg Tart & a Rice Ball

 

Two of my favourite things. I could live on these. Okay, so perhaps my waistline couldn't live on them, but I'd be prepared to risk it. Okay, maybe not, but the idea fills me full of pleasure. The thought makes my tastebuds water, a lot.

Christianity is so last century

In What Kind Of Fear Do People Live?

I rode my bike to Royal Park. It was a cool day despite the sun shining. It was a nice day for a ride.

On my way home, I was crossing slowly over from the bike track in Park Street to head up Canning Street to home, there was a woman crossing Canning Street, behind who I was going to go. She had on head phones, admittedly, and she saw me out of the corner of her eye kind of at the last minute before I would have passed behind her. When she did, she recoiled, ripped the head phones from her ears, gave out a cry, as though in pain, like a baby harp seal might as the club hit it in the head, and staggered backwards into my path and nearly lost her footing on the bluestone surround of the median strip in the middle of Canning Street, very nearly tumbling over backwards.

“Keep going,” I said. “I was going to go behind you.”

She ended up, what I would call, laughing semi hysterically, like Lisa Simson laughs hysterically, standing in front of my bike.

Of course, I nearly fell off my bike onto the median strip in the middle of Canning Street too trying to avoid her.

I have to say, I was kind of shocked by her reaction.

It all happened in a few seconds, of course, but as it was happening, it was like a slow motion car crash, nearly a car crash.

Racism is just a sad waste of energy

Chatting to Shane

 Christian – I went to the Spud Bar to see Gene

Spud Bar shop up for rent.

Shane – Ohhh lockdown victim. Which spud bar was that? Was it on smith?

Christian – Brunswick Street, with the cute boy. Gene

Shane – Ahhh? I’m trying to think if I knew it? Did he have hot hot potatoes?

Christian – He was your straight ULO. With hot potatoes

Shane – Oh yes! Now I remember. They did good potatoes too 😀

Christian – Yes, he had good potatoes. I think every queen in Fitzroy wanted to see them

Shane – Haha, yes, I too, that’s sad he gone. Are there many shops closed/gone due to lockdown? I think restaurants are going to be fucked here

Christian – there are a few of those boutiques of nonsense in Gertrude Street up for lease

Shane – Boutiques on nonsense! Haha. They might have done better if they called one of them that

Christian – You know, with shiny things, and leather straps and feathers. Chrome is big in them. Queen Victoria's couch and Elvis Presley's tooth pick and that sort of thing

Shane – Yes, I know the ones – and all terribly expensive

Christian – all frightfully expensive

Shane – For tatt

Christian – lots of tatt. Well, a few of those have gone tattars

Shane – Haha! Was it terrible or frightful, all sounds dreadful

Christian – You never quite know if your wear it, or sit on it

Shane – I’m closing my London and Manchester office. If the fuckers can work from home and prove that they can, why should I give them A desk walls and roof

Christian – You are closing your London office? Oh. So, you'll work from home?

Shane – Yes, end of lease, taking advantage of it

Christian – I soooooo want to work from home forever

Shane – Let’s see how the office property market looks in 6 months. Hahah. It took a bit to get used to, my husband loves to chat

Christian – We're all working from home until the end of July, at this stage

Shane – I’m going to get 6 desks somewhere with a meeting room. See how it goes

Christian – Sam works in the lounge room, and I work in the study, and I have a dedicated computer for work, that I only use for work, and the day flies by. And Sam’s work has meeting room and some chairs somewhere too.

Shane – Although last couple of days I have been thinking do I even need that. 2nd wave is looking likely

Christian – My mother's two dining room tables come in handy

Shane – If you look at what is happening around the world now where they have relaxed

Christian – And her 10 dining room chairs, it good to put them to some use

Shane – Do you have them at home?

Christian – yes

Shane – I never saw them there? In the dining room office?

Christian – Well, she died in Dec 2015, you haven’t been here since then?

Shane – Probably not, you were away i think last time. So, you have space to spread out. That’s nice

Christian – One is in the study, and one is behind the couches in the lounge at the back door

Shane. Ahhh lovely!

Christian – Oh, we're really over furnished, but it is good for working from home

Shane – Only a little crammed dear

Christian – We threw 8 dining room chairs into the tip, Sybil would have shat herself

Shane – Are you writing much?

Oh my! That’s not fun

Christian – They were reproduction. She had 16 of the fuckers, all up.

Shane – Haha, oh the shame of it now that her secret is out. They were not the real deal. 16! Fuck me! That’s a dinner party. Did she ever have 16 to dinner ?

Christian – Oh yes, she inherited half of them, but with dad’s lodge do’s and her teaching stuff, yeah she did use them.

Since I have been in lockdown, I have resurrected my old gay sex novel, and I have it all planned out now

Shane – Brilliant! The world needs more gay sex now to cheer us up

Christian – I've added a story to the first half of it, and I have the last 3rd written, it is now just the difficult middle bit to get done

Shane – Planning is important

Christian – It actually might get finished

Shane – Great! Let me know if you would like me to read anything for you. Do! Finish it!

Christian – Oh, don't you worry about that, luv

Shane – Have you done the Margaret Atwood master class?

Christian – No, but she is fascinating to listen to

Shane – Ali bought access during lockdown. I watched it, she’s really good on it. I think we are going to watch the one on cooking Mexican next and give that a go

Christian – She is great to listen to, really smart and interesting, but I have to admit, I have never read any of her books

Shane – Lockdown makes us do strange things I know. I read the hand maidens tale when I lived at [name] street and was trying to read booker prize winners. I know it spooked me out then.

She gives good writing advice.

Christian – yes, she does. she is smart and generous

Shane – Photo red roses.

Shane – My roses are nearly dead. They have been so pretty, we need green and life when you are stuck in the house so much.

Well lovely chatting. I have to go to work now. Making 3 redundant at the moment, sad times

Christian – Nice flowers

Shane – Be good to get to the end of the financial year and finish this fucker. It’s been torcher trying to get funds

Christian – I've been made redundant twice, and both times I had to console the person doing it when they burst into tears

Shane – Haha!!!! Oh dear,

Christian – roll of the eyes

Shane – That’s not how it’s done. At least you know they genuinely did not want to get rid of you

Christian – Well, enjoy

Shane – Yes! Thanks. You too. Cxxx.

Christian – I'm going to light a fire and put my feet up

Shane. Haha. 32 degrees here Today, And yesterday

Christian – wet and cold here

Shane – I am fully British now

Christian – 32 degrees?

Shane – Yes!

Christian – That's hot for London

Shane – And I’m complaining about the heat. 

It is.

Haha, whinging Pom now

Stay warm

Night

Christian – Oh well, how's a singlet and shorts to do the redundancies?

I Love Vegemite, but I Hate The Vegemite Song

Patriotism, I don't buy it, it leaves me cold. It is mindless and unthinking. 

It is a cliched snoozefest. Aussie, Aussie, Aussie. Blah, blah, blah.

It is The Borg. And what makes us great is our difference.

It is join the dot living. You know, when life was meant to be expansive.

It is try hard. When everything that is great, is just a little humble.

I love Australia because it is naturally a part of me, I am Australian.  We are strong in our sunburnt country, our open spaces, and our vastness. We have that smugness when we are overseas that we can visit, and see, and drink everything in, but we always have the greatness of our island nation calling us home.

I love having an accent when I travel. I like people commenting on my voice. I like hearing another Australian voice in a crowd when I am in London, or Rome, or Amsterdam. It is like being gay, when you meet another gay guy there are just certain things you know. Unspoken things.

I like the idea of nationality, of course, we all do, it is where we are from, and I guess I am saying that that should be quiet, it should be reserved, never loud and obvious.

The emotive speeches, and the parades, and the hands on the hearts are just window dressing, I always suspect, for people who are emotionally stunted. Conservative voters, and the like. You don't have to spruik all "that", when you were born into "it" just naturally.

Loud patriotism is the safe refuge of the art that matches the couch. Loud patriotism is a yawn. It is obvious.

Triggered

OMG! My pet hate. Now listen clearly, children, because a lot of you have great difficulty with this one. If I am in the right hand lane next to you and you are in the left hand lane and there is a parked car, or your lane stops for whatever reason, you must stop. You cannot come over into my lane because, very simply, I AM OCCUPYING THAT SPACE. Are you as dumb as a box of rocks, or what?

A woman in a black Lexus 4WD tried it as I was on my way back from the vet. She just put on her blinker and started coming over.

“Um, hello, I’m right here.”

She had to slam on her brakes at the last minute. She gave me the dirtiest look and raised her hands off the steering wheel in a WTF gesture, when I didn’t, oh I don’t know what, evaporate so she could continue, I guess. And when I said, “Fuck off and die you stupid bitch,” (Oh yes, I know, the things you say in the privacy of your own car) she could clearly lip read, because then she came after me tooting her horn like a mad woman, which, I must admit, I found hilarious.

At the lights, she came right up behind me, still tooting, and revving her engine. Duffy’s, Rain On Your Parade (Ironically) was playing in my car, to which I started doing double fingers up to her to the beat, (Yes, I know, how old am I?) at which point she put her hand on the horn and held it there, and revved her engine furiously. Suddenly, I was in Mad Max. Oh, I haven’t laughed so much since granny got her left tit caught in the mangle.

Seriously, get a grip woman!

Then the lights turned green, and I accelerated away from her, quick as a flash. I couldn’t have her fumbling it and crashing into the back of me. She clearly attempted to keep up behind me, I’m guessing, in an attempt at intimidation, but all she saw was me disappearing in the distance.

Oh, I hate posting anything with this dope, it is against my core principals, but I couldn't resist this

At The Vet

*Oh yes, exposing the dark underbelly of my black soul. If you are looking to be outraged, do not read any further, as dark humour ensues. The last episode of Seinfeld proved once and for all they were my kind of people.*


1pm. I went to the vet to get Buddy some more antibiotics, as he is still squirting gravy out his south end.

The cute vet, said Buddy had to go back on antibiotics for twice as long as previously.

“Yes, doctor.”

Buddy was better for about 3, or 4, days and then the diarrhoea started again.

I had to wait at the counter for a considerable length of time while the nurse got Buddy’s pills together.

Due to the Covid19 restrictions only two people were allowed in the waiting room at any time. People had to wait in their cars for a nurse, or vet to come out and attend to them.

So, I am standing at the counter, I’m sure looking as though I am taking up a valuable space doing nothing, another guy is waiting just outside the door, and in comes a hugely fat, dishevelled woman in, what looks like, unwashed, black track pants and an oversized black windcheater, explorer socks and crocs that were too small for her so that her considerable heal hung out the back on each shoe, resplendent with a hole in each sock at each of her heals, you know the dress code, shopping centre poor. How does that saying go, fucked backwards through a bush? Er? Nor, that’s not ryte? …something through a bush backwards…? Oh yes, and she stank of cigarettes.

Anyway…

She just came in and stood, I wondered if she was on drugs. Everyone one was busy and she just stood with resting bitch face, mouth slightly open, eyes vacant.

“Can I help you?” asked the other nurse when she finished her phone call.

“Is it going to be much longer?” the fat woman moaned.

The nurse checked her screen. “There are two people in front of you, still,” said the nurse.

“Well, Lola is getting really distressed, can someone come and get her out of the car and bring her inside?”

Lola, I thought. Her unemployed, up the duff, stripper daughter.

“Yes,” said the nurse. “If you can go back to your car, I will send someone out.”

So, the fat woman walked out into the carpark and stood gazing back in through the windows, with the same vacant expression, dumb-mouth-gape, clearly waiting for whoever it was who was coming out to her.

The nurse went and got an attendant. “She is getting distressed it is a euthanasia situation.”

“Oh, okay,” said the attendant and she headed off.

My nurse came back with my pills, and while I was paying, the attendant came in carrying Lola.

I headed out, and there was the fat woman in her car, her face screwed into distress, stained with her tears, still dripping from her considerable jowls, and my first thought was, just when you thought she couldn’t get any uglier.

Oh yes, my friends, I know I am going to hell.

Or conversely, I am the living embodiment of why hell simply doesn’t exist.

Who can say?

High Sugar Levels

I have blood tests every year, because it is a good thing to do to keep check of your health. I also have high cholesterol in my family and my father died from prostate cancer.

I normally do this every year, I try to do it with the end of the financial year, for no particular reason other than that date is easy to remember.

Last year, I got the pathology form from my doctor, but for no particular reason other than being a lazy cow I didn't, actually, get the blood tests done.

And, funnily enough, with the talk of people skipping doctor’s appointments during Covid19 lockdown being potentially dangerous, it finally prompted me to go have the blood tests done.

Well, they all came back fine except for my blood sugar levels, so I had to go and have another test done, which I thought I would just breeze through, naturally.


Well, my doctor just called to say my second blood tests came back still with elevated sugar levels, and I have to change my diet. Sad Face.

So, while I don't drink soft drink, or alcohol, I do eat lots of pasta, noodles and rice, which all turn into sugar in your body.

I have tried to stop eating those things. I have been eating more chicken and fish. I don't mind brown rice, so I have changed to that. And I bought low GI bread from the bakery.

I have started walking every morning, poor Brun doesn't know what has hit him, I can almost hear him say, What? More walking? I'm not a fucking greyhound, you know. Buddy gets a reprieve as he is an old man now.

In fact, it is getting light, I should get going. I might leave Brun on the couch this morning.

Black Lives Matter

Black Lives Matter is about stopping violence and racism against black people.
It is about treating everyone in society equally, but it isn’t really that.

I think protests are great, society’s voice, free speech at work. More people should protest.

Sadly, the arrogant Morrison Government doesn’t listen to the people, and it lies when the people say things it doesn’t like.

The protesters can protest, but are they really going to achieve anything? What are they going to achieve? Systemic racism has always been with us, it has never been eradicated. It probably won’t be eradicated now. Our government has no will to change things.

Of course, that doesn’t mean the protesters shouldn’t try.

They can change the procedures of the police force, of course, that should be achievable.

Pulling down statues, I think, is a cry for help by protesters when they feel they are powerless to change the world into a place where racism and violence against black people has been eradicated. Still, if a statue represents racism, can you tell me a good reason why we should keep it?

But racism in society? The only real answer is education, which is not going to fix the problem in the short term, or the foreseeable future. And with conservative governments continually being elected around the world, quality education is never going to be available to everyone. Conservative governments only provide quality education to the people who can afford to pay for it.

The Morrison Government can’t even bare the idea of our history books telling the truth about the invasion of Australia.

So, what is the answer to racism in our modern, civil society (civil for some of us, which is, actually, the point)? What are the answers? I don't know, which is shameful. We should know the answers by now? But, I don't even know why people give all that energy over to being racist in the first place.

It might make the privileged members of society feel better if they protest, but if history tells us anything, that is all it is probably going to do.

Sadly.