It's Wednesday

Ug! The cleaner comes today. Very soon I'll here the front door go click click and I'll hear the scuff of her gold jiffies on the floorboards. She'll stop at my study door and I'll look at her and she'll look at me and we'll both shiver at the very same moment and I’ll say, “Newman!” Ha ha! “Guadalupe!” 

And she'll say, "Ullo," in that way that she does, with that nasty mouth and those suspicious eyes.

Rats!

I've got to go and have a shower and be ready to vacate the house at a moment’s notice.

I've got my bag packed by the door - iPad, iPad keyboard, camera, latest novel I am reading – Martin Amis, The Pregnant Widow, just by the way – a health bar, wallet, keys.

(She doesn't have a nasty mouth, or suspicious eyes, she is perfectly nice, of course, I just can’t throw my sense of invasion when she is here)

Post Lunch

There was an old Jewish chick following me up Chapel Street after lunch in her silver Mercedes, she was a gun. She looked like she was in her seventies, with her red permed hair and her thick glasses and her burberry scarf. As I weaved in and out of the traffic, passing all the idiots, getting next to trams and racing them off at the lights, whipping through the orange lights as all those around me dilly dallied and were left behind, there she was right behind me, hoiking that Mercedes through the traffic like a pro.

I was very impressed.

I had lunch with Rachel in Chapel Street. She took six months off last September when she sold her restaurant and she's still not working. We both agreed how much unemployment suits us.

This week was my week to get my act together and get out there and look for work.

I'm thinking I might brush off that old romance novel and get writing. 

After waving Sam off to Work, I Walked to the Supermarket

It was early, before 8am. I put on a leather jacket with my track suit pants and Sam said he was glad that he wasn't going to be seen with me... just rude, really

I was very tempted, let me tell you

The sky was crystal blue

3 silver Peugeots all in a row

I love doorways, don't you? One day I'm going to do a whole book on them. I guess, it's already been done, hey? So, I'll do a new book. I'm sure I could find a new angle. Like ajar. Ha, ha.

A lovely old Mercedes

It was a gorgeous morning

If a little cold...

...but that blue sky, what a treat

Melbourne has lovely, sunny winter days

yes, that is the famous TV shop

dappled morning sunshine, nothing quite as lovely

And there were cute workmen

Good luck little soldier

Maybe even a book on windows

Ah, the daisy's are in bloom again

That's me, giving a wave

Sweet Prince

 

In times past there lived a king and queen, who said to each other every other day of their lives, "Would that we had a child!" and yet they had none. But it happened once that when the queen was bathing, there came a frog out of the water, and he squatted on the ground, and as he did, he changed into a beautiful young man. 

"Your wish shall be fulfilled,” he said. “Before a year has passed, you shall bring a son into the world."

Then he turned back into the frog and hopped away. And as he foretold, the queen bore a son so beautiful that the king could not contain himself for joy, and he ordained a great feast. Not only did he bid to it his relations, friends, and acquaintances, but also the wise women, that they might be kind and favourable to the child. There were thirteen of them in his kingdom, but as he had only provided twelve golden plates for them to eat from, one of them had to be left out.

However, the feast was celebrated with all splendour; and as it drew to an end, the wise women stood forward to present to the child their wonderful gifts: 

One bestowed virtue, one beauty, another intellect, physical prowess, kindness, sweetness, strength, humour, courage, and humility.

When the eleventh had bestowed their gift, in came the uninvited thirteenth, burning to revenge herself, and without greeting or respect, she cried with a loud voice: 

"In the fifteenth year of his age the prince shall prick himself with a spindle and shall fall down dead." And without speaking one more word she turned away and left the hall. 

Everyone was terrified by what she said, when the twelfth came forward to bestow her gift, and though she could not change the evil prophecy, she could soften it, so she said:  

"The prince shall not die, but fall into a deep sleep for a hundred years."

Now the king, being desirous of saving his child even from this misfortune, gave commandment that all the spindles in his kingdom should be burnt up. The lad grew up, adorned with all the gifts of the wise women; and he was so lovely, modest, sweet, and kind and clever, that no one who saw him could help loving him. 

It happened one day, in summer, he being already fifteen years old, that the king and queen travelled abroad, and the lad was left behind alone in the castle. He wandered about in his long-johns, into all the nooks and corners, into all the chambers and parlours, as the fancy took him, till at last he came to an old tower. He climbed the narrow winding stair which led to a little door, with a rusty key sticking out of the lock; he turned the key, and the door opened, and there in the little room sat an old woman with a spindle, diligently spinning her flax.

"Good day, mother," said the prince, "what are you doing?"

"I am spinning," answered the old woman, nodding her head.

"What thing is that that twists round so briskly?" asked the lad.

Taking the spindle into his hand he began to spin; but no sooner had he touched it than the evil prophecy was fulfilled, and he pricked his finger with it. In that very moment he fell back upon the bed that stood there, and lay in a deep sleep.

And this sleep fell upon the whole castle; the king and queen, who had returned and were in the great hall, fell fast asleep, and with them the whole court. The horses in their stalls, the dogs in the yard, the pigeons on the roof, the flies on the wall, the very fire that flickered on the hearth, became still, and slept like the rest; and the meat on the spit ceased roasting, and the cook, who was going to pull the kitchen boy's hair and slap his arse for some mistake he had made, let him go, and went to sleep. And the wind ceased, and not a leaf fell from the trees about the castle. 

Then round about that place there grew a hedge of thorns thicker every year, until at last the whole castle was hidden from view, and nothing of it could be seen but the vane on the roof.

And a rumour went abroad in all that country of the beautiful sleeping Raymond, for so was the prince called; and from time to time many kings' sons came and tried to force their way through the hedge; but it was impossible for them to do so, for the thorns held fast together like strong hands, and the young men were driven back.

Many years later, there came an Italian king's son, Filippo, into country, who heard an old man tell how there was a castle standing behind the hedge of thorns, and that there a beautiful enchanted prince named Raymond had slept for a hundred years, and with him the king and queen, and the whole court. The old man had been told by his grandfather that many king's sons had sought to pass the thorn-hedge, but had been driven back. 

"Nevertheless, I am not afraid to try,” said Filippo. “I will succeed and I will see this lovely Raymond."

The good old man tried to dissuade him, but Filippo would not listen to his words. For now, the hundred years were at an end, and the day had come when Raymond should be awakened. 

When the prince drew near the hedge of thorns, it was changed into a hedge of beautiful large sun flowers, which parted and bent aside to let him pass, and then closed behind him in a thick hedge. When he reached the castle-yard, he saw the horses and brindled hunting-dogs lying asleep, and on the roof the pigeons were sitting with their heads under their wings. And when he came indoors, the flies on the wall were asleep, the cook in the kitchen had his hand uplifted to strike the kitchen boy, and the kitchen-maid had the black fowl on her lap ready to pluck.

Then he ascended more steps, and saw in the hall the whole court lying asleep, and above them, on their thrones, slept the king and the queen. And still he went farther, and all was so quiet that he could hear his own breathing; and at last he came to the tower, and went up the winding stair, and opened the door of the little room where Raymond lay, still shirtless, still wearing his long-johns. And when he saw him looking so lovely in his sleep, he could not turn his eyes away; and presently he stooped and kissed him.

And Raymond awaked, and opened his eyes, and looked very kindly on Filippo. And Raymond rose, and they went forth together. 

The king and the queen and whole court woke up, and gazed on each other with great eyes of wonderment. The horses in the yard got up and shook themselves, the hounds sprang up and wagged their tails, the pigeons on the roof drew their heads from under their wings, looked round, and flew into the field, the flies on the wall crept on a little farther, the kitchen fire leapt up and blazed, and cooked the meat, the joint on the spit began to roast, the cook gave the kitchen boy such a whack on his arse that he cried out. The maid went on plucking the fowl.

The wedding of Prince Filippo and Prince Raymond was held with all the splendour you would expect of a royal wedding, and the two princes lived happily together ever after.

Long Hair

Usually, I don't really like long hair on men. I just never have. You know, the Fabio's of this world. In the past, it has stopped me hooking up with guys, oh you know, next. It always seemed so messy and, usually, wet when you are, you know, getting it on. I've been flicked in the eye, before, at the height of passion and it's not so nice, it's not sexy. Oh, get a hair cut is what I usually think. I generally like my men more masculine than long hair makes them. I don't know, it has just never done it for me.

Although, there have been some exceptions.

I remember beautiful smoking man, when I worked in Collins Street. Of course, he was exceptionally handsome and it probably wouldn't have mattered, actually, if his hair was short or long, or frizzy red. (Well?) I say probably, as I, of course, never saw him with short hair. But he was so handsome, I used to just gaze at him, as we both smoked our cigarettes out in pariah's lane.

I always wanted to say to him, "No, don't smoke. Don't do anything to spoil that perfect face."

Then there was beautiful Anton, with his bushy black hair, blue eyes and that smile, when I went to have dinner with Jill at our friend Rachel's restaurant. He and his sister Amy walked in at the end of our meal and sat with us. I mustn't have seen him in a while, although it didn't seem that long, I'm sure. Boy is he gorgeous. Is it wrong to look at a friend's sixteen year old son and think how beautiful he is? No, of course not. It's a compliment, if anything. I mean, I only thought it, I didn't say it. He'd have never have known.

Then there was that mechanic who used to work on my Renault. Black hair down to his shoulders and, more often than not, overalls unbuttoned down to his crotch, just so I could see the white elastic of his jocks. It was very distracting. And a French accent, which I always suspected was put on. Not sure why now? But it completed the picture, let me tell you. 

Woman on a Wall

Contemplation

A Tall Tree Growing In Green Bushland

Car Mum, Car Mum, Friday

I've got to go see my mum today. I haven't seen her since I was terminated. I just haven't felt like it, you know. Of course, that week I smoked pot for the whole week didn't help. Comfortably numb. It was after that I felt down and stressed, sinning around in circles, holding my breath but nothing changes.

Poor mum, at least that is the one advantage of Alzheimer's. "Where have you been? You haven't been for a month."

"Nonsense old woman, you're talking nonsense. Let's go out for lunch."

"Oh yes, that would be lovely."

Ha ha. Oh well, if you don't laugh at this awful disease, you know what else you'd do.

I've also been having car trouble, the GTI has been playing up like a little retarded bitch. It's had a starting problem, although I have always managed to get him going, some days I'm not sure how, and a rattle in the suspension, which has driven me... well, it's been irritating. In fact, I'm just off to the mechanic to pick him up for the fourth/sixth time in a month/2 months, yeah.

And although my mechanics have always been fantastic, to the point where I recommend them to people, I'm not at all sure if the ongoing problems have, for some reason, been mechanic slackness, rather than the car as such.

They just didn't seem to be able to fix the starting problem, it turned out to be a loose engine mount. (I know, I'm not sure either) And the suspension was fixed by them, after which there was a squeak, which developed into a rattle, which was happening the last time I took it in for starting, but they didn't look at it. I believe the term, we forgot, was used, which is highly unusual for them, however...

On the upside, I don't have to work, which is great! And I can just wander in at my leisure.... a stroll through The Exhibition Gardens, then hop the City Circle (Sam calls me tight arse Christian, I deny it, of course) or not. Perhaps a leisurely walk all the way to the workshop. Either way I'm happy. Whatever I feel like doing?

The sun is shining, the sky is blue.

I don't want to work any more. I think I'd like to go to art school.

The Great Australian Road Trip

I've Been Cooking

I've been cooking while I have been off work. It's funny because usually I don't cook and everybody seems to think that I can't. Shane has been quite surprised with my efforts, although the down side is that now that he knows that I can cook he seems to think I'll be cooking the evening meals. When he comes home and says, "What's for dinner?" I don't know why, but it kind of pisses me off.

I used to love it as a teenager, although I am primarily a pastry chef, that's what I really like doing. I used to like getting a new recipe and giving it a go. And all the stuff that I learned way back when with my mum as a kid is still in my brain, which is nice.

I've cooked spaghetti carbonara, beef stew, a frittata, a pork roast, vegetable soup, a pumpkin and chickpea curry and roast pumpkin soup.

You know, I like it when I have time to think about it and have time to fit it in to the day. It is so different to coming home from work and then having to cook.

There is a joy to it when it is relaxed and not rushed.

Sam has been helping me.

I'm Just Doing Lunch Now a Days

I felt stressed, this morning, about everything I have to do; go see the lawyer, as my sister thinks I should "go" my old law firm for money and she got me the contact. I have to go and see my old company about work. I have to go and see my mum, I haven't seen her since I got the chop... go see, go see, go see... Why do I feel nervous and insecure about it all?
It was cold this morning and I stood in my lounge room and shivered with the cold and insecurity.

I headed off late to have lunch with Sam. I walked to Lonsdale Street where I found myself standing outside the Korean cafe, where the Fat Boy serves up the spicy pork. I messaged Sam and said meet me there. He said I should have planned better, which is his thing. I didn’t think of eating there until I was looking at it. Sam is the planner, I'm the laid back one. Let it loose I'm always saying to him.
Sam looked super sexy with his new hair cut.

I walked him back to his office afterwards, it is nice, you know. It started to rain as we headed down William Street. I sat in Sam’s building reading the paper and drinking coffee in the foyer while it rained. I was in no hurry to go back to my life. Lovely, Sam said, as he headed back to his office. I'm acting like I'm Packer, or is it now Rinehart, as I got lost in the Age, not a care and when I looked up it had stopped raining, not sure for how long before.

I walked home, bought a tats ticket so I don't have to work again, jack pot something, blah, blah. That's my new pan, I'm n going to gamble until I win big, so I don't have to go back to work. I looked in at 101 Collins and remembered the good old days. I spoke to Mark on the way, who is trying to fix the dicey boiler, cheaply, now he has sold his house.

I stopped off in the Fitzroy Gardens and looked at all the bricks laid in the north west corner, as the sun came out.

Lunch with Jill

I looked at the date this morning before I went out with my friend Jill for lunch and I couldn't quite believe it was the 20th.

Really?

The 20th? I have been unemployed, sacked, kicked out, thrown on the scrap heap, disposed of by the unscrupulous corporate world, discarded for 20 days? Really?

What the hell have I done since the 01st of June? Felt sorry for myself? Sam would say pissed around. Time flies, hey?

Nick T

I was cleaning out my attic... well, I can't lie around and smoke pot the whole time. Although, I have always found as long as you keep going, on the trajectory you would have if you haven't had a joint, everything will get done and in a much nicer frame of mind. It's only really if you stop, then you are a gonna.

Anyway, I was in the attic and I came across a box of photos. In one shot, there was Nick T pretending to be a knight, or something, Alex had the sword and was ready to joust him. It's a hot shot, Nick T has that swagger as Alex R charges. Ah, first love.

Bradley B is in the back ground, with his hands on his head, in shock at what is about to take place, pulling his t-shirt up exposing his stomach. I'm not really sure why.

Nick T, Greek, built like a race horse, the school tough, wog boy alfa male. His partner in crime, Nick S, Greek, built like a tank, school tough, wog boy alfa male. A bit of a meat head, just on the quiet, best to be avoided. But, I was always friends with Nick T. He was fuck-off good looking, zero body fat, lean body, cheeky, smart, dashing, wog boy, just how I liked them. I always remember when he was late again for his umpteenth assembly, when he'd come in his running clothes the last time and had got told off, and the change rooms are too far away, as we could see the head master leave his office across the road. He just stripped off right there and then and calmly changed into his school uniform. There was one moment there when he'd stripped down to his beige jockettes, I realised what men should look like. I don't remember any of the other boys ever looking quite... like... that. (maybe Alex when he was naked and lying underneath me)

He came right up behind me in pottery class, which I remember to be year 11, but why I was doing clay work in year 11, I'm not really sure. It doesn't make a huge difference to the outcome. What I remember, I was at the deep sink washing something down with plenty of water. Although, it would be my only mixed class, with other houses, otherwise classes are divided right down house lines and I would never have a class with him.

Water, noise.

Nick T comes right up behind me and as he passes slowly behind, he asks, "Fletcher, you gay?"

You are just setting me up, you bastard, I thought we had more than that. "No," I say, amazed that I didn't choke or fall down.

He takes hold of whatever it was passed me that he was giving the impression he was reaching for and passes back behind me. "That's a pity because I want to fuck you."

I was speechless. I scrubbed at what was in my hand. I flipped it over. My stomach tied into knots. I looked sideways to where Nick T was moving back to, he was looking back at me smiling.

I can't believe that he is setting me up to get punched up by him and his Neanderthal friend, Nick S.

But, his eyes were soft and gentle, like he'd put himself out there honestly. He smiled back at me, before his head turned and looked the other way. One last look back, what I would recognise some years later, a soft and beseeching face.

They all piled onto the balcony as soon as the bell went. I was still distracted by what Nick T said. I slowly packed up, as my stomach buzzed, as a chill ran through me. He meant that, he wasn't shit stirring. I looked around to see if he had quietly waited, he hadn't. The room was empty and he had gone.

It wasn't until a few days later, when I was heading off to hockey practise, that I saw Nick T again. He was dressed in his running gear, that black singlet, those sheer-at-the-sides shorts that seemed to split over each hip.

"Where are you going?"

I hold up my hockey stick. "Der."

"Der."

At which point the running master comes up behind Nick.

"Where have you been?"

"What? What do you mean?" It was the middle of the week, where did he think I'd been.

"I've been looking for you." Smile. "Wondered if..." looks over his left shoulder. "you'd thought any." looks over his right shoulder. "more about what I said."

"Come on Trakas," let’s go." says Mr Green.

"What?"

"The other day."

Huh

"Art class."

"Art class?" I was trying to be so nonchalant and that sounded like I knew exactly what he was talking about.

"I wasn't joking."

Green pushed him along. "Mr Fletcher, might I suggest that if you would like to speak to Mr Trakas he will be back in precisely two hours." He looks at me. He pushes Nick. "Move."

"Wait for me."

"Okay," I heard myself say.

Then he was bundled onto the bus by Green and was driven away. Two hours is five thirty. Hockey will go for one, then I can piss around and help clean up, then it will just about nearly be five thirty.

Did he really mean it?

I ran onto the hockey oval. I wonder if it is too cold for a skins team.

Missy's Paw

Missy had to go to the vet and she cost me $400. Yeah, good onya, great timing.

She's been in a fight and she has gotten bitten on the back paw, right through her pad. You should have seen it, the vet gave it a squeeze and splurt, blood every where. She had to be operated on, of course.

I'm taking great delight in squeezing the last of the puss out of the wound, let me tell you. 

Jackson Walks Up in Dark Sunglasses Looking Dishevelled

It was a glorious morning, the sun was shining down warmly like treacle, even if I was just sorting the bins in the street, it was lovely none the less.

The medium density ring-in neighbours put all their bins out in front of my place, which pisses me off when they could put them a few metres away where there are no house frontages. Call me the bin Nazi if you like.

Take mine, drag the neighbours up-the-lane bins back across the lane, roll of the eyes. To be fair, they've pretty much got it now, not in front of my place, it's just where the garbos left them after emptying them today. But, they still have that habit of leaving them out for a day, or four. See, passive aggression does sometimes work.

My next door neighbour staggers up in dark sunglasses, with the newspaper in his hand, looking dishevelled, but then again, Jackson always looks dishevelled. He either looks like a rock star, or a dero, never sure which. He's like Krammer, smart underneath it all.

"Oh... jee..." Contorted unwrap arm movement, as he looks at the bins. "Christian." Contorted arms wrapped back the other way. "Aren't you like putting them out like a week early, or something?" Arms spread as if as a question.

The original space cadet, the first space captain.

"No Jackson, they've just been emptied, I'm taking them back in."

He stopped, his eyes widened. He looked off into space. He winced. He looked at me, looked at the bin and then looked back at me, as I struggled with the bin. 

“Oh... um...er...”

I was lost in my best efforts to get both bins back behind the gate side by side, when I looked up again, he was gone.

Embarrassed? Back to the mull bowl? Who can say?

He’s lovely, really, don’t get me wrong, he’s a character. I like people who are their own person and not beige facsimiles of the everybody else.

 

Man vs Wild

My brother as a kid and Timmy the cat

Out to Lunch

A great day to have lunch with my sister, as she got the sack too. Yes, same week. There must have been something in the air, as my grandmother used to say. That's the property developer and not the alcoholic one.

I just went and got my mints from the car, you know, just in case the mouth goes dry. Essential kit for heading out into public and having to hold a conversation.

Mint?

Wink.

I'm glad to be heading out, the cleaner is due. Er! Any moment, I'm expecting to hear the front door go click, click and then unpleasant scuff of her jiffy on the tiles.

Oh. ullo.

OMG! And there it goes. Scratch, scratch. I kid you not, (in a whisper), at the precise second that I wrote that sentence. Click, click. OMG! ...Oh, is there a more terrifying sound. Spine chill!

"Ullo."

Come on sis!

Missy comes limping towards me in the hall. WHAT! She can't walk on her back paw. Er! Traitor.

Gerard Butler