I phoned my bespoke porn dealer and had a very interesting phone call with a Tammie (I don’t want to go into too much detail as some of you have already read the gob-smackingly revealing detail on my AO blog). But we had a loverly chat about Darwin weather.

Spleen vent time: my day was so quiet I have little to report … take my advice and flick to the video then shoot out to Starbucks for skinnychino with a half lemon twist.

I spent a little of the morning reading my local newspaper….The Sunshine Coast Daily humourously referred (or as they would say, refurred) to as the Sunshine Coast Doily, for several reasons I imagine: It’s size, the holes in its reporting and the only practical use it has would be as a doily in your kitty litter tray….. even then the cat may prefer to crap elsewhere. It is hard to imagine the god awfulness of this paper which claims to be the 2007 PANPA AUSTRALIAN NEWSPAPER OF THE YEAR, this award I imagine is one of those chi-chi backslapping, air kissing (moue,moue) awards given by your mum to her favorite daughter. But it is always good for a laugh. Yesterday it had a headline in which the word purchases was spelled as purches. Never-the-less it sails on unsinkable (quick grab that iceberg). No point in contacting the editor, he just uses his position to rubbish you in the next days ‘doily’, with a harangue about how ‘english is an evolving language’ it is a bit like saying salmonella doesn’t effect the flavour of food ….. I stupidly once wrote a letter to him (if indeed there is a ‘him’ behind the scenes at the printery ….. bit like the wizard in the Wizard of Oz is how I imagine the ‘news room’) and was flayed alive. They had printed a photograph of a dear old lady who had just achieved the ripe old age of 100, with a bold heading ‘CENTURION CELEBRATES’… which by my calculation would have made her at least 1800 years old…

It is a paper like toilet is a paper, always advertising its much vaunted ‘lift outs’ which are just advertising puffery and when removed from the newpaper itself makes it as transparent as disposable over-alls. Well I shan’t keep banging on about it otherwise I will write more words in todays blog than appeared, outside advertising, in todays edition.

In the other paper I take there was an interesting court report about a guy who had ruined his step daughter and daughters life, by forcing them to have sex with him…… His excuse? ‘he claimed he was possessed by a spirit called Wendy’. This I like even more than the Bart Simpson excuse. When caught with my pants off in future I’m going for the ‘Ethel made me do it’ …. ba boom tish!!!!

I had a wine delivery so I had to tuck in to see that it hadn’t been corked. MBH (my better half ) said ‘it’s screw top’….. so????, and I settled down to be terminally depressed by ‘the game’ : state of origin. oh dear the Maroons should be paraded through the street naked….. my street, three times daily, and forced to stand and be photographed nude outside my bedroom…… enough said!!!!!!

My stars said an appliance would leak. The only appliance that I detected a leak from was my own personal plumbing.

My very lucky colour was brown… hey what is it with all this drabness? ……

I slept well but kept having this nightmare that Queensland lost the football, or the will to live. But today? you ask, how is today going?….. well not too flash. I suffered a minor head injury (don’t worry, you are too kind, it didn’t alter my brains functioning) and as being a believer in ‘erbs I cut a tentacle off an aloe vera plant, skinned it, and smeared it on my forehead…. I live in fear of scars, even more fear than that of social ridicule. I went out to collect a box of decking screws and kept wondering why everyone kept staring at me just above the eyes, or worse looking as if they were going to flee. When I arrived home I found that the sun had set the aloe vera a fluorescent yellow, so I look like I had been crapped on by a low flying Mardi Gras; and a big one at that. I think I am losing the will to live.

As soon as I was back and thrashing the keyboard I got a very sick comment on my ADULTS ONLY blog… I can only assume that a homophobic, feminist right wing cabal have got me in their sights. I thought I don’t have to put up with this I’ll go back and update my GENERAL rating blog… so here I am and I have to say there are more important things in life than being concerned by a sicko or three. god I live amongst them up here on shangri-la mountain.

Well there is the pivotal point in history being acted out at the local surf club. Apparently the last thing that you want to see when you are sitting down to a serve of barramundi spritzed with a beetroot coolie, is some nubile youth’s bum crack…. my god you must have noticed the trend to wearing shorts or jeans lowered to the point where you could tap dance on your own crutch?? Well physics being what it is, means, ‘crutch at ground level means arse on display. The local surf club aint having any of it so if we see your bum crack (builder bum as it used to be called) you are going to be removed from the premises.

Wow glad these people have their priorities straight. Could I mention homelessness, not to mention Burma (cyclone) China (earthquake) etc…. I haven’t even mentioned the low state of my wine cellar and where has my dealer got to?…. and these people are going troppo over arse crack exposure. It is a surf club and if anyone has ever seen a long boat race you would notice how your average surf life saver suck his speedos up his arse so they don’t get rayon burn on the seat while rowing…. so what are these people saying ‘god I didn’t know arses existed?’ , get real there is only one person on the planet that doesn’t have an arse and she is the queen of oz. I have to tell you when I am eating at my local surf club I am more concerned with how many prawns I got in the ‘SURF & TURF’ than back valley alert!!!.
FLASHBACK:
An artist ex-friend who I was posing for suggested the tanline ruined the over-all gorgeousity of my pose… so I belted down to the local beach, to do an all over tan… I was hidden away in the dunes, but never the less the cops came through the jungle slashing with their machettes ( I may exagerate… maybe it was only capsicum spray and TAZER) and I was booked for will-full exposure: it makes one feel like a pervert, and I am feeling like one right now!!. The afore-mentioned surf club is just down the way… be very afeared of visiting Coolum: loverly place but have no reason to get your private parts out of your taffeta otherwise you are going to be exposed.

The much vaunted plunge pool progresses. I mixed the tiling adhesive, I was halfway into the disposable paper overalls, when the neighbors burglar alarm went off. SUGUE: I am the only trusted person at the Paris Point of the street to be allowed to sort this problem…. my god if you saw the contents of the other neighbors garbage bins you wouldn’t sleep at night …..all home brand product and empty cheap cask wine. Well the casks are always empty, don’t ask me how I know: it’s a skill.

So I belt up there only to notice there are patches of pubic hair showing up on the overalls. GOSSAMER WARNING…. never go down sun wearing disposable overalls with nothing underneath. If there was a burglar he was going to take flight at the sight of me shimmering in the sun, or I was going to get out of the tiling. So the situation is, tile adhesive setting off in bucket , me in flagranto… belting up the boulevard (well it is at the point I live: street above and below). It is the cats, Taz (my neighbors) and Monroe (the dortas) have had some tiff and been waving semaphore battons at the motion detectors… I sort them out, check that the wine cellar is intact, I discovered one two bottles of bubbly had been drunk by the felines, and come home to a bucket of quickly setting adhesive; because as you would imagine when you are almost totally in garment divestiture mode, you meet everyone on the street. Thank god they didn’t see my bum crack, or if they did, weren’t on the committee of the local surf club.
Stars say my lucky colour is TAN …….oh yeah (I’ve got a $75 fine that says it isn’t)

The tiling looks real good, thanks for asking.
PS I found a roach near the plunge pool so any typos are….thingy. No drugs??? OK so I lie!!

Somewhere on the edge of this vision yesterday appeared a truck with a traxcavator which started knocking down the trees on the edge of the forest or jungle if we have all taken our medication (see above if you are too out of it)….. a new neighbor is about to build. This brings out in me multicotomy of feelings. I am looking forward to having new neighbors…. fer godsake I have already worn out the old ones, they pretend to be weeding the roadway when I whoosh past in the car, though I have to say, as people age the avoirdupois tends to hit the arse area, so bending they tend to look like all day suckers….. ‘does my arse look big in this street?’…… ‘you aint whistling dixie with that thing’ . There have been times when I have thought …’I don’t remember a drive-in screen in the street’. So you got the picture? It is the sort of street where time stands still. If anyone says jokingly ‘when was the last time you saw a beehive hairdo?’ I could honestly say ‘when I was out jogging this morning’ …. it is sort of like a modern day Hobart without the batik and cheezecloth.

Anyway I don’t know why I piss them off…hey I am lovable, but I am prepared to admit it can’t be easy living near a pair of poofters, with all the impeccable taste and brutal honesty that entails.

So back to yesterday… It isn’t the thought of a new house appearing in my view that makes me apprehensive, it is the building process. It has just quietened down since the ‘lederhosen brigade’ across the street have finished their house and moved in (apparently he plays brass… I misheard and thought it was bras. How noisy can that be I thought once he gets the object off his wife)…..and now I realize we are up for 5-6 months of construction down by our lilly pond.

Having a house built near to you is like riding a bike, you never forget… the 7am starts which sneak back to 6am so the ‘chippies’ can fuck off to surf as soon as there is the sign of a decent off-shore break. I use the word ‘fuck’ because soon that will be every second word we hear float up towards the house…. that is if we can hear it over the other delights of builder/labourers: they all arrive in different hotted up utilities throw open the drivers door, crank the volume up on the ‘car radio’ to max volume and go to work. That there could be say 6 utes each with its radio tuned to a different ‘station’ I don’t get… but democracy of selection of radio programmes reigns inviolate.

Oh dogs…… did I mention dogs. Every red blooded builder has to have a dog on the back of his ute; usually of some ugly rottie/boxer/pit bull/mastiff breed, well any of the breeds that drools a bucket of saliva. When the owner arrives the dogs are set free, and they are encouraged to spend the day running rampage through the neighborhood, crapping, digging up gardens, mating with the local mutts, or sometimes the neighbors themselves bending over to weed the street and no real guy would have a dog that can’t keep up a good bark for several hours.
It comes back to me that what I have to look forward too is 6 months of dog rampage, commercial radio (shudder), dog crap (which will add to the Parisian ambience) and fast food boxes blowing through my garden…….. BUT HEY! it aint all downside when the weather warms these same men will not be able to overcome the urge to strip to the minimalist amount of clothing… then I will probably have need to weed the lilly pond.

……………………….With any luck we will be upwind of the port-a-loo.

PS the AO only blog is up…. god I didn’t know how hard being an exhibitionist is.

What with the dual blogs I am going to be only able to hit here bi daily…. so the story about the exploding deodorant is gonna have to wait till tomorrow.

Now the courtesy of the courtesy bus bit, is probably, that we all don’t gang up and throttle the bus driver who is always female and is happy to waste our time, chatting up some guy from the workshop, who probably should be working on my car… but I don’t want to be bitter about ruining her sex life. The bus, well it is one of those 12 seater mini buses with the windows tinted enough so the contents can only just be seen as vaguely humanoid, and you know you look like it is a group from the local old persons home on a chaperoned shopping outing. Bugger I don’t know why we aren’t all given zimmer frames and go for the total demented look. Ms Driver treats the whole thing like she is single-handedly flying a boeing 747, we only miss out on the in flight catering; which she could do with her 2 free hands as she seems to be steering the bus by use of her knees jambed up against the steering wheel… she is very big on hand gestures, or could be just drying her nail polish.

Don’t know why I am always the last to be dropped off. Some-one could be wanting to go to Saturn and me only two blocks but it is always ‘two blocks via Saturn’.

SEGUE WARNING: Apparently Saturn is in my moon, and I am advised to buy one ticket in something … and my lucky colour is cocoa.

As the last one on the bus the driver decides I need cheering up so she asks me what I have planned for the day ….. I want to say ‘well a quick whip round the universe in a clapped out mini bus driven by a a failed beautician sounds appealing’. I just grunt. I tumble off the bus at the local shopping mall…I’m looking for a copy of A Farewell to Arms: Hemingway. Three bookshops later, and you have no idea how obscure Hemingway is to your basic gum chewing check out chick. You have to ask because I find any shop that operates any sort of cataloguing system uses a system that is totally beyond any logic …. It may start out alphabetically but by the time you are up to mid way through the C’s suddenly the next shelf starts with H or you are into the decoupage section. To be fair to all the check out chicks they did all say, ‘what have you got planned for the day’ and one seemed that genuinely interested that I thought, if I make my day sound anymore exciting than hanging out in the decoupage section, she will probably chuck the job in and follow me home.

Shop 4 does have a copy of the book but ‘she’ looks at me in the eye and says ‘oh it is a special edition $69.95′ … ‘how special’, I said ‘handwritten?’ didn’t so much as crack a smile, she didn’t even ask me what I had planned for the day…so that was me shopped out with hours to fill. I took in a movie. Miss Pettigrew lives for a Day: recommended. But while we were all queueing, Oh you have to imagine this: 3 ticket sales booth, only one manned, with a big sign saying ‘under training’ … should have said ‘under water’, a queue of 20-30 blue rinsed old biddies, all of who had the correct change somewhere in their purse … what is it with old people they dag along, seem genuinely surprised when money is requested. “hey mum get your money out before you get to the ticket box’ then there is coin and lint spread and counted… the movie is about to kick off and the queue aint going anywhere. I usually try to keep away from people en masse, owing to an uncontrollable urge to hug people I don’t know, around the neck. The urge becomes particularly strong when you have to listen to conversations, that make small talk seem monumental…. this queue was a particularly fine group of trivia-meisters.

I was taken by a sign on the ticket booth; it said ‘Management reserves the right to refuse entry to anyone…without explanation’ Wow. WTF type of people do they get at the multiplex….? You don’t get kicked out for breathing popcorn breathe over the person sitting beside you, or giving a running monologue about your illnesses or the film plot. Booting the back of the seat in front seems ok, and talking on your mobile is practically de rigueur .. so what do you have to be or do to be chucked out. Anyway the movie was good. I collected the car, the matre d’ of car handing over said ‘and what have you got planned for the day’ … I was tempted to say ‘well I plan to come up with a cure for cancer before afternnon tea time and then perhaps have a sliver of Battenberg with a cup of Earl Grey, before I put my mind to solving the global warming crisis……..” Get a life mate.

In actual fact I returned home and did some more training for my drinking career with the mother and dorter neighbors…. and they don’t even drink, during the sunlight hours, so I had to practice on myself… I am still planning to run away: but where?

My last gasp hope will be that the wheels come off the Maserati.

How have the last three days of my life gone? Forget Saturday…..I solvent glued myself to the plumbing in the plunge pool.
Sunday brought an encore of the Supermarket shopping, and surprisingly it wasn’t too bad, BUT I was still recovering from the previous evenings booze-a-thon, I even enjoyed the piped music (not a good sign). When Smooth with Rob Thomas hit the airwaves, synchonised with the thumping in my skull, me and the shopping trolley positively ‘latined’ our way down the pet food/personal products aisle. The only glitch was not getting the BBQ chicken of choice so I tucked it into a space in the laundry detergent shelf and went back for another. I enjoy the juxtaposing of dumped deli goods around the supermarket and ponder the thought process that has some-one thinking ‘yeah chicken thighs would be great’ yet by the time they have got to the potato crisp aisle they are thinking “bugga that’s too much trouble to cook…just swap them for a family pack of Doritos”. I have noticed tho’ there is some weirdo who is always dumping stuff (usually Kabana) near the condom area of the personal care shelves.
It was Mother’s Day and I was genuinely touched by the number of children who had taken their mother to the supermarket…. ah well hope for the species.

The rest of the day I waited (in vain) for a comfort delivery.

Monday morning I hit the street early for my regular exercise walk (hahahahaha: read get rid of the hang over) tried to take some photos of the loverlies; The women up here wear some damn fine walking clothes (if we were all blind) but for some reason they seem to duck into roadside hedges a the hint of a camera…. so I am including the following clip from ‘The Zigfield Follies’ to give you an idea of some of the jogging outfits. A couple of these outfits probably made their way to Tasmania, worn by the mother and dorter, previously mentioned… who didn’t want me along on the trip, previously mentioned.
The 2.50 minute point is particularly deja vu-ish of when the women hit the street en masse. Now there is point to this francophile leaning… it ain’t no trailer park where I live (tho’ I still got the pics)… in fact where I live is referred to as the ‘Paris’ point of the street… further on it is the Paris Hilton end, and the other way the Britney Spears end….knickers optional, but one shouldn’t laugh about senior moments.
PS I have the same drapes in my bedroom, if that offers any inducement…..

Somewhere I made a statement to the effect that I would/should/could explain the raison d’etre for my blog. The couple of you who may have been transfixed by my life will by now be asking…..WTF? So last night while waiting bewtween the hours of 10.00 PM and 3.15 AM( more about that later) I decided a fork in the road maybe was the way to go ……. So I am going to divide my personality, because after all this blogging thing is an ego trip and split my blog into two distinct streams …. so for the squeamish follow me and the others follow him ( I’ll have to figure how to do that…maybe a password for the prurient) …. but it will be a bit like when Mrs Owens used to split us up for basketball …. those with shirts on over here and those with shirts off over there. “Sandra put your blouse back on and get into the girls group”. So the quintessential rant with be the G rated and somewhere in the dingier recesses of cyber space where those of little modesty hang out I will let it all hang out … the AO group (Adults Only), where I can perhaps get a handle on why my life is so fraught. Of course the two strands will cross: hey I ain’t completed fucked. Hence one will be SEX & DRUGS and the more exciting will cover RACK & RUIN.
A couple house keeping notes…. my stars never came through on ‘fabulous wealth’.. another one of my superb share investments returned a dividend of $3.78, total; not per share. Today my colour is Crystal…. whoa!! some-one knows their Dulux colour card, looking forward to ‘wind’ being a colour soon.

Now the one person who wants the redirect to the prurient blog just start the queueing…. and the missing 10.00 pm to 3.15 am will be revealed.

Books I have lined up to read. Heart of Darkness ( a re-read): The Irresistible Inheritance of Wilberforce (loved Salmon Fishing in the Yemen). The Spare Room by Helen Garner… I love this authors style & that it is the next bookclub choice surely cant spoil it for me???
For the big screen; Have been lent a french vesion of Lady Chatterley & want to re watch Trop Belle Pour Toi which I just ‘got in’ from o/s

The boot scooting roof cleaner returned and I fled to the doctor and as luck would have it he fell off the ladder while I was away…. my better half apparently solved the problem… but by the time I returned I was past caring.

Thursday arrived and it was bookclub. God how does one encapsulate the experience? ‘Imagine slamming your hand in a car door over and over’ and all the time you realize it is self inflicted. The group was reading a book called ‘the Floating Brothel’ I shan’t mention the authoretettes name just so you don’t feel impelled to read it. I am usually the last invited to express my opinion … I do vaguely remember saying something like ‘if I have to read another feminist tract on the suffering of the female of the species I am going to vomit’. The book was one of those that by page 5 you don’t really give a stuff about the fate of the characters in fact you are hoping they are going to hit an iceberg. Iceberg warning: it happens about page 150….. that it was based on Australian convict history added no verisimilitude…. I am tossing up whether I should dump the book club, but my better half (referred to in future as MBH) suggested if I cut back my social calendar any more I could just use an egg timer to schedule my life.

I blew the roof man off as he was supposed to come help me chlorine wash the walls on Wednesday….. but now I had back-ordered him for Friday so Thursday evening was fraught with anxiety…. I cooked my signature dish for a couple of friends …I say signature dish because it is a term I picked up from Gordon Ramsay’s TV programme…along with the newly acquired ability of when under stress of, at least, doubling the number of times I can incorporate ‘fuck’ into a sentence…. call me old fashioned but I still prefer to NOT use the ‘c’ word. This harks back to a meeting of the book club where a book I had chosen was referred to as a ‘cock teaser’. When later in the meeting I asked if then we should refer to Mills & Boon as a ‘cunt teaser’? my opinion was never sought again; after a vast intake of air round the table

My signature dish went off well though I drank way too much and later in the night, had visit from a ‘comfort of strangers’ person … went to bed drugged, drunk and way too late. Woke up stressed, shaking and in some-one elses underwear…. and missed the farewell of the neighbors (mother and dorter) on their ‘mums day’ visit to Tasmania. It had been my intention to haul the garden hose up the hill and send them off under a water arch.

Later in the day the wall washing co-worker arrived and proceeded to stress me out greatly, with his approach to work and his views on my personality… I thrashed the V’s and have been non compos…. since

I close with a cheery little clip ‘starring’ Alice White. Now this woman could be me…. she can’t dance, act, her singing voice is dubbed and her film career was shorter than some sex that I have had…. though apparently much later in life she stabbed herself in the eye with a carving knife ….. god I know how she feels at this very moment; I would have aimed slightly lower and to the left (in the chest region) ….. I would run away from home except the neighbors would be fraught… they need my take on taste!!!!!! Oh and besides they didn’t want me in Tasmania!!

The ones across the road have returned from their trip to Germany (apparently Germany won that game). Those in the next house up… the one with the wetback gardener, the afore mentioned couple, have left for Tasmania on a mother daughter bonding trip (hope mom has packed the super glue) …. (career tip) Never wear matching clothing… more about the neighbors soon….. They phoned me up to say one of my sculptural pieces that I did for the Museum & Art Gallery of Tasmania is now being kept ‘off premises’ …….. this is art speak for ‘we broke it’. Apart from that their visit to the southern island is looking up…apparently the american fleet is in town, so you can tell they are art lovers. “Hello sailor”.

I do apologize to the more serious polkadot wearing number : see links: inalittleminute . She has problems with subtitled films as in ‘I don’t read films!!’ Now I find she has a problem with Black and white …. but hey I can understand a woman who understands shades of grey.

Let’s get the stars out of the way first…. they lied. My substantial increase in wealth didn’t arrive unless you count the $3.19 miscalculation by my bank…by thursday my lucky colour was:beige. Next week I hit the tea leaves, altho I am developing a system for reading cork crumbs at the base of a wine glass: a great deal of research has gone into this phenomena this week, tho’ as the week progressed and the substantial increase in wealth appeared not to be looking ‘too flash’ I went from imported to domestic to trying the technique on chateax cardboard.

On Wednesday, the new house cleaners arrived, yes they are and yes it is. They came in the form of 3 and they did a brilliant job, ‘well he would say that’ having not been able to blackmail even the local sexual deviant into cleaning for me. There was the Diana Ross person who egoed the proceedings and the two semi backing singers who whizzed around, not unlike rocketmen with back pack vacs. The effect was very noisy,much akin to having a hornet trapped in both eardrums…. The only downside was I had a collection of roaches on top of a paint tin in the laundry: I was intending to do some personal recombinant DNA research with them later in the day as I could even at this stage see where the day was heading: they apparently got sucked into Cindy Birdsongs back pack and I feel would have lost some of my upmarket credibility to have ripped the vacuum cleaner from her back and done an internal lint-o-nectomy on it…..MEANWHILE up on the roof was the roof cleaner…totally unrelated to the supremes… a ‘friend’ who though he was being paid insisted on doing it ala Sinatra (I do it my way). Now it has been claimed around the neighborhood that I can exhibit minor control freak tendencies HAH! as if!! … the day degenerated as the roof boot scooting increased in volume. I fled for the Valium stock, topped up with my research on wine cork reading thingy and things eased themselves down-ish. At some point I was accused of speaking in tongues I did some inspired design work, which the next day only required me to figure out which way was up.

The supremes return in a fortnight……. I am ready; the boot scooter returns on Monday (only half finished) and I am not ready. We are hoping for a disaster to intervein…. otherwise I will be sticking something there as a coping mechanizm.

Oh visitors last night and overnight…AND suprise of surprises next night as well:god how come my stars didn’t see that coming?…. I will up date this one next blagging: ‘come back boot scooting roof man..a day earlier’.

The week is not looking good (according to the bottom of the bottle where apparently my favorite colour is, sauvignon blanc) . Could it get worse? well yes actually, bookclub happens on Thursday morning. I’m going to suggest the braille version of the Karma Sutra.. crack out the rusty razor blades.

ss 23/05/02