I Dreamed

I dreamed I was in a hotel, or maybe it was an apartment, and we’re all heading to Luna Park and Oprah Winfrey was with us dressed in white and I was the last one down to meet everyone out the front of the building. Everybody else was waiting in the street for me.

I came downstairs and the stairs stopped on the first floor and to get from the first floor of the ground floor you had to get in the lift to do the last floor, so I get in the lift and two other people get the lift with me and push buttons, and the lift goes up instead of down. I can see everyone waiting for me at the front from the balcony of the first floor out of the lift.

I go to a floor above where I get put in truck, or car and I’m a part of a tour that goes up Canterbury Road near to where we used to live.

I’m trying to send a message to Sam and Mark and Luke (Mark and Luke seem to often be in my dreams lately) and Oprah Winfrey, but my phone won’t work and all my messages turn into pictures and photographs and I can’t get my phone to work.

I go on this tour with all these other people and it takes forever, but finally, I’m delivered back to the foyer of the building, and I jump out of the truck and I run to go out the front fully knowing that no one‘s gonna be waiting for me any longer and then I realise I’ve dropped my phone and I have to go back to the tables in the lobby of the building and asked the people I was on the tour with if my phone was there and they all say no, and as I start to walk away, finally defeated, knowing I can't contact my friends, one of the girls picks it up and says, “Unless this is it?” And she hands it to me. And I wake up as I take the phone in my hand, but I can't feel it.

6:26 am, I’m awake. 

Monday

Monday? What can I say? Rye bread with Vegemite and coffee.

White supremacists attack a Slovakian gay bar chanting "they will not replace us." The gays won't replace you? No. But they might restyle your hair and help you with your wardrobe.

It was revealed the Queen tried to hide her wealth. Really? Doesn't everyone? But she got parliament to stop wills that would have otherwise been public being made public.

The Middle East is tearing itself apart. When isn't it?

Trump is in cognitive decline. The world may be saved from the orange monster yet.

I worked all day.

I took the dogs for a walk after work.

We ate spaghetti Bolognese for dinner.

That was it. Monday.

Everyone Is In It For The Money

We went to Jill's and ate home made pumpkin soup with pumpkin seed toast and lashings of butter.

The bulldogs played with the corgis in the back yard.

Jill had reflux tablets for me which I usually get on a script, but somehow I'd manage to run out of repeats and I can't get an appointment with my doctor untill 29th Jan. 

Oh, I know, I couldn't be bothered arguing with the doctor's receptionist, she is a nazi. It is like all those professionals now a days, it's all about money.

"You will have to make an appointment with the doctor to get your scripts renewed."

"But it is a script I get all the time."

"You'll still need an appointment."

For which I pay $80.

You know the vet said to me on the last appointment with Brun, after he had attended to a couple of the needs Brun had. 

"That's your time up, anything else and you'll have to make another appointment."

I was really taken a back. I'd never had that before. But that's what they do now.

That Fucken Hurt

10.18am. I message Jill for lunch, I hadn't seen her for some time.

Jill

       Love to, but already having lunch with a friend in Templestowe

10.19am. We’re in My Pet Warehouse getting tins of digestive care food for Otto, who has nearly recovered from his illness. There is a beautiful brown Border Collie in the shop at the same time as we are. The bulldogs and the Border Collie were all waggy tails and snif snif sniffing.

10.20am. Jill replies, Sunday?

10.34am. I’m in Faraday Cafe buying Rye sour dough loaf for breakfast. 10% surcharge for the weekend is really a bit much.

Christian Fletcher:

  I'm not sure about Sunday, so I message back, I have to go to church

Jill Willson:

Very funny

Christian Fletcher:

(I was dictating a message into my phone to send to Jill, I was looking down at my phone when I hit my head on a tree branch over hanging the footpath, and nearly knocked myself out)

With the rest of the delusional... shit fuck, I know, I know it’s bleeding, I can tell, it fucking hurt, really fucking hurt. Shit!… and my dictation was still dictating what I said to Sam.

(I decided just to send the whole message to Jill. Then an explanatory message)

I was dictating into my phone, and I hit my head on a low, hanging tree branch over the footpath, and my phone kept dictating

  Perhaps there is a God.

We were going for haircuts in the city after we'd got the dog food.

"Well, I guess that's my haircut done," I said.

"I guess," said Sam.

But I really wanted my hair cut, you know when it gets to that stage where it just needs to be done.

"I'm just going to ask straight up. I cut my head, but I still want a haircut, is that okay, do you still want to cut it?"

So, thats what we did. We walked Brun and Otto into the city. Sam had his hair cut first. Then it was my turn. I did my little speech. She replied, "Can I have a look."

I showed her. She said, "I can just cut around it, if that is alright with you?"

"Yeah, fine with me."

So, I got my hair cut, even with a wounded head. As I sat in the chair, I wondered what kinds of diseased heads hairdressers are exposed to?

Then we went and ate Thai for lunch.

Jill didn't reply till much later, as she'd already got into her car and was driving to her fiend's place for lunch.

"OMG! I just read your message. Are you okay."

"Yes, fine. Just had some sense knocked into me finally."

It's Nonsense

Everything doesn't happen for a reason, that's just nonsense. It always makes me cringe when I hear people say it.

Where do people get this stuff from? I think it is from a want to be comforted, you know, lull them into some false sense of security that there is a reason for all of this.

So many things just happen randomly, it makes the 'for a reason' argument just laughable.

I guess, the fact that life is pointless – other than to reproduce – doesn't give people a lot of joy. People don’t like the fact that they are essentially pointless. 

It seems to me that people so easily believe bullshit rather than face reality.

People become delusional about somethings. Delusion seems to be a very human condition. It's how Trump and the Liberal Party get elected. It's how religion is sold.

Why Is Otto Sick

I was standing in the back yard enjoying the sun on my skin. First day of my weekend. Ha, ha.

I was gazing around the garden. My eyes casually landed on the Fortnight Lillies Otto, the little bugger, had been chewing and making a mess of. He'd got right down to the roots on some of the plants.

I pulled the broken plants out, cut them up and put them in the bin.

So then it was all cleaned up, so that was good. I went back to the sun on my face.

Don't you love the sun warming the skin on your face? I know I do. Just a bit, momentarily, like a short meditation. Just to take a moment, when the rest of the world fades away.

I casually gazed back at my handy work, it was then that I wondered if I should check if the Lillies Otto had been chewing are toxic, so I wandered inside and googled them.

Lillies are toxic to dogs and can cause gastrointestinal (GI) upset diarrhoea and vomiting. The most toxic part is the rhizome.

There you go.

I should have looked after him better. I've watched him chew the Lilly, thinking I should stop him. I'm usually onto such things, dog owner fail. Poor Otto. I went in and cuddled him.

Otto Goes To The Vet

Otto went to the doctor, the dog doctor, and it was decided he had gastro and he was prescribed probiotics and Hills Digestive Care canned dog food. That's it. He should get better in day, or so. As per usaul, if it persists, bring him back.

He is to stay home, so he dosn't give it to any other dogs.

Sam took him to the vet. I took Brun for a walk, just he and I, after I had finished for the day.

Otto Is Sick

Now Otto is sick. Explosive diarrhoea (I can never spell that work. It seems spell checkers struggle with it too) and vomiting.

I'm just waiting for the vet to open top make an appointment.

It's a weird one, an upset stomach, as there isn't all that much a vet can do, but what else do you do when your pup is sick but take him to the vet.

The vet will usually say, put him on a chicken and rice diet and bring him back if it hasn't cleared up by the end of the week. That will be $150.

Monday In The Office

My day in the office. I some how misjudge the time completely and end up getting to the office at 6am. The days get light so early in summer it's hard to tell the time.

"What am I doing here so early?" I say to myself across the empty office.

I plug my laptop in. I make coffee.

It's not a big misjudgement, in fact, I'm not even sure why I mentioned it, it was just when I looked at the clock it was so early, which made me start thinking about the morning, backwards, wondering where the time went, or didn't go. (I guess the Americans would say, or didn't went. Seriously, their English is appalling)

It was just surprising. You know when something isn't how you think it is.

I pig out at the barista breakfast provided for the staff, 3 hours later, so much so that I don't eat the lunch Sam prepared for me. I take it home.

Sam hurts his back stretching on the couch during the day. 

"Strenuous day?" I say to him.

"Ha ha," he replies.

Sunday

We take the dogs for a walk early, as its going to be hot. We see all our dog owning neighbours when we go walking early. Everyone is keen to get out and about before the tourists arrive in the suburb late morning.

Sam and I go and pick up our new glasses mid morning. We both go a new pair as soon as our health benefits were renewed for the year.

We buy new t-shirts and shorts in K-Mart, 100% cotton and on sale. 100% cotton, (you have to grab them when you see them)

After that we eat Hoi An food in Richmond. The place is full.

I sleep on the couch in the afternoon, lovely. What else is a Sunday for?

The bananas have gone black in the fruit bowl, so I make a banana cake later in the afternoon.

We watch Fool Me Once. Nyr? The plot has more holes in it than a brothel full of prossies. There are extraneous scenes that aren't connected to the story in the end.

Here's a review of it,

Fool Me Once might have been one of the worst things I've watched in years and I'm disappointed it took practically 8 hours of my weekend. Halfway in I already acknowledged it was pretty bad but I felt like I might as well finish it to the see the ending.

Brun Is Sick

Brun has had a hotspot on his neck this week, probably cause by Otto chewing his neck all the time. A hot spot is a bacterial skin infection, it isn't terribly serious, but as with all infections you want to clear it up as soon as you can.

It was healing quite well with applications of Betadine diluted with black tea - the vet would later say the black tea did nothing, but you are supposed to dilute Betadine before you use it on your dog, so what the hell - until yesterday when the wound appeared to be wet again.

Of course, we didn't see this until 5.30pm, but I still called the vet anyway, just on the off chance they had an appointment, which they didn't, so I made an appointment for 8am this morning.

8.10am. We saw our vet. He's quite intense, and quite serious, I can't ever see him having a joke with his patients. He's a good very, don't get me wrong. 

Brun got ointment.

He had his immunisation updated, it was over due, but I'm not really that strict about it. Puppies and old dogs need it more so. Anyway, he'll have to have a booster as it's been too long.

So, you know, $300 later, we're as good as gold.

One Glorious Friday

8am. I was awake. I thought I was the last one up until I heard Brun’s breath under the bed as I got dressed.

I make coffee.

8.15am. Brun arrives downstairs. We sit on the couch together and read the news.

Trump accuses judge and Letitia James of bias in surprise court address during fraud trial closing arguments.

Florida school district pulls dictionaries from class room for ‘sexual conduct’ descriptions. (We hold America up as a symbol of what?)

Melania Trump's mother Amalija Knavs dies, aged 78. (Perhaps, she died of shame)

Selena Gomez, the actress and singer has been tapped to portray '70s music icon Linda Ronstadt in a brand new biopic. (I guess they are going to make biopics of everyone? You know, screw every last cent out of the idea)

It took me 30 years to learn to love lapsang souchong tea – but now it’s all gone horribly wrong, with supply issues. (Yuk!)

8.45am. I make peanut butter toast and coffee. Despite repeated reminders Sam has forgotten to buy vegemite. Grrr.

9:13am. I leave the house with Brun and Otto. It’s gonna be hot today, so we are getting our walk done in the relative cool.

I have some rubbish in my hand to put in the bin on the corner, bulky items that would just fill our garbage unnecessarily. It is one of my petty tyrannies against the council making our rubbish collection potentially more expensive recently. Anyway, something in my hand (said the actress to the bishop) just doesn’t really work with the two of them specially starting out. They tie me in knots. The colourful old receptionist from Biba comes the other way and comments on me being tied in knots. What can I say?

The sun is shining. It’s a glorious morning.

The bulldogs are feisty as we walk up Gertrude Street. The two of them do synchronise wee’ing on the (large) garden cnr George Street. (The one the council replanted and which is now half dead)

A shirtless black guy with a ripped torso, just wearing basketball shorts, comes walking towards us at Napier Street, he has tattoos on his well developed chest. He smiles, and says hi, as we pass each other by.

A shopping trolley is pushed behind us up Gertrude Street with a squeaky wheel, just like in Thoroughly Modern Millie… no no no, my dictation catches me out… “Shoo Shoo, Shoo Shoo.”

Walking down Brunswick Street, a cute well-built, Italian guy comes the other way. Big eyes, toothy smile. He smiles at the Bulldogs. And then smiles at me. Yes, good morning, I think.

Straight after the Italian boy, a baby faced Middle Eastern guy in a black t-shirt and black track pants with a big bulge in the front of his track pants. He is prattling away in, I don't know, Persian on the phone as I pervert at how hung he is. Nice, I think.

There are chicks in exercise gear, boys in shorts with thick calves, women in headscarves, old women with walking sticks, a fat man in a hoodie walking with us, towards us, or away from us.

We meet a dog owner friend outside the Connie Benn Centre, she says she still misses Buddy.

9.35am. Corner of Moor Street and Brunswick Street, a cute round face, black guy comes towards us in skin tight shorts and t-shirt. He gives way to a car turning into Moor Street from Brunswick Street. I want to push him out in front of the car. It’s your right of way, sunshine, take it, claim it.

9:44am. Approaching Victoria Street, a guy in tight jeans and black hair looking like Oliver out of Saltburn gets out of his car and buys a parking ticket. Then, as the bulldogs take a shit and generally faff about, he takes out a banana peels it down and starts eating it suggestively.

After we turn into Johnson Street, a bunch of babbling chicks walks along behind us yapping on. Thankfully they turn off at Young Street.

A guy in black shorts with good legs walks in front of us. He’s got one of those strange haircuts that is cut around in the straight line on the curve of his skull.

The sun shines beautifully. The sky is radiant blue. The problem with walking at this time of the morning is none of the dog bowls are out for the dogs to have a drink. They both pant with big, pink tongues.

And the epidemic of smashed glass on the footpath continues. I think the smash glass everywhere is a sign of some sort of trouble in society, surely? At best, it’s a sign of no one caring about their environment, at worst it’s a deliberate attack on the environment they live in. And that just reads unhappiness.

9:50am. I look up Rochester Street and two chicks have parked their car in the middle of the street to unload it. Despite the fact there are plenty of car parks in which they could park. Another sign of the times. 

“I’m unloading here do you mind?” she'd say if anyone questioned her.

“Yes, I do mind, you are blocking the fucking street.”

“How dare you speak to me like that…”

“Did I add, you bitch.”

9:55am. As we approach, Chapel Street, a gormless skinny guy in a black t-shirt and white pants with a blue floral pattern, that look distinctly like girl’s pants, is vaping as he comes the other way.

10:03am. Corner of our street, the Sister’s of Charity are approaching from the distance in further up the street. They look like a couple of ghosts floating along the footpath. As we meet up, one of the nuns says that Brun and Otto look like twins.

A woman turns out of the last street before home with a Vizsla and walks towards Gertrude Street in front of us. The dog’s golden fur shining in the sunshine.

10:09am. We’re home.

1pm. I head down the street. The building work at 131 Smith Street is really loud, I assume really annoying people who live on the east side of Gore Street.

I’ve nearly got to the corner of the street when I realised I’d forgotten my wallet. What is wrong with you? I say to myself? Is it the sun shiny day? Is it the blue sky?

It is a glorious day 27 degrees.

11:14 am. I walk into Woolworths. I am interested in buying some new white coffee mugs. We’ve broken quite a few in the last while. I am very particular about my white coffee mugs, I only like certain mugs. Yesterday’s attempt to buy some in Spotlight was a dismal failure. I, actually, like the Woolworths brand, but Woolworths in Fitzroy doesn’t stock them. I see they stock them in the Moonee Ponds site, and they look promising. A four pack for $10.

So, I go down to the Fitzroy shop to see what they have, just on the off-chance that they do stock them. They don’t.

Oh yes, I know, the dizzy heights of life, yes, yes, it’s all glitz and glamour here, but sometimes you just have to go and buy new mugs.

11.21am. St Marks Recycle. I get an old James Stewart, Dean Martin, George Kennedy & Rachel Welsh Western called Bandolero (1968)

1148 films in my collection.

I get a Charlie Chaplin movie Lamplight, (1952) billed as his greatest talkie. I see it is badly scratched, but at $1 I’m willing to give it a go. It turns out to be no good.

11:35am, I leave St Marks Recycle.

I get to the bakery and see a black Subaru Outback pull up and the cute son, shaggy blonde hair, young surfer look, gets out and walks up Smith Street so I follow behind him. Just because he walks in front of me, you know as you do. Board shorts, t-shirt. Growing into an adult. I’m sure the girls, or the boys, have noticed him already. I wish I was his age again, the destruction caused by climate change in the future and his potentially sad end, withstanding. Knowing what I know now, I guess. Sure. Could you imagine? If there was a god, we would. You know, if you had a real god that actually did god shit, and not some mythical uptight representation of conservative values, that would be possible.

A muscle, I reckon gay, guy with an incredible arse walks past me in shorts and singlet. He hugs another guy he meets in the street coming towards us with more than just ‘a friend’ vibe. The muscles in that guy’s butt had to be seen to be appreciated.

11:49am. I’m home.

We ate burgers for lunch with large chips. Sam accuses me of being, oh, I don’t know what, for wanting two separate large chips.

I get to re-writing my current short story. I add the things I’ve thought of in the last day, or so. I re-write the end.

I put the fan on and watch YouTube for the afternoon.

Sam eventually comes and lies on the couch and laughs inanely to TikTok videos.

The sun sparkles outside, the day remains glorious, even if we’re not out in it. We can still see it being glorious beyond the back doors.

Toasters & Can Openers

Toasters and can openers never work. Bugger the better mouse trap, make me a better can opener, or toaster.

Who has a toaster that cooks toast evenly? There is always a side that cooks differently, at worst one side is cooked, and one side is raw, or a version of that. I don't know how many shit toasters I've had.

Don't get me started on can openers that don't cut lids off tins. And there isn't much of an alternative, now is there? Cut the top off vertically, or cut the top off horizontally, it doesn't make much difference.

Toasters, can openers, give me a break.

Last Day Of The Week

4:25 am, I get up and piss. I had full on dreams, but I seem to be forgetting them as soon as I wake up now a days. 

I was having some weird dreams which I thought I’d remember, but of course I don’t. 

After I went back to bed, my mate Jeff Titan (who I have always fancied, shh, don't tell anyone) is in his undies drinking lime daiquiris while a Filipino woman called Hilda did a pedicure with him sitting there with cottonwool between his toes? He has nice thick, bare thighs coming out of his white Calvins.

7am. I make coffee and I sign into work.

I realise the expected immanent heart attack, from the last few days, is just muscle pain from the pimple on my left tit that I keep scratching, and have been scratching, absentmindedly. Stupid me.

I'm listening to Sam Smith. I was always a fan of his second album, but I am liking his other albums now too.

Charlie was going to be overseas with his mother until he went back to uni, but he announces he'll be back soon, in a week. Sam is pissed off as he was enjoying not having to cook for him. There is a whole family drama going on with his mother and her boyfriend and it appears Charlie is now bailing on them.

I wish I could bail on the drama, but Sam is making my ears bleed with constant updates.

I sign out of work early, when I have no more work to do.

And that is the end of my week.

Welcome Back To The Real World

First day back for everyone from the break, although it is kind of quiet on that front.

There seem to be so may things that need fixing, it is just one of those days where problems come at me all day, like cars speeding towards a multi road intersection not controlled by traffic lights, and all the cars are speeding towards the exact some spot all at once, and I have to catch them all.

My head spins, and I get anxious about it all. I never used to get anxious about anything.

I wonder, later, if I got everything correct, with the stuff I fixed, which I am sure I did, but it would only take one thing to be wrong, but there probably isn't.

But it was like that all day, no sooner had I fix one problem, there was another, and another, and I just had to go from one to the other, without catching my breath in between.

Don't you hate days like that, I know I do.

Welcome back.

I wake up at 4.30am. I had a dream about Tom. We are in a pool with another guy smoking a joint. Tom is using the joint to get this other guy stoned so he can pick him up. So he is giving this other guy all the joint, and I am getting nothing, so much so, I have to say to him that I was getting none of it.

Tom was a master at giving guys just the right amount of pot, amphetamine, acid, booze, to separate them from their pants. Straight guys, married guys, gay guys in monogamous relationships, gay guys in open relationships, you name it, Tom was an expert at getting them out of their clothes and into his bed. 

They weren’t out of it, no, nothing like that, they were relaxed and convinced that they should do it. Everyone was a willing participant, don’t get me wrong.

Tom just knew how to get them fully relaxed and compliant.

Good looking, straight acting gay guys, they get away with much more than any of the other orientations, let me tell you.

I wake up and go for a piss. I lie awake in the dark and think about work, and how I still have a lot to get right. 

I start thinking about the 3 short stories I have unfinished.

And I can't sleep.

I get up at 5am, not that I am going to do any work, that would be craazzyy.

Milo is very pleased to see me, with the two dogs he doesn't get much of a look in any more.

I sit on the couch with coffee at 5am in the morning with Milo cuddled up to my left leg. It is dark outside.

5.35am. Milo hops off the couch suddenly. Then I hear claws on the tiles and Brun arrives in the lounge room. He goes outside immediately for a wee. It is just starting to get light outside and the sky is like one huge grey/blue tile, just starting to glow ever so slightly.

The big snuffly wuffly is making lots of noise. He sits up on the couch next to me, settles down and goes back to sleep.

Weird Summer

This is the weirdest summer I’ve ever known, and I’m talking about Melbourne, you know the city with the reputation for the most changeable weather. Not that I am really complaining, I’d rather this than 40 degrees, but it is still fucken weird.

It's been like some tropical wet season, up north. It has reminded me of Hanoi in away.

Later, I hear it has been the wettest start to summer since records began.

Climate change anyone?

Last day Of Holidays For Sam

Sam and I have been enjoying the morning, having lunch and then been leaving home for Sam's rental property around 1pm, 2pm, then we've been finishing at 4pm and coming home. 

It is a wonder we've got anything done with those hours, but we've got a lot of it done. I guess, it was a good thing that it was in pretty good shape to start with and we've just been freshening it up, so to speak.

We've been coming home exhausted, none the less, covered in sanding dust and whatever. Paint on our hands. Filer under our fingernails.

We've been getting rid of the rubbish the tenants left behind. They had stored every box every appliance they have ever bought, plus the polystyrene that came with them. There is a 5 foot stack of moving boxes sitting in the back yard that they never used. Why they'd want so many who knows? And now, of course, they are a pile of rain ruined cardboard.

It rained all day today, which is exhausting in itself when you are having to go out in it and do stuff, be productive. Good thing it was warm at the same time, otherwise it could have been miserable, but it wasn't miserable. It was quite nice, in a way, feeling the rains drops on my face.

Oh, it wasn't raining this morning when we took the dogs for a walk. Brun has a hotspot on his neck, most likely caused by Otto chewing on his neck, as puppies do. Otto's teeth probably pieced Brun's skin at one point and bacteria got in and voila a skin infection.

Anyway, because of the hotspot, and due to the two of them charging around the place like mad things when we've been trying to work, we have been leaving Brun at home and just taking Otto for the days work, hours of work.

So, we've been walking both of them in the morning before we left. The usual people haven't been saying how beautiful Brun is, when they see the big red shaved scabby patch on his neck. Well, I guess you wouldn't, hey. It's not really very serious, it just takes a little time for it to heal.

Last days of holidays for Sam, he has been complaining that he wants to chuck it in and stay on holidays for the rest of his life, you know, like you do when your holidays come to an end.

I've got another big bag of rubbish to dispose of sitting on our front veranda. It's amazing to think we might just get the place cleaned up with our doing a hard rubbish collection.

There are just 3 more TVs that we are going to drop off at The Salvos. Three flat screen TVs? Why wouldn't they take 3 flat screen TVs with them, the previous tenants? They were always complaining about not having any money. It is hardly surprising, hey?

The last thing is some new carpet, but that'll be the last thing.

Nearly there.

Vaccines

I had my sixth covid vaccine. I'd been thinking about it for a while, as the virus waxed and waned in society and news reports. It was when I heard, what was probably an American statistic, that 200 people a day were still dying from the virus, I decided I should get on and have a booster.

I do think it is anti-intellectual, and possibly a sign that our education system is really not as good as it should be, that all these conspiracy dickwatts continue a narrative against vaccines.

The best minds in society have developed a course of action to fight covid and all you have to do is turn up and have it. It doesn't really hurt. It doesn't even cost you anything. It is as easy as anything.

Why are there all these, I have to say stupid, people, who not only refuse to have the vaccine, but a lot of them are actively working against it. Why? That just seems like the most ridiculous thing.

Why would all these people choose to believe untrained and uninformed people on the internet, or wherever, rather than believe university educated people who are trained and work in the field.

It is just baffling. “Just get the bloody vaccine and stop arguing you twats.”

It took me all of about 30 minutes by the time I walked to the chemist, and the chemist saw me straight away and then I had to wait 15 minutes afterwards and it was done.

I don’t know why anyone wouldn’t do this? You can luxury in your stupidity in every other aspect of your life, if you want, but it’s free and you don’t get sick, it’s a no brainer.

I’ve had a flu shot every year and I haven’t had the flu for 20 years.

My Old Mate Dante

I heard about my mate, Dante. It has been a while.

His life went to shit, poor Dante.

It’s just been one disaster after another disaster with him all the way through.

There were bankrupt businesses. 

Then there was unemployment. 

Then he seemed to live off the charity of friends

There’s been drug taking, with bad health outcomes, followed by more drug taking.

He dealt drugs, got busted, surprise, surprise, which very nearly ended in jail time. 

Possibly, the poor health outcomes got him out of that.

I saw him after all of that, and he said that he lost everything. He looked awful.

His parents disowned him.

He ended up in housing commission in Broadmeadows with absolutely no prospects for his life going forward.

And you know, you might feel sorry for him, you might ask me, being his friend, why I didn’t help, or show sympathy for him? Well, he was always really kind of nasty with it all. He had an over estimated sense of self. I know. There must be deep insecurity fuelling that

He used to hang around with us when we all partied back when, in the good old days of the party scene. And I'm not really trying to be mean about it all, but we are/were all the good looking, successful ones and, well, he wasn’t. And you know, eventually, he was kind of nasty and bitter about it, you know.

He did once have a heart of gold. He used to be fun, albeit in the self deprecating kind, but that was long ago.

You know, Tom used to keep him in line, but Tom has been dead for a long time now. You know, Tom would still be there for him, if he was still here.

I can hear Tom's reaction now, "He's a sister."

The last I really heard about Dante was that he was going nowhere really fast, in poverty on welfare, in housing commision in the outer suburbs.

So, I’ve just heard about him from my buddy, Kim. Dante's parents died and left all of their money to his sister, Magella, so Dante contested the will and you know the courts are sympathetic towards no hopers with no means of support, and he got something over a million dollars from their estate. So he bought himself a house in the leafy outer suburbs and a convertible Mercedes.

And what would I say to him if I saw him, well 

Good job, Dante, you’ve got yourself a convertible. 

I told David. His first reaction was, 

"I thought she was dead."

We both laughed when I said, "She'll have lost the lot in 5 years."

"Two years," said David.

Just reminiscing, that's all. Water under the bridge, as they say. Dante is never going to contact me again. I became persona non grata long ago. My mate Robert once said, "That's because you are handsome and successful." Shrug.

So, none of this really matters anymore. It was just that Kim gave me the update, and you know I use this blog as a kind of journal.

It's just interesting what people do, how they lead their lives, don't you think?

The final words go to Kim. 

“I’m not going to contact him,” said Kim. “I don’t have a million dollar house, and he’d just laud it over me, you know what he is like.”

It's Dumping On The Hump

Another day of work, my last for the week. I know, you can't feel too sorry for me.

I had a hoodie and track pants on when I got up. I shed the hoodie pretty quickly, and now I've changed out of track pants and into shorts. The rain is falling yet again today. The light outside is that kind of translucent grey glow. It’s one of those cool, wet, warm, muggy, balmy, unpredictable, fresh kind of days dressed up in a big raincoat of light that is cool and silvery bright. We have the windows and doors open. The glass is all fogged up. It is warm, warm for a rainy day. Muggy. I wish I had a dog named Stella. 

"STELLA!"

(Ha ha, is that a too obscure a reference to Streetcar Named Desire? Okay, sure, it isn't the unrelenting heat of Louisiana, quite yet, but it is still humid, hot, weird hot. Climate change in action. All the climate deniers are still denying climate change when we can, actually, see it happening before our very eyes. What is with that?)

Later...

I am pretty much finished by midday. Gotta luv the holidays.

Brun lies across my feet asleep. He is better than a pair of slippers. Big furry boof.

Sam is out buying shoes.

I hope Sam is bringing lunch home, I'm hungry.