 |
| The sun shone down |
 |
| This boy had a great arse, big handsome Italian that he was |
Wednesday, September 09, 2020
Tuesday, September 08, 2020
Uploading DVD in Between Doing Work
I'm still uploading DVD's to my new hard drive, as I said I will probably be up loading DVDs until next year. All my old black & white movies.
Bette Davis is first, then Katherine Hepburn, then Elizabeth Taylor, how gay is that for a sentence? All my old B&W movies, I have collected quite a few when I stop and take a look at them. Mostly I have rummaged through sale bins to find them, but then there is that DVD shop at the top of Bourke Street from where the rest have come.
Then it will be Paul Newman and the rest of the guys.
Then it will be my Australian collection.
Then it will be all my more modern movies.
Sam was doing it to start with, but I have now taken over. (Because waiting for him was boring) I thought I was doing well, but Sam said I hadn't done one part of the process.
"Funny how you expect me to know stuff even when I haven't been shown even once," I said.
"You are a smart guy," said Sam. "It is all just folders and files, like any other computer application. You should know what you are doing."
He is the IT guy, of course.
And he has installed an app that makes the hard drive appear on the TV just like Netflix, or Amazon, which is pretty cool.
Bette Davis is first, then Katherine Hepburn, then Elizabeth Taylor, how gay is that for a sentence? All my old B&W movies, I have collected quite a few when I stop and take a look at them. Mostly I have rummaged through sale bins to find them, but then there is that DVD shop at the top of Bourke Street from where the rest have come.
Then it will be Paul Newman and the rest of the guys.
Then it will be my Australian collection.
Then it will be all my more modern movies.
Sam was doing it to start with, but I have now taken over. (Because waiting for him was boring) I thought I was doing well, but Sam said I hadn't done one part of the process.
"Funny how you expect me to know stuff even when I haven't been shown even once," I said.
"You are a smart guy," said Sam. "It is all just folders and files, like any other computer application. You should know what you are doing."
He is the IT guy, of course.
And he has installed an app that makes the hard drive appear on the TV just like Netflix, or Amazon, which is pretty cool.
Monday, September 07, 2020
Conservative Politics
So, every conservative politician from Scummo, Fat Boy Josh, that complete fool (bought by political donations) Craig Kelly, all the conservative commentators, Alan old-vile-cunt Jones, all the fools on that abomination Sky News, Peta Cretin, even as far as that foul American screamer Tomi Lahren all screamed "Arsonist, arsonist," when Australia had its bush fires.
"Australia has an arsonist problem, not a climate change problem," they all blabbered on.
Unanimous were all these idiots in their calls.
Well, the enquiry has concluded, and apart from one, or two fires, every one of them was started by lightening, the intensity of which was most likely as a result of climate change.
And someone asked me the other day why I don't say nice things about conservative politics, and that is because time and time again they have all been proven to tell any lie to push their agenda.
How many fires were started by arsonists? Probably none.
And how many of these conservative twats went back to the public and corrected theirdeliberate lies, er, errors? Also none.
"Australia has an arsonist problem, not a climate change problem," they all blabbered on.
Unanimous were all these idiots in their calls.
Well, the enquiry has concluded, and apart from one, or two fires, every one of them was started by lightening, the intensity of which was most likely as a result of climate change.
And someone asked me the other day why I don't say nice things about conservative politics, and that is because time and time again they have all been proven to tell any lie to push their agenda.
How many fires were started by arsonists? Probably none.
And how many of these conservative twats went back to the public and corrected their
Sunday, September 06, 2020
It Was A Sunday Kind Of Day
It was Sunday and we did Sunday things. We shopped for food, earlyish. We had Buddy and Bruno with us, as we were going to the park afterwards, so I waited outside in the sunshine while Sam shopped.
It really was a gorgeous day, the sun sparkled, the sky was blue. I was chatting to a nice lady with a puggle, I have old lady charm, they always love me, (probably more of a gay thing than a me thing. Maybe?) standing in the sun, with her telling me that she grew up with bulldogs, when a bunch of lads barged their way into our conversation.
"What kind of dog is this mate? What kind of dog is this mate? What kind of dog is this mate?" a voice started asking me with a distinct sense of urgency. Your usual meth head with no manners to speak of.
"Err... English."
"Is this a bitch? Is this a bitch? Is this a bitch?" said the next guy.
I turned my gaze to him to see his big brown eyes and his gorgeous lips..."
"No… ah… he's a boy." Just like you are, handsome. “They are both boys.”
“They are awesome, they are awesome, they are awesome,” said the first guy.
Ashamedly, the nice lady with the puggle was forgotten about in the intrusion.
And then they were gone. The Abbottsford druggies. I kind of like the characters a suburb throws up, thankfully we aren’t all the same. Do they do bad things? Not to me. But then, I have always been more drawn to ‘the other’ people, they are generally more interesting than the ‘normal’ people. I’m not saying I’d like these guys but, you know, the sentiment is still the same.
I watched the puggle lady walk up the street with her husband.
We took the dogs to the off-lead park, the morning light glistened, the weather was fantastic. We met up with three other bulldogs, Rupert, Daisy and Hugo. There were lots of dogs in the park. Bruno still hasn't quite mastered the concept of off-lead, we tried and he made a run for it, so he was put back on his lead pretty smartly. It is not so much how it affects us, it is the possibility of him jumping all over other people excitedly that is really the problem.
We ate roast chicken and vegetables for dinner. Yum, yum. Who said roast chicken is hard to cook.
We bought a new hard drive and are in the process of uploading all our DVDs to the hard drive. You just don't realise how many DVDs you have until you take on this project. Funny, as I set each one up to copy, I thought to myself, when did I last watch this? When do I think I will watch it again? But, what the hell, it doesn't cost anything but time.
Oh, time...
Except, I am going to be uploading DVDs until Xmas.
It really was a gorgeous day, the sun sparkled, the sky was blue. I was chatting to a nice lady with a puggle, I have old lady charm, they always love me, (probably more of a gay thing than a me thing. Maybe?) standing in the sun, with her telling me that she grew up with bulldogs, when a bunch of lads barged their way into our conversation.
"What kind of dog is this mate? What kind of dog is this mate? What kind of dog is this mate?" a voice started asking me with a distinct sense of urgency. Your usual meth head with no manners to speak of.
"Err... English."
"Is this a bitch? Is this a bitch? Is this a bitch?" said the next guy.
I turned my gaze to him to see his big brown eyes and his gorgeous lips..."
"No… ah… he's a boy." Just like you are, handsome. “They are both boys.”
“They are awesome, they are awesome, they are awesome,” said the first guy.
Ashamedly, the nice lady with the puggle was forgotten about in the intrusion.
And then they were gone. The Abbottsford druggies. I kind of like the characters a suburb throws up, thankfully we aren’t all the same. Do they do bad things? Not to me. But then, I have always been more drawn to ‘the other’ people, they are generally more interesting than the ‘normal’ people. I’m not saying I’d like these guys but, you know, the sentiment is still the same.
I watched the puggle lady walk up the street with her husband.
We took the dogs to the off-lead park, the morning light glistened, the weather was fantastic. We met up with three other bulldogs, Rupert, Daisy and Hugo. There were lots of dogs in the park. Bruno still hasn't quite mastered the concept of off-lead, we tried and he made a run for it, so he was put back on his lead pretty smartly. It is not so much how it affects us, it is the possibility of him jumping all over other people excitedly that is really the problem.
We ate roast chicken and vegetables for dinner. Yum, yum. Who said roast chicken is hard to cook.
We bought a new hard drive and are in the process of uploading all our DVDs to the hard drive. You just don't realise how many DVDs you have until you take on this project. Funny, as I set each one up to copy, I thought to myself, when did I last watch this? When do I think I will watch it again? But, what the hell, it doesn't cost anything but time.
Oh, time...
Except, I am going to be uploading DVDs until Xmas.
Saturday, September 05, 2020
Friday, September 04, 2020
Morning Walk
10.10am. I head out into the cold for an hour’s exercise. Carlton Gardens here we come… er… I come. It is grey and overcast and cold.
I am listening to the re-released Goats Head Soup album. I like it, but then I don’t think the Rolling Stones have ever released a dud album.
10.20am. Walking in the sun the day is warm and quite nice, balmy, but sunny. The sun is warm, but the breeze is cool.
10.30am. I had to take my hoodie off, I was getting a sweat up. I should have worn shorts instead of track pants, it is so hard to tell what to wear as spring takes effect.
There is just a bunch of oldies walking in the gardens this morning, of which I don’t consider myself, but it is all relative, I guess. Ask a twenty year old what they think and I am sure the answer would be different.
10.35am. My ring closed and I didn’t feel a thing. (did you see what I did there?) It is an Apple watch thing, I’m still not completely sure what it means, or if it is even a good thing.
10.40am. Two hot boys in shorts with really great legs, and good shorts, you know, masculine and fitting, jogged up and passed. One boy’s eyes connected with mine as he jogged passed. I can’t help but turn around to gaze at his arse, something I never normally do. My motto, you can look all you like, but never turn your head to look some more.
The usual guy walking the white staffy walks towards me over by the driveway into Rathdowne Street. It is interesting how you get the regulars.
The grass was green, the sun shone, it was a lovely day, as I walked around the sweeping bend near Victoria Parade.
Then a boy jogged by in tiny black shorts barely keeping him nice, and a black singlet, with his pale white skin passing me as I crossed the plaza in front of the museum off Nicholson Street.
Then every mother’s handsome dream son sprinted towards me at the driveway to the museum. Strapping. Muscular. Handsome. Athletic.
A girl with a plucky Jack Russell by the tennis courts pulling forward on his lead, walks towards me, he was quite a handsome little devil.
There was a man with a black French playing in the middle of the brilliant green lawn
A beefy guy all dressed in black with a Westie (small white dog with pointy ears on a lead) walking towards the Carlton and Nicholson Street cnr. You know they say dogs look like their owners, well, he, they didn’t. I wondered if he was walking his girlfriend’s dog?
There was a guy with a Chow walking towards the Carlton Street driveway. And a girl with a black and white Papillon, also walking towards the Carlton Street driveway, her Papillon getting yappy towards the Chow.
There was a woman with a Beagle, young with great colours. Beagles often fade as they get older. Don't we all, I think.
The middle aged guy with the grey hair who is a regular walking in the park in the morningswas in the park walking this morning. We don’t acknowledge each other. I should remember to give him a smile next time. Although, with a mask on, he probably wouldn’t notice, hey?
If I don’t stop writing this shit I will never get any exercise done, I think. I look up and see every mother's dream son sprinting down the hill towards me. I get photos of him as he is running down the hill towards me, (None of them turn out to be great) pretending to take shots of the trees.
A girl with a big, white feisty Groodle, which she lets off the lead and it chases a ball enthusiastically, walks in from Carlton Street.
A girl with a black greyhound saunters along.
Two boof joggers sit on the park bench together by the Carlton Street driveway. One with “Super Brock” emblazoned across the back of his sweat shirt, and the other with a buzz cut. They sit next to each other not speaking like a gay couple who have been together for too many years.
I take an extended break at 3.42 ks to write notes into my phone. To photograph every mother's dream son and the two boof joggers, so much so that my watch trip-o-metre thing goes into automatic pause. Rude, I think. So, I soon get going up the hill and around the caretakers red brick cottage.
There are two women with toddlers and prams meandering along the path heading out to the Rathdowne Carlton Street cnr.
Another regular, the girl with the collie comes walking towards me, as I turn the corner to head up the Rathdowne Street straight.
There is black guy with his small son both in masks looking adorable sitting on a park bench together.
There is girl jogging in the huge pink mask that makes her look a bit like an alien, with the golden lab comes running at me as I approach the rubiks cube.
Every mother’s handsome son sprints by at the other museum plaza on Rathdowne Street, red faced and glistening with sweat, shiny and wet.
Only one of the two regular cute Asian boys jogging with their dog runs passed, I wonder if he has split up from his boyfriend? Two boys together are always boyfriends to me.
The regular blond jogger, I call (young) David McCallum, jogs by.
The sun is out, as are the hot boys now. The blue skies make them slide their arses into shorts and propel themselves out their front doors.
There is a fat girl talking into her phone coming up from the Victoria and Rathdowne cnr, I imagine she is pretending to exercise, but really she is just dawdling along yapping into her phone.
Star Fucker plays
The cute Asian boy and his dog, pass me for a second time, just as I am coming up to Gertrude Street.
There is a gaggle of toddlers and prams and parents under the Oak tree. Isn’t there a song about that?
There is a woman planting plants on the fence line of the last Royal Terrace terrace house. I think, as I walk passed, the bulldogs will have a great time snuffling in them when we come for a walk this afternoon.
Guys with beards and masks look weird, they look like unshaved bikini lines.
11.25am. I’m home again. I have a shit and a shower.
We have Sam’s fancy instant noodles for lunch.
I am listening to the re-released Goats Head Soup album. I like it, but then I don’t think the Rolling Stones have ever released a dud album.
10.20am. Walking in the sun the day is warm and quite nice, balmy, but sunny. The sun is warm, but the breeze is cool.
10.30am. I had to take my hoodie off, I was getting a sweat up. I should have worn shorts instead of track pants, it is so hard to tell what to wear as spring takes effect.
There is just a bunch of oldies walking in the gardens this morning, of which I don’t consider myself, but it is all relative, I guess. Ask a twenty year old what they think and I am sure the answer would be different.
10.35am. My ring closed and I didn’t feel a thing. (did you see what I did there?) It is an Apple watch thing, I’m still not completely sure what it means, or if it is even a good thing.
10.40am. Two hot boys in shorts with really great legs, and good shorts, you know, masculine and fitting, jogged up and passed. One boy’s eyes connected with mine as he jogged passed. I can’t help but turn around to gaze at his arse, something I never normally do. My motto, you can look all you like, but never turn your head to look some more.
The usual guy walking the white staffy walks towards me over by the driveway into Rathdowne Street. It is interesting how you get the regulars.
The grass was green, the sun shone, it was a lovely day, as I walked around the sweeping bend near Victoria Parade.
Then a boy jogged by in tiny black shorts barely keeping him nice, and a black singlet, with his pale white skin passing me as I crossed the plaza in front of the museum off Nicholson Street.
Then every mother’s handsome dream son sprinted towards me at the driveway to the museum. Strapping. Muscular. Handsome. Athletic.
A girl with a plucky Jack Russell by the tennis courts pulling forward on his lead, walks towards me, he was quite a handsome little devil.
There was a man with a black French playing in the middle of the brilliant green lawn
A beefy guy all dressed in black with a Westie (small white dog with pointy ears on a lead) walking towards the Carlton and Nicholson Street cnr. You know they say dogs look like their owners, well, he, they didn’t. I wondered if he was walking his girlfriend’s dog?
There was a guy with a Chow walking towards the Carlton Street driveway. And a girl with a black and white Papillon, also walking towards the Carlton Street driveway, her Papillon getting yappy towards the Chow.
There was a woman with a Beagle, young with great colours. Beagles often fade as they get older. Don't we all, I think.
The middle aged guy with the grey hair who is a regular walking in the park in the morningswas in the park walking this morning. We don’t acknowledge each other. I should remember to give him a smile next time. Although, with a mask on, he probably wouldn’t notice, hey?
If I don’t stop writing this shit I will never get any exercise done, I think. I look up and see every mother's dream son sprinting down the hill towards me. I get photos of him as he is running down the hill towards me, (None of them turn out to be great) pretending to take shots of the trees.
A girl with a big, white feisty Groodle, which she lets off the lead and it chases a ball enthusiastically, walks in from Carlton Street.
A girl with a black greyhound saunters along.
 |
| I see those two guys on the park bench like modern art, posed just so |
Two boof joggers sit on the park bench together by the Carlton Street driveway. One with “Super Brock” emblazoned across the back of his sweat shirt, and the other with a buzz cut. They sit next to each other not speaking like a gay couple who have been together for too many years.
I take an extended break at 3.42 ks to write notes into my phone. To photograph every mother's dream son and the two boof joggers, so much so that my watch trip-o-metre thing goes into automatic pause. Rude, I think. So, I soon get going up the hill and around the caretakers red brick cottage.
There are two women with toddlers and prams meandering along the path heading out to the Rathdowne Carlton Street cnr.
Another regular, the girl with the collie comes walking towards me, as I turn the corner to head up the Rathdowne Street straight.
There is black guy with his small son both in masks looking adorable sitting on a park bench together.
There is girl jogging in the huge pink mask that makes her look a bit like an alien, with the golden lab comes running at me as I approach the rubiks cube.
Every mother’s handsome son sprints by at the other museum plaza on Rathdowne Street, red faced and glistening with sweat, shiny and wet.
Only one of the two regular cute Asian boys jogging with their dog runs passed, I wonder if he has split up from his boyfriend? Two boys together are always boyfriends to me.
The regular blond jogger, I call (young) David McCallum, jogs by.
The sun is out, as are the hot boys now. The blue skies make them slide their arses into shorts and propel themselves out their front doors.
There is a fat girl talking into her phone coming up from the Victoria and Rathdowne cnr, I imagine she is pretending to exercise, but really she is just dawdling along yapping into her phone.
Star Fucker plays
The cute Asian boy and his dog, pass me for a second time, just as I am coming up to Gertrude Street.
There is a gaggle of toddlers and prams and parents under the Oak tree. Isn’t there a song about that?
There is a woman planting plants on the fence line of the last Royal Terrace terrace house. I think, as I walk passed, the bulldogs will have a great time snuffling in them when we come for a walk this afternoon.
Guys with beards and masks look weird, they look like unshaved bikini lines.
11.25am. I’m home again. I have a shit and a shower.
We have Sam’s fancy instant noodles for lunch.
Thursday, September 03, 2020
I Had a Dream
I had a dream that I was by the beach with a woman whose baby was tiny, as small as shrimp, and the same colour. The baby dives into the water and swims about and I ask the woman isn’t she concerned about the baby, as we can’t see it swimming about. But she assures me that the baby will be alright. We stand in the water up to our knees and try to watch the baby. I can’t see the baby, but the woman seems to be able to. Or is she trying to find the baby? I can’t tell. We both stare down at the water.
She says, “It will be okay.”
I am up at 6.45am. Bing! Eyes open. The baby, the baby... ha, ha. And just as quickly the dream is evaporating from my brain. The mother was someone famous, but the detail was the first to go. I had an image of her face in my mind, but as soon as I tried to think who it was the image disappeared, a bit like trying to grab a pen with my finger tips, only to have it roll a bit further away with every attempt.
I can’t have coffee, or food, as I am going to have a blood test this morning, to see what my blood sugars are doing. I curse the morning for getting up so early. It is a long time to wait until 9.20am, when the queen at the clinic told me to come in.
"There is often a rush at 9am," he said in his efficient voice. "I'd suggest you come in at about 9.20am." Dotting his i's and cruising his t's.
I got a huge glass of water and drank that, until it was time to have a shower and get ready.
I got there right on 9.20am, and it was true I was ushered right into the girl in the blue smock and the glass vials.
Then it was done and I was in the car driving home, when I remembered I was going to ride my bike to the clinic this morning. Oh well. Hopefully, the 8 kilos I have lost - even if I seem to be stuck at 8 kilos unable to progress to 10 kilos weight loss - and the hour of exercise I have done every day since my doctor gave me the results of my last blood test 3 months ago has been enough to bring my blood sugars down.
Guido messaged me just as I got home saying he was delivering. I wondered how he had the nerve to do deliveries in the lock down period where we are not allowed to venture beyond 5 kilometres from home. And if I could just have a j in the morning and a j at lunch time and a j in the afternoon, I wouldn't hesitate to say yes, but I can't, I am too much of a pig, woofing it down like there is no tomorrow, ending up with Sam looking at me like I am pathetic, and I really hate that. So, it's a no from me now a days. My pot days are over. Tra la la.
She says, “It will be okay.”
I am up at 6.45am. Bing! Eyes open. The baby, the baby... ha, ha. And just as quickly the dream is evaporating from my brain. The mother was someone famous, but the detail was the first to go. I had an image of her face in my mind, but as soon as I tried to think who it was the image disappeared, a bit like trying to grab a pen with my finger tips, only to have it roll a bit further away with every attempt.
I can’t have coffee, or food, as I am going to have a blood test this morning, to see what my blood sugars are doing. I curse the morning for getting up so early. It is a long time to wait until 9.20am, when the queen at the clinic told me to come in.
"There is often a rush at 9am," he said in his efficient voice. "I'd suggest you come in at about 9.20am." Dotting his i's and cruising his t's.
I got a huge glass of water and drank that, until it was time to have a shower and get ready.
I got there right on 9.20am, and it was true I was ushered right into the girl in the blue smock and the glass vials.
Then it was done and I was in the car driving home, when I remembered I was going to ride my bike to the clinic this morning. Oh well. Hopefully, the 8 kilos I have lost - even if I seem to be stuck at 8 kilos unable to progress to 10 kilos weight loss - and the hour of exercise I have done every day since my doctor gave me the results of my last blood test 3 months ago has been enough to bring my blood sugars down.
Guido messaged me just as I got home saying he was delivering. I wondered how he had the nerve to do deliveries in the lock down period where we are not allowed to venture beyond 5 kilometres from home. And if I could just have a j in the morning and a j at lunch time and a j in the afternoon, I wouldn't hesitate to say yes, but I can't, I am too much of a pig, woofing it down like there is no tomorrow, ending up with Sam looking at me like I am pathetic, and I really hate that. So, it's a no from me now a days. My pot days are over. Tra la la.
Wednesday, September 02, 2020
Tuesday, September 01, 2020
First Day of Spring
First of the month. The beginning of Spring. The beginning of the best season.
Of course, summer is wonderful, all that sunshine. And Autumn is gorgeous, all that colour. And winter, well, winter makes you appreciate the other seasons, it is nice to feel the difference. We walk our muddy footprints out of winter.
But spring, spring is when everything is new and vibrant and vital. Tiny green signs of life on those bare branches suddenly appear. All those flowers, everything blooming. Everything comes alive in spring.
7.52am. David calls me, I am dumbfounded, as he is the guy who scratches around until 3am, doing god knows what, then never getting up before midday, never having had a real job in his life helps. Oh, except when he worked as a doctor, but he hated every minute of that and soon gave it up for guru’dom.
His opening line is, “Why? Can you tell me why anyone would be up at this hour?”
“I was up at 6am…”
“What’s wrong with you?”
“Are you playing with David (Our vague friend Sarah, except he hates it whenever anyone calls him that) again?” The other David has lived up north for some time and he and David have got chummy.
“No, I have mirrors coming.”
“Not for above your bed, I hope...”
“No.” He laughed. “Wardrobes and other places.”
“Just as well you don’t want to be crying during sex, it’s really not a good look.”
We both laugh.
“It puts the trade off his game.”
Of course, summer is wonderful, all that sunshine. And Autumn is gorgeous, all that colour. And winter, well, winter makes you appreciate the other seasons, it is nice to feel the difference. We walk our muddy footprints out of winter.
But spring, spring is when everything is new and vibrant and vital. Tiny green signs of life on those bare branches suddenly appear. All those flowers, everything blooming. Everything comes alive in spring.
7.52am. David calls me, I am dumbfounded, as he is the guy who scratches around until 3am, doing god knows what, then never getting up before midday, never having had a real job in his life helps. Oh, except when he worked as a doctor, but he hated every minute of that and soon gave it up for guru’dom.
His opening line is, “Why? Can you tell me why anyone would be up at this hour?”
“I was up at 6am…”
“What’s wrong with you?”
“Are you playing with David (Our vague friend Sarah, except he hates it whenever anyone calls him that) again?” The other David has lived up north for some time and he and David have got chummy.
“No, I have mirrors coming.”
“Not for above your bed, I hope...”
“No.” He laughed. “Wardrobes and other places.”
“Just as well you don’t want to be crying during sex, it’s really not a good look.”
We both laugh.
“It puts the trade off his game.”
Saturday, August 29, 2020
Friday, August 28, 2020
Our Opportunistic Prime Minister Is A Scumbag
There really is nothing to which Scott Morrison won't stoop, pretending to be concerned about the pregnant woman from Ballina whose baby, apparently, died due to closed boarders with Queensland, and not being able to get an Ambulance for a considerable amount of time, when previously Scummo has made no secret about wanting Queensland to open its borders. The empathy coach was clearly a waste of money for Scotty.
Thursday, August 27, 2020
Sometimes
Sometimes, all we want is someone to look in our direction, nothing more, nothing less.
Just a friendly face, and a little acknowledgment.
Heaven sent.
(If there was a heaven, of course)
Something real,
Sometimes, that is all we want.
Heaven.
(said in the gay way, not the Jesusy way)
Heaven.
(said in the gay way, not the Jesusy way)
Wednesday, August 26, 2020
Tuesday, August 25, 2020
Man, You've Got A Big Arse
I'm walking in the park, getting in my hour a day exercise. Some days I ride my bike, some days I walk. Today I walked.
A guy jogs passed me in baggy blue shorts, under which he has active wear tights. He has on a blue long sleeved active wear top. Funny, he seems to be way over dressed, like Joey on Friends when he puts on all of Chandler's clothes.
His shorts are big because he has a huge arse. "Baby you've got a big arse," I say out loud, or I would have said out loud if it hadn't been muffled by the mask I was wearing. I laugh, and got thinking.
Baby Got Big Arse
God, you’ve got a big arse, baby.
What would that feel like spread across my face?
In the saddle like a cowboy, giddyup! Ride ‘em home.
While I get in touch with your inner zone.
I feel you quiver, I feel you squirm
At the thought does your stomach churn?
I laugh, (how brazen am I?) I feel it in my face,
I pick up the pace.
To the end, it is a race.
You and me.
Funny the things that go through your head when you are walking in the sun, in the park, listening to Bowie, watching the joggers’ jog by. The sun shone, the sky was blue. One foot in front of the other, marching forth. I love the energy begetting energy. The rhythm, the swagger, the fresh air, sense of space and grace.
Walking is my thing at the moment. Riding was always my exercise of choice, but walking seems to suit me well, now. It is probably not the best for losing weight, but then people say that is more about diet than it is about moving your arse.
So, it is walking that I am into now, not the least because I am free, to fantasies about you and me. Not the least because I am free to write poems about what who I see. Ha ha. You can’t write much when you are barrelling along on a bike, it is not easy to do that. No sir.
There is a freedom about walking, just me and the elements, no machine bought into service to help me along the way. Just me and my two feet, that is freedom.
I wish I could jog like I used to, but my left knee doesn’t like it, which is the reason I took to bike riding in the first place. Even recently, I gave it a try, thinking that my knee had been really good all through this time of increased exercise, but no, it didn’t like it straight away and was sore for days afterwards. If I walk, it seems to cope just fine, but high impact, no, no, no.
Walking is great, though, don’t knock walking. You can continue to day dream about that guy with the big, beefy butt easily. Or that guy with the tiny little arse and those thighs (holding hands 30 centimetres apart) and those tiny black shorts that only barely kept him nice.
You can go on thinking about the two cute Asian boys who jog with their dog, the granny jogger, who I can walk faster than, but who is still my inspiration for getting out there and doing it, the old man, in the neat matching tracksuit top and bottom, who I reckon has been given walking to do by his doctor, or, the woman who walks the two wolves.
No thinking required, just relax into it, get up your rhythm and get going.
A guy jogs passed me in baggy blue shorts, under which he has active wear tights. He has on a blue long sleeved active wear top. Funny, he seems to be way over dressed, like Joey on Friends when he puts on all of Chandler's clothes.
His shorts are big because he has a huge arse. "Baby you've got a big arse," I say out loud, or I would have said out loud if it hadn't been muffled by the mask I was wearing. I laugh, and got thinking.
Baby Got Big Arse
God, you’ve got a big arse, baby.
What would that feel like spread across my face?
In the saddle like a cowboy, giddyup! Ride ‘em home.
While I get in touch with your inner zone.
I feel you quiver, I feel you squirm
At the thought does your stomach churn?
I laugh, (how brazen am I?) I feel it in my face,
I pick up the pace.
To the end, it is a race.
You and me.
Funny the things that go through your head when you are walking in the sun, in the park, listening to Bowie, watching the joggers’ jog by. The sun shone, the sky was blue. One foot in front of the other, marching forth. I love the energy begetting energy. The rhythm, the swagger, the fresh air, sense of space and grace.
Walking is my thing at the moment. Riding was always my exercise of choice, but walking seems to suit me well, now. It is probably not the best for losing weight, but then people say that is more about diet than it is about moving your arse.
So, it is walking that I am into now, not the least because I am free, to fantasies about you and me. Not the least because I am free to write poems about what who I see. Ha ha. You can’t write much when you are barrelling along on a bike, it is not easy to do that. No sir.
There is a freedom about walking, just me and the elements, no machine bought into service to help me along the way. Just me and my two feet, that is freedom.
I wish I could jog like I used to, but my left knee doesn’t like it, which is the reason I took to bike riding in the first place. Even recently, I gave it a try, thinking that my knee had been really good all through this time of increased exercise, but no, it didn’t like it straight away and was sore for days afterwards. If I walk, it seems to cope just fine, but high impact, no, no, no.
Walking is great, though, don’t knock walking. You can continue to day dream about that guy with the big, beefy butt easily. Or that guy with the tiny little arse and those thighs (holding hands 30 centimetres apart) and those tiny black shorts that only barely kept him nice.
You can go on thinking about the two cute Asian boys who jog with their dog, the granny jogger, who I can walk faster than, but who is still my inspiration for getting out there and doing it, the old man, in the neat matching tracksuit top and bottom, who I reckon has been given walking to do by his doctor, or, the woman who walks the two wolves.
No thinking required, just relax into it, get up your rhythm and get going.
Monday, August 24, 2020
 |
Conspiracy Theorists (is that giving them too grand a title?) or, at least, the people who believe conspiracy theories, are halfwits, and, I guess, it is very easy to say they are halfwits, but why are they? Is it the stupid who believe this stuff? Is it lack of education? Are they just bored? Is the media to blame using fear to sell its product? Is it the duplicity of politicians that feeds this stuff? What is it? I don't know. Some of it is just mind boggling, the kind of stuff that bends your brain trying to understand it. I know one thing, I never, ever believe that the people perpetrating this crap actually believe it is true, they do it for another reason, other than the good of the people on whom they are inflicting their rubbish. They do it for self promotion, they do it for their own gains, they do it because they can, maybe. It really is evil inflicted on the world. |
Sunday, August 23, 2020
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 Bruno 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 Bruno.
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.
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 Bruno 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 Bruno.
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.
Saturday, August 22, 2020
Rainy Saturday
It seems weird to be watching teev at 9.45am, 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 Bruno 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 Bruno, 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 Bruno 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.
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 Bruno 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 Bruno, 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 Bruno 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.
Friday, August 21, 2020
Thursday, August 20, 2020
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.
“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.
Saturday, August 15, 2020
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.
Friday, August 14, 2020
Saturday, August 08, 2020
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.
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.
Friday, August 07, 2020
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.
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.
Wednesday, August 05, 2020
Tuesday, August 04, 2020
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.
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.
Sunday, August 02, 2020
Saturday, August 01, 2020
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.
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.
Friday, July 31, 2020
Lying To Get Into Queensland (Yeah, I know, that in itself...)
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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. |
Thursday, July 30, 2020
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.
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.
Sunday, July 26, 2020
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| 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. |
Friday, July 24, 2020
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.
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.
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.
Thursday, July 23, 2020
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| 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. |
Wednesday, July 22, 2020
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| 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. |
Tuesday, July 21, 2020
Friday, July 17, 2020
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.
“... 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.
Thursday, July 16, 2020
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.
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.
Wednesday, July 15, 2020
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 Bruno 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.
Saturday, July 11, 2020
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!!ðŸ¤
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.
Friday, July 10, 2020
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.
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.
Thursday, July 09, 2020
Saturday, July 04, 2020
Friday, July 03, 2020
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.
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