Oh Daniel, Does That, You Know, Hurt, Like Good?

He Made The Sale

I had to keep checking to see if my nuts were there. Fuck me! The sun shone momentarily, but in between... brrr! Ahhh! as the cold hit.

I was going to stay home, the cold nearly kept me there, but I was feeling a little cabin fevery, don't know why, right from when I rolled out of bed at 9am. So, I pushed myself and headed out into the day.

Just go somewhere, I thought, as I backed the car out. Go see what you can see, instead of spending the day behind your computer. I would have been thinking about vitamin D, you know, if there  had been any on offer.

I headed to the freeway, following one of those Renault Megane Sports that I want to replace the GTI with. It was silvery metallic blue and it looked hot with it's haunches down as it accelerated along Smith Street.

 It seemed as good a reason as any to head north... young man. It turned right at Alexander Parade, so, so did I.

I'm on the freeway, I thought. Just head where the front of the car takes me, that's all that was going through my mind. Open road, trees, fresh air. I thought of Thelma and Louise and contemplated opening the... um... er... sunroof, but? Grimace.

I hit the cd, Randy Crawford sang

I went to Shopping Town to see the shops, hardly pioneering, I grant you. I've driven past a few times lately and the place has turned into a megatroplis since I was there last. So, I broke my mould, and I went window shopping. You know, just to have a look, can't hurt once in a while. I didn't know that I wanted anything, but isn't that why people go shopping now a days, for entertainment. Purchases are optional - it's so not me, but there you go. The sales were on and I was trying to get myself interested in heading into a shop and taking advantage of the reduced prices. Go on! Go on! Go on! But, I had a certain kind of ambivalence seeping through me, as I wandered around. Like a warm, contended laziness. Ah!

Still, there were plenty of pretty boys with packed jeans.

The place has changed majorly. They've built on the car park and now there are two galleries, one next to the other. It was hard to get my bearings, placing myself in how I remembered it to be. It's all modern and chic now.

So, I wimped it and headed to the supermarket and bought a few mundane things that I really needed - body wash, tooth paste, washing powder.

My mind was changed for me when I came to a shop called Ta, or Da, or Ya. The window was  full of jeans which I liked, a couple of pairs I really liked. Come on! Come on! Come on! Then I looked past the window display inside to the guy serving. A pretty, dark wog boy - my Brad Pitt.

Fuck me! In I went. Ambivalence evaporated.

"Hi, how are you?"

"Yeah, good."

Olive skin, black hair, dark complexion, beautiful smile, hairy chest, hot little arse, nice bulge. Probably Italian. Fine, taught body. Sparkly eyes. Interested and attentive, even if he was good at making it seem that way.

"How can I help you?"

My mind reeled. Any way you want, baby.

He had on a checked jeans shirt, with a few buttons undone. I could see he was hairy all the way down. I imagined what it looked like where it all joined up under the waistband of his jeans. I could already see the decent bulge, so it wasn't hard, if you'll excuse the pun. He squatted down to find my right size. His shirt rode up as he did and I could see the elastic waistband of his jocks hugging him tight and the black hair disappearing down the sexy crack of his small, tight arse. He had one of those little butts where the backs of his thighs are ever so slightly wider. You know, two handfuls.

Okay, I'm a dirty perve, but I've never denied it. The buns on this boy, though... tongue hanging out of my mouth.

He had one of those sexy smiles where he kind of blushed, just a little, at the same time. Weak knees.

Suffice to say, he made the sale.

I wanted to ask him his name, (ask him what he was doing tonight, ha, ha) as he smiled and handed me the bag, but some how it didn't seem um... er... appropriate. (smile)

The shopping centre is now ginormous, there just seemed to be more and more floors. I had coffee and lemon slice up by the windows, on the top floor, with the city views, bags strewn around like a real shopper, even if most of them were supermarket bags. It was kind of nice looking out, even on an overcast, grey day, sweeping across the valley that is filled with all those houses. I wondered how many, momentarily? Then shook my head and drank my coffee.

I must get out to the suburbs more often, I thought, as I drove out. I seem to get my shopping mojo when I do.

Funny thing, as I headed out to the car park, I walked past someone who was once a really good friend of mine, who I haven't seen in years. She walked towards me and looked straight at me and kept walking. I don't know why I didn't say hello, I guess, I was waiting for that spark of recognition and when it didn't come I didn't connect either. Maybe? I can be a little shy when caught off guard, you know, stop and think is always my first position. I was a little surprised, to tell you the truth, but, out of context and out of time, you don't always lock onto a face, do you?

You Know, I Try To Approach This Blog With Intelligence And Charm, But Every Now And Again You Just Need A Hot Piece Of Arse

Japanese Soup For Two

Sam and I had lunch together. He's back in my good books, what can I say? He charmed me with his smarts and humour all over again. Plus I think he's cute as... and wanted to ...... him, all over again. Blush... but it's true.

We had a table for two over Japanese soup and gyoza; you know, animated, boisterous, intense, flirting, stirring, chastising, smiling, laughing.

He said I was far too happy and clearly still stoned from the weekend. And then Mr Finger Waggler said he wanted to smoke it too but this time without the tobacco mixed in. He smiled his cute smile and gave defiant eyes when I called him on it. And I just wanted to lick him.

So, I don't know what all that other nonsense was. Oh I do, but I'm only human. I think I just wanted to tug on the reigns a bit to see what happened. I think my head was spinning, you know, maybe slow it up just a bit. Breathe.

I think he was up on my carry on. Has my measure, so to speak. You know, he picked up on my drift just fine. Big smile. I wouldn't have any man of mine any other way. You can't let me get away with anything, otherwise I'll walk all over ya.

But conversely, don't expect to get away with a thing y'all self.

I made him go back to the foyer of the RACV Building to admire the car they have in the foyer for the third time, just for a little metaphoric pants wearing on the way back to work. Bristol 403, one of the most beautiful car designs ever. He got big points, because he acted like he was interested.

Me and the Cat and a Sunny Monday

I just thought I'd relax and not think too much today. What's with my head? Maybe, I've got too much going on at the moment. But quietly, behind my hand, I don't think I have.

So, just take a day and chill.

I farted around, did washing, trawled the Internet, patted my cat, paid bills. Shane's in Sydney, so I've had a good twenty four hours of "me" time.

I baked a chicken roast, for Shane, that Tim gave me. Tim so loves those specials at Coles. He makes me laugh. Shane's been in Sydney with a F/B misbehaving and he said he'd need protein when he got home.

"What? Protein administered from the opposite end to how you had it for the previous two days?"

He didn't get it, clearly he's going to be in a state.

I baked a lemon cake. This is a really big fuck off lemon cake with almond meal and polenta and lemon sugar syrup poured all over it when it is still hot out of the oven. It was supposed to cook for 2 hours and at 2 1/2 I took it out. It sunk a bit in the middle, oh well.

Do I feel any different? Dunno? I've been stoned. Nicholas gave me a take-home package. Bad Christian. It's not exactly the state to be in to let your most recent history wash over you.

And, of course, today I have had a head ache from all the smoking. Hands in the air! Will I ever learn? Go on, call me stupid.

 

Can You Really Go Off Someone In Twenty Four Hours?

It all started Friday with my best girlfriend, Rachel’s grandma dying and Rachel selling her restaurant, at the same time. Congratulations. How sad. Tell me all? If I wanted the story I had to go in, she wasn't about to write the length email that it would take, she still had the restaurant to run, after all. Still had it for another month.

So, I said I'd come in Saturday night to find out. I thought I'd head in with Sam, you know, just casually. He was always saying I wasn't making any plans. You know, make the date. My mate Jill's head gasket had gone, so we were going to pick her up. So I told her I'd be bringing him.

Yesterday. I woke up to the alarm clocking clicking on at 7am. I leant over to push snooze and it felt like a knife was driven through my right shoulder. I tried a couple of times, various moves but I couldn't move it without great pain. I must have slept on it funny. Fuck it hurt!

I decided to take strong painkillers, the one's that come with a muscle relaxant. Migraine strength. I felt floppy. Waisted. Pretty soon. I don't care about any thing attitude. Except, the shoulder was still sore.

Trouble was that I felt nothing, nothing for Sam, for the first time, he came over, nothing. I'd always been buzzing to see him, but this time, no. Nothing. I tried to have sex with him, but lost interested. Too relaxed to care. He wanted painkillers too when I told him why I'd stopped, so I got them and stuck two in his mouth. They can bring down elephants, those things, so I knew exactly what they'd do for him. And we both slept for the afternoon, back to back, crack to crack, various arms and legs combinations.

I was groggy when I woke, groggy for the rest of the night. Nothing, I was feeling nothing. We had to get dressed and drive to Prahran, to pick up Jill, and then to Albert Park.

It wasn't coming back. I felt weird and I still felt no attraction. I couldn't think of any thing to say. Didn't want to.

The night turned into a bitchbrunch. Rachel is also getting a divorce, she's finally served the papers, since he wouldn't leave of his own free will. Jill has her senile father living with her, I have a senile mother, it was red wine and misery, let me tell you. I was half-zonked out, real valley girl.

I gazed across at Sam several times, he smiled. I rubbed his leg. He looked away. He chatted, they both liked him. But, I'm not in love with him, you know. But I've been acting like I was and this was the first falter.

Oh! Shake head! I just think, for whatever reason, I'm trying too hard. Just got to relax, be cool, you know.

We came home in silence. He is very quiet, not very chatty. Of course, he can be really funny, when he wants to be. He's smart, nice, perfect boyfriend material. We had sex and fell asleep.

I woke this morning at 6 am and gazed over at him. he looked like an angel.

I woke to him playing with his iPhone4, later. "You can sleep forever, can't you?" It was 11am.

I couldn't wait for him to go. I still felt nothing. Blank. Zip. Niente. But, I decided to play it cool. I got up made coffee had a shower and made breakfast, when he asked me what I was doing today, Nicholas almost rang on queue and I could say I was going driving. And then Sam was walking one way up my street and I was walking in the other direction, thinking to myself, can you really go off someone in twenty four hours? And for no apparent reason? I thought I really liked him, but then it just seemed to go away, yesterday.

Nicholas and I went driving around Carlton, we had egg breakfasts in Drummond Street. We drove the course he'd be doing on his test. We did it about six times. Maybe four.

Then we smoked bongs as soon as we got home. Tim was watching teev. We were scheming on the last lap of the circuit.

"Come on we've got to go see Guido."

"No," says Tim.

"Only if I drive. I'm not letting a learner..."

"I haven't smoked any, I've been packing them for you. But I will be able to once we get back. You just have to sit next to me."

“Okay. Get me sun glasses.” Nicholas drives like a normal driver now. He’s good. He’ll have no problems getting through the test.

"Get me wine," says Tim.

It was warm waiting in the car, when Nicholas went in to get it. There was a tribute to Freddy Mercury, I lay my head back and listened to a little heaven served up to me in the drug dealers car park. Ah Freddy, the world lost one of the greats with you, hey. My head was spinning, my skin tingling.

"Are you still awake there, pots?" says Nicholas, as he gets back into the car. Clunk goes the door.

"Yeah bongo, let’s go."

Nicholas smiles broadly as he backs the car around. My head spun. Weee. He, he, he.

We had stir fry that Tim has cooked as an afternoon snack and plenty of bongs, watching unsolved murders. We forgot his wine, so he has to head up to “China” as Tim so eloquently puts it, cursing us for being airheads. “Yeah, thanks, I cooked.”

I like Tim and Nicholas, they are just boys, out and out, no pretensions, you know you just got to love it, sometimes.

I walked home up G Street, as the sky turned to black and the cold swept in. Giddy.

I like my life, but I want to be in love. Otherwise, it just becomes like hard work, sometimes, I know that much is true. I don’t know what I feel. I’m glad Luke hadn’t followed up with the dinner idea tonight. I was craving some alone time, let me tell you.

I decided to concentrate on being me, rather than a boyfriend.

 

Blue Skies Smilin' At Me, Nothin' But Blue Skies Do I See

I think a vast expanse of blue sky nourishes our souls

The Hairy Stomach, Such A sexy Look On A Man

Jacob has the most perfect happy trail of any man, everyone says so

Who Doesn't Love a Retro Mercedes

2009 Gullwing America 300 SL Panamericana

iPhone4

OMG! The iPhone4 is out. Stop the press! Oh, ah! I hope I won't have trouble breathing when I see my first one. Is the world spinning a little differently? Wait, I'm sure it is.

Sam was very excited! He's been waiting for it. This day. It's one of the interesting things about going out with a semi-nerd IT geek boy. (except when he laughs, nay, scoffs at my phone, lap-top, pc.) He was going to get an iPhone4 today, today was the Day! And when he didn't it was a disaster!  But, he already has the previous iPhone and the new one is a dud? What's the big deal? Apparently, I didn't quite understand? You just have to keep up in the techno race. Now he's yesterday’s news.

You couldn't pre-order, apparently. And it was no use going to a provider, you had to go straight to mecca, the Apple shops in Doncaster or Chadstone. That much I understood.

I think it's kind of cute, to be truthful. It doesn't really matter what you are passionate about – iPhones, square dancing, stamps, blood – as long as you are passionate about something. You know, interesting. It could be about shrunken African heads that stare you down, I don't care.

I didn't even mind being dropped by the wayside. We'll catch up tomorrow night, okay?

Yeah, sure. Wry smile.

But, the iphone4 is a dud?

No, you get a case with it, which makes it work.

But surely, they have to release an upgraded phone without the fault.

Yes, in September.

So, why don't you wait until September.

Wait? Until September? I'll get a new one in September?

But aren't you getting one now?

Yes.

But?

He was looking at me by this stage as though I was an alien, or an idiot, or like I'd walked into the black party in lime green.

You're funny, he said. He kissed me. 

And there is nothing wrong with your phone... but he was gone.

So...? I decided to stop thinking about it, trying to make sense of it. It's clearly a secret I haven't been let in on. I clearly don't have the gene. I still only use my phone to text and call people. And mostly it's just texts.

Don't tell him, but I even think all this is adorable.

 

You Know, When I Was Young And Foolish

I used to think I was the reincarnation of Albert Camus. (Well, not really. Entertain myself with... perhaps) It struck me suddenly when I read his own story, you know, when I was young. I had a resonance with his writing that I can't explain. I identified with his existential character in The Outsider, I felt like one, at the time. Probably because I wanted to lift boy's shirts, if the truth be known. And he was killed in a car accident driving his French sports car, which seemed fitting. (He wasn't actually driving) 

He smoked, he drank, he drove fast cars, all the things a writer should be.

I had a romanticised idea about him. 

I love the absurd.

You know, when I was young and foolish.

My new writer of choice to study and read up on is Trueman Capote. Of course, I cannot be the reincarnation of him, as I was born before he died. I don't think I am him, reincarnated, or not. But, I'm liking his writing.

The film Capote put the idea into my head to read In Cold Blood and more recently a story about Harper Lee nudged my memory.

I've read some of his short stories already and now I'm going to read his novels, as I never have before.

He hung out at Studio 54 with Liza and Gore.

Let's get drunk and walk into the sea. You know, be interesting, or something. Do something, be something!

Is it better to live hard and die young than to turn beige in the late afternoon sun of our old age. You know, like parchment, or so much old leather. What is the attraction of your bowels and brain failing, I never did understand.

Or, is it better to simply live well? There is no other meaning to life.

Reduce The Amount Of Leeway Given To Speeding Motorists To Raise Taxes

NSW police say the R. T. A. is considering plans to reduce the amount of leeway given to speeding motorists to as low as 4 km/h.

The reduced tolerances are part of a tougher stance on speeding adopted by the NSW government, which includes six mobile speed cameras appearing on Sydney streets from July 19. (I'm surprised it isn't called a war)

Driving fines are expected to rise by $137 million in the next year, partially because of mobile speed cameras, the state budget reported. (Ed note - note this is the main reason for the decreased tolerance, I would say) The cameras, which can fine six drivers every second, will be set up in vans operated by a RTA-contracted company. Signs will inform drivers they have been "checked" after they pass the vans, which also shoot video.

Clearly indicating it is now a budgetary issue rather than a safety issue.

The proposal, which would follow a similar approach by our very own Nana State Victorian government, has been criticised by senior highway patrol officers, who believe the margin for error is too small. One senior policeman said that a 4 km/h tolerance is so small that a new set of tyres or the width of a speedometer needle could land motorists on the wrong side of the law. He said some radars have an error margin of plus or minus 3 km/h, while most police allow a margin of 8 or 9 km/h at 60 km/h.

The RTA is responsible for the limit on fixed cameras, as well as those in the new mobile vans.

It's a sad state of affairs that reduced margins in speeding are about raising money not about saving peoples lives. This is an excellent way for the govt to make a profit on the general public's misery. There's not use having those bigger pesky margins as that only causes the government to lose money.

This is heading down the same path as the idiot Victorian Government, another govt bereft of ideas. Labour so needs to be voted out of state office at the next Victorian State election.

Vote Greens everyone, just to flex our power and show the governments in power that democracy means government by the people.

Vote out governments that have lost touch. The policing of roads should be about the safety of the general public and not about cheap ways to balance the states books.

No Matter What The Govt Tells You, What Spin They Put On It, It’s So They Can Charge Us More Money

The new Smart Electricity metre was installed, a day, or so, a go. It glows with red devil's eyes on the front veranda, we've all noticed. What is that? we've said startled. Is that an ominous sign of things to come, do you think?

You know, if only the occupants of the Amityville House noticed sooner.

Now watch your bills skyrocket.

Maybe, I Need to Go and Buy Some New Clothes

"OMG! you are wearing white?" were Sebastian's first words when he entered the kitchen, groceries in hand.
I was, in fact, wearing my favourite old jumper that I have had for years, which is, indeed, white. It's my warmest jumper in the cold, cold days. Admittedly, I haven't worn it in a while.

I didn't realise how much black I must wear.
Although, thinking that I might wear this for a change when I put the white jumper on, might just have been a give away.

I guess I do, thinking about it. Wear black.

I was a little surprised though, that it would be that noticeable that it would require a comment.
Maybe, it was an auto-immune Melbourne gay gene response?

Maybe, I need to go and buy some new clothes?
Not one of my favourite pursuits. I know, I'm a semi-failed gay boy, I know. I know.
Sebastian cooked dinner.
I made a banana cake with cream cheese icing.
Now surely that's very gay? How about if I add the word gorgeous?

Yes, I'm Pretty Confident

Tim, Nicholas and I ate breakfast in Cowes; big breakfast, eggs, toast, sausages, baked beans, mushrooms, tomatoes. Coffee. Out in the sun, in a court yard, on a corner. It's just nice to taste the sea air, the salt on your lips, the freedom it promises, even if it is winter. Still, the sun was warm on my back.

We wandered around the shops, which all seem jam packed full of stuff. Landfill for the most part, to be truthful. We find the "collectibles" shop and peruse it for a time. There are several pieces of the pottery I collect, at good prices too, but lately I've decided not to collect any more. I have enough "stuff." besides, nothing lasts forever and you are just setting yourself up for disappointment when some of it breaks. It seems just as fulfilling to gaze at it in the shop cabinet.

We drive back in the sunshine, with the breath-taking water views as a back drop, well, at least for the first part. You know, that lovely silvery shinny water stretching off into the never never, off to the far horizon, flat out all the way to forever. We slip through the crisp country air towards home, some music playing, quiet as boys are. Nicholas favours classic rock, Tim is quiet in the back seat, for the most part.

I have to admit, I thought about Sam the whole time I was away.

I get home to a quiet house, just me and Missy. I catch my breath. It’s nice to have some alone time. You know how much I like alone time. I have lunch with Sam most days, I see him several nights per week. He has slept over more than any um, boyfriend I’ve had in the last ten years. He's getting more of my time than Manny, Josh or Maurice combined, every did, and I don't mind for a millisecond. But, it's also nice to miss him, too. Have some space to appreciate him.

Luke has left some pot in the mull bowl, when I get home, so I roll a joint and smoke it. The first pot for the weekend.

I type my journals.

Sam texts. I say I’m home, come over. He says he’s coming over. I light a fire and think life doesn’t get much better. I shake my head and laugh. It’s a battle to fight ones natural cynicism and to let go of that alone time amour.

I feel shocking, to tell you the truth. I know I have oesophagi's, I know it flares up when I smoke. I’m in pain, how stupid do you say I am?

I so have to stop tomorrow.

The cigarettes are on the kitchen bench and the mull bowl is still on the coffee table. Sam sees them straight away. He points to both and looks at me in amazement.

I hug him and kiss him and tell him that I predict that I'm still in the good books, despite it.

He replies, You're pretty confident.

I hug him tight and say, Yes, I am pretty confident.

He laughs like he's heard it all.

I tell him to tell me that I'm wrong.

He smiles and leans in and kisses me gently on the mouth.

The adorable boy and I cuddle up. We have the house to ourselves. He’s quite simply gorgeous. I gaze at him and feel ever so happy.

Down the Coast

I go see mum, she is sitting in one of the upright chairs in the foyer when I get there. We sit and chat about stuff generally. Of course, it comes up about her going home. My brother, Will’s, words about the doctors not allowing her to go home, come into my head. I try it. It’s still not working, she just arcs up like a bitch.

"I’m not going to die here!" she says.

You know, it breaks my heart.

The day drifts away. I grab my Aztec coat, well it's cold and my backpack and head to Tim and Nicholas’s about 3pm, by foot.

It’s driving lessons for Nicholas in the form of a country drive down the coast. We drive to Newhaven, just over the bridge on Phillip Island and stay at Helen’s cute as hell house overlooking the water.

We eat at the San Remo pub. The meals are expensive, but huge, matching the track suit pants of most of the women there.

The first person Nicholas meets is his drug deal, of course, who offers him pot and a joint. He turns both down, because it’s his weekend driving, after all. You know, zero blood levels for learners. Would you believe? So, there was absolutely no need for me to buy cigarettes and smoke the whole time, but I did. At least, I could have blamed it on the dope. This way? I’m just piss week. I’ve smoked cigarettes two weeks on and two weeks off. I last smoked for a night last Thursday, but hadn’t smoked since then. I have to stop tomorrow, my reflux is playing up. You see, not only am I as weak as piss, but it’s actually causing me pain. How stupid am I?

We go home and watch 101 Dalmatians and get plastered on wine.

Mark calls around midnight to ask where I am? He and Luke have been to Guido’s and are speeding off their heads and are heading out for the night.

I tell him I’m at Philip Island. Mark asks why a couple would want to take me away on the weekend with them, how nana are they? I explain that it is Nicholas’s country drive as practice for his licence. Mark asks why Sam wasn’t with me. I tell him that Sam is a little disappointed not to have come away and Mark agrees.

“I don’t blame him, I’d be disappointed too.”

“But Tim and Nicholas don’t know him. It was Nicholas’s thing really, not so much a weekend away.”

They say they are at my place rolling joints.

I stay up late and watch From the cradle to the Grave. Just because there were hot men in it, I have to admit. It was crap, but it was shiny and slick and pretty.

Sam text me through the night.

I think about him the whole time. You know, warmly, sexily, nice that I’m missing him, kind of thoughts, rather than wishing he was there. I don’t want it to move too quickly and burn out too fast. It's nice to feel that space, you know, so you can appreciate the person who normally fills it.

This is hysterical

A cross-dressing man has been caught having sex with a dog in a moat at an old English castle.

The dog chased the 33-year-old transvestite while on a walk with its female owner around the grounds of Cornwall's Pendennis Castle — a fortress built by King Henri VIII — on the morning of July 10, the newspaper reports.

When the woman finally found the dog, she saw the man had mounted it.
Can you picture this, some tranny humping your dog?
"Jees Narelle, that's not somepthink ya see every day."

Police were called to the scene while staff detained the man.
Can you imagine what the, traditionally, straight-laced police would have thought? "You wouldn't fucken believe it even if I fucken told you."

The tranny was escorted home and made a full confession.
Not, in a state of undress, one would assume. Do you think his lippy was smudged across his face? Think about it.

A police spokesperson said: "Other agencies were liaised with and he was handed over to them."
One guess what agencies?

The man received a caution for outraging public decency.
And the dog got a bunch of flowers and an apology and a promise that he would call.

Zachary's could beguile you in seconds

We Need To Talk

Yesterday was my day off. I set my alarm and got up early, as my doctor's clinic was on "appointment on the day" bookings only, as a number of the doctors were away, mine included, so they weren't making appointments. You had to call first thing and grab whatever available appointment there was.

Yeah, good onya, I thought.

I just wanted to get two scripts renewed. I suggested to the receptionist that these could be done in a spare moment and left at the desk for me, there fore I would not, in fact, need an appointment, but she was having none of that.

SMS. 09.00. Good morning babe, sorry for yesterday. I’m on my “Man period” :) How are you? – Sam

Should I answer? Should I make coffee first, before I even contemplate answering.

I decided not to respond straight away.

Maybe a little coffee. Certainly, some muesli. Perhaps, a shower even.

I was still barely awake, coffee just made when Sam called and hit me with that famous line, We need to talk. (Although, the earlier attempt at the apology was good to see.)

Admittedly, my first response to this was, You know what, I'd rather throw myself under the 86 tram than to have to talk, talk, talk, talk, endlessly fucking talk... the equivalent of cardio paddling our relationship back into some sort of newly breathing husk of it's former self.

I told him to come over after work. Shane's in Queensland, we'd have the house to ourselves.

Then I went to see my mum. She didn’t want to go to the same cafe today, so we headed up Doncaster Road, heading for the country, as she'd asked for. We had barely got onto Doncaster Road when she said let’s find somewhere around here, this is nice. We stopped and bought her some hair colour at one of the discount chemist shops, just passed Shopping Town, scouting for a cafe. The weather was awful and there didn’t seem to be any cafes close by. She is easily tricked, now a days, so I just drove back to the usual Belmore Road shops a different way and she was happy. We ate in the cafe across the road from the one we ate at usually. I drove back to the nursing home the long way around, I'm pretty sure she didn't catch on. I don’t think she did.

I was home by early afternoon.

SMS. 15.43. Hey cranky pants :) I’m going to the doctor @ 16.45, which means I should be home about the time you get there, but if I’m not, I won’t be long – Christian

SMS. 15.44. Hm, are you okay? I cya tonight – Sam

SMS. 15.46. I’m fine, just going to be treated for stress caused by a certain someone in my life – Christian

SMS. 15.47. Seriously??!! U freak me out now – Sam

SMS. 15.47. Big smile.

SMS. 16.14. Are you okay? – Christian

SMS. 16.15. No, I’m freaked out because u freaked out (wink) – Sam

SMS. 16.16. I’m not freaked out – Christian

My doctor’s appointment was at 16.45 with Tom Wilson. It didn't last long, just two scripts and a flu shot.

Just as I pulled up into the lane way next to my house, Sam text me. Literally, as my wheels rolled up the driveway from the road.

SMS. 17.34. Are you home yet? – Sam

SMS. 17.35. Yes, just got here – Christian

Then I saw him walking along G. Street, next to the pub, and I smiled and I felt good, just for seeing him.

We have to talk first, of course. He lays out his accusations. I tell him he’s a drama queen.

He says he was hurt by my decision to smoke pot and my decision to go away without him on the weekend. He says, of course, he wants to smoke pot with me, but he thinks that would not be a good thing. He doesn’t think I should, he says I go through a door into another world, when I do and he doesn’t like it.

I tell him that I felt guilty about going away without him, but he doesn’t know Tim and Nicholas and that it was organised weeks ago.

We eat Indian. We chat and make fun and joke about not being able to choose the dishes from the menu. I tell him we’re going around to the shop in person then – it’s literally – just around the corner, he raises his eyebrows and says really, as he pulls his jacket on. There does just seem to be he and I as we laugh on our way around to make the order face to face.

We watch television in each other’s arms.

Letter to Self

 This letter is the beginning of my London journal, completed a few years ago. I know it's not quite written in the traditional style of a letter to your younger self, but here it is.

Saturday 24th March

I pieced together most of my journal for when I lived in London from the letters I sent to Leah at the time, and from a, somewhat, incomplete journal I wrote intermittently while I was there.

"Oh, I was too busy to be sitting and writing all the time," says 20 year old Christian. "Besides, it never occurred to me to write it all down."

Forty year old Christian looks “directly into the lens” and raises his eye-brows.

Leah gave me the letters a few years ago, after I had asked her if she still had them. I wrote to her nearly every day. She was coming down from Sydney to clean her stuff out of her mum's garage in Melbourne, finally, so I asked her to look while she was doing the cleaning up. She gave them to me to read, after which she said that she wanted them back to re-read them for herself. I think I gave her the idea.

"I'm going to type them up..."

“Why?” said Leah.

“Oh, I didn’t really keep the journal that I meant to when I was overseas, that first time. It helps me fill in the blanks. Besides, it’s good to say hello to my twenty year old self again. It’s the journal I meant to keep.”

“But bubby why? That was so long ago.”

My Forty year old self completely dominated my twenty year old self. No, you’re not going to say that, you’re not going to embarrass us like that. You talk shit, you don’t even write in complete sentences. You use baby language and embarrassing expressions. Everything was “nice.” How about a little description when you wrote about the gardens at Hampton Court Palace. How about describing a place instead of just saying you went there and it was “nice.” Tell us how you felt about stuff. Sheesh. You didn’t make it easy, not a clue as a writer. You only talked about the most banal things, generally.

The sun was shining, the sky was blue.

Hands in the air! Exasperated look.

Twenty year old Christian looks perplexed.

A boy went out into the world to do a man’s job. I would have done such a better job, writing off screeds of beautiful prose, talking about places in fascinating detail. What a waste to send those tunnel vision twenty year old eyes out into the world.

“But you didn’t.”

“Hello, it’s nice to meet you,” says forty year old Christian.

“Yeah, well? Nice to meet you?” Twenty year old Christian smiles nervously. “I’m not so sure,” he says.

So forty year old Christian rewrote passages freely, added details that he remembered to be true. He re-jigged sentences to make them make sense, adding whatever he wanted to.

“If I just added these few words and connect that idea to that idea, and changed this sentence, that paragraph would, actually, then make sense. Because, I have no idea what it means now.”

"But... but... but?"

I have tried to keep within the spirit of the letters, only adding or changing to make what is already there make sense. I have expanded ideas, as I understood their original meaning to be - it's amazing what you can remember. I haven’t added any new ideas or material, which I didn’t feel was already contained in the original meaning.

“But that was my idea,” says twenty year old Christian. “You’re changing stuff.”

“Just making it sharper and clearer, just trying to help, babe,” says forty year old Christian. “I’m just completing your second draft. Relax, it’s in good hands.”

“You make me look like an imbecile.”

Forty year old Christian shrugs. “What can I say, you were.”

“That’s not fair.”

“You didn’t even... you know... with anyone,” says forty year old Christian. “The whole year, what an opportunity you had to taste the flesh of Europe. Away from home, away from inquisitive eyes.”

“I was in a relationship... and... and... and Rachel and I just hung out... she didn’t, either.”

(Ed note - Leah was my girlfriend, who I left back in Australia. Rachel was one of my best friends who I travelled with)

“Well, I’m talking about you. And, you need to ditch the girlfriend too.”

“But, I love her...”

“You always will. But, just not like that.”

They stare each other down, momentarily.

“I never thought about it,” says twenty year old Christian, barely opening his mouth. “You know, sex. It never crossed my mind.”

“I told you, you were an imbecile.” Forty year old Christian snorts through his nose and looks disdainfully at his younger counter part. “Ten years behind, I’ve always said that I was ten years behind and as far as I can see, it was pretty much your fault, those of us who came after you have been trying to make up time ever since.”

Twenty year old Christian looks sheepish.

Forty year old Christian looks stern. (with an itchy arm pit, but that’s neither here nor there, actually.)

"I did my best."

"Best, is a clear misuse of the word."

"What should I do?"

"You should push yourself harder, reach further, write longer, believe (in yourself) stronger, be better, because you are all of those things, are capable of all of those things. You can be anything, do anything... don't be afraid... just don't be afraid."

Twenty year old Christian looks wide-eyed.

"Write more and don't be lazy," says forty year old Christian. "You are lazy."

"I don't like you."

"I don't like you either!"

"Go on, finish all the things I didn't. You show me, since you think you are sooooooo smart."

“Here’s the one piece of information I can give you...”

“What?”

“You are gay! G...A...Y.”

“I am not!”

“Idiot!”