More Crap

As you may or may not be aware, but I’ve been having a bit of a time lately. Today it got just a little bit worse. But I’m still smiling.

First I got an email from my ex (forwarded) telling me a acquaintance from the alpaca industry had passed away at the weekend. This dear man was the victim of a rather nasty cancer that could have picked far more deserving people. E. was a regular church goer, a devoted husband to his lovely wife P. and a dotting father to 16 year old L. He couldn’t do enough for other and he was always there to help, advice or just be a shoulder to cry on. He also had one of the most wicked sense or humours I have come across in many years.

Then came another email. It was from the real estate agent. Apparently my landlord wants to renovate. I have 60 days to get out.

RIP Indian Chilli

It was all over the news yesterday. The Indian Chilli had to be demolished. Overnight the building had started to shift causing a huge crack to appear between it and the building next door. The whole row of shops was evacated.

The owner of the building is blaming the city council for undermining his property during works to the community centre next door, but this may be because he doesn’t have building insurance. D’oh!

Being a local and a regular diner I had to see what was going on. I took some pictures with my mobile during the day, then went back later with my other camera to take some after shots.

As I sat on the wall taking 'after' pictures, a couple of builder types sat down next to me and asked why I was so interested in a heap of rubble. I explained that they did a really good Butter Chicken and Sag Aloo, and that I had purchased poppadums only the night before.

‘I won’t tell you what it was like out the back then.’ He said.


- Just an itsy bitsy crack between the white building doing an impression of the Leaning Tower of Pisa.

- Not feeling so much like a famous landmark now!

And it All Turned Sh*t

This morning was lovely. I woke at my own pace before getting up and showering. The sun was shining for the first time in a week. Then I got on a bus and went to meet Dr. Plod. My good girlfriend that has been sorely neglected since she started working shifts that include much weekend work. We met on the steps of the State Library before going and attending a seminar called Contemporary Fiction – Writing Sex, presented by four well known Aussie authors.

If I learnt one thing while listening to them all speak it’s this. Name the parts as the character would. If your character would call a cock, a cock, don’t call it a penis. You get me?

Anyway, after the seminar Dr. Plod had to get home to feed her kids (horses, dogs and budgies), so she left me to get some new contact lenses. Upon arriving were the Optician should be, they weren’t there. They’ve done a runner to god knows where with all my glasses history. I need new lenses you bastards and now I’m going to have to go through the whole laborious process of having my eyes tested etc, etc.

So, what with it being just after four, I thought I'll pop down to the 3 shop to see about getting my phone fixed. The nipple broke a couple of weeks back and it keeps cutting out mid conversation. The only place to take it is the 3 shop as it is still under warranty. I got to the door, It was locked, all the lights were on and there were people milling about inside. It was 4.15. CLOSED. God DAMN IT!

I walked to the bus stop and after seeing I had to wait twenty minutes for the next bus I decided the taxi would have me home in half that time, so I flagged one down. I didn’t want my day getting any worse.

Once I got home I remembered I had to procure food for Puss. So I waited a little while then went outside to get my grandma trolley from the shed. It wasn’t there. Had I left it in the kitchen, No. Had I left it in the second bedroom, No. I figured it had been nicked. Couldn’t think why or when, but picked up shopping bags from under the sink and resigned myself to carrying tins back from the shop. While walking I called Todd and told him about my mysteriously disappearing trolley and he said, ‘Is anything else missing?’

I hadn’t even thought to look, but there were a few things in there. After speaking with Todd, I called Dr. Plod. She recommended I call the Police Assistance Line and report it. When I got back from the shops (a round trip of twenty minutes) I looked in the shed (a small lean to tacked onto the back of the house). Missing was the Drop Saw, the drill, the cordless drill and really nice pair of secateurs. I’m most pissed of about the secateurs, because they had a perfect cutting action and could cut through nearly anything. But mostly I’m pissed off that the fuckers made me doubt myself.

I remember now, on Tuesday I took some rubbish out and the back gate was unlocked. I thought I had left it unlocked the previous night. I mentally scolded myself for being silly. I had a go at the cat for digging in the flower pots and spraying soil everywhere, when quite clearly that is were the fuckers landed as they jumped over the fence.

Anyway the police came round after I reported it. They told me to get another deadlock on the back door.

I’m so angry!

My Primitive Brain

Again with the news!

This story I can relate to though and I believe I should shove it up the noses of the tradeys doing the work on the house next door.

I don’t know if I actually written down the sequence of events over the last few weeks, but here goes. I’m sorry to my nearest and dearest who have heard this story told through gritted teeth over gulped wine.

To set this up you need to know I live in house 139.

Four weeks ago on Sunday 30th September I was looking forward to the public holiday the next day and the sleep I would get. I had no plans except a sleep in.

0650 on the 1st October there was drilling in 141
0710 on the 2nd October there was hammering in 141 and a sign appeared in the front gate of 137 saying that they had development approval.
0705 on the 3rd October there was drilling in 141 – After I had showered, dressed and stomped about for a bit I knocked on the door of 141 and asked how long he was planning on starting at stoopid o’clock? The tradey didn’t understand English so I told nicely and with lots of hand gestures. NOT BEFORE EIGHT!
0640 on 4th October there was more hammering from 141 – My birthday and day off! I not so politely called the guy as inconsiderate arsehole and went out for the day.
0710 on 5th October.

On Sunday 7th October there was a knock on my door at about 11am. It was the neighbour from 137 asking me to sign a government document saying that it was OK for her to fix her roof (previous owner removed fireplace/supporting wall with out replacing support) I spoke with her while and we agreed that 8am was a civilised time to start and I signed the form on the condition that 8am would be the start time.

0700 on the 10th October there was hammering from 137…

This has continued (varying between 0700 and 0720) since despite me asking nicely and upping the time constraint to 7.30 on two more occasions since the first conversation on my dorrstep. Maybe I’m being unreasonable, and I concede that I could be, but now even scientist are saying I need my sleep or I’m likely to do damage, because my primative brain in leaning toward FIGHT, way more than flight.

Mozzies

In case you were wondering what sanding sounds like from the other side of a wall, I can now inform you, with reliability that it sounds like a giant mosquito.

I can also say with authority that it’s a very nasty sound to be woken up by when you’re already having freaky dreams.

I can’t wait for the tradey fu*kers next door to finish. They broke their promise again and commenced at 0705 this morning.

Tom Cat

I was lying in bed this morning asleep, or at least I think I was, or at the very least in the half state between sleep and awake waiting for the drilling next door to start when I heard a rat-a-tat-tat knock on my front door. I looked at the clock, 0705.

I got out of bed, opened the door a crack and hid everything but my head behind it (naked from the waist down you see). Standing on my step was the lady from next door but one. Bobbie I think her name is. She moved out yesterday.

‘Have you seen my cat?’

Well…I won’t write what went through my head at the point, but what I said was, ‘I’ve only seen my own.’

A little further investigation revealed, after all she wouldn’t leave and she kept talking about her white half Persian with blue eyes called Rocky, that her was two years old, not de-sexed, unmicro-chipped and had no collar. Also, she revealed that when she was loading up the car with all her stuff she let him out because the friends that came to help brought their dog with them.

D’oh!

I didn’t have the heart to tell her she would probably never see him again.

The Blockage

Found out what the sewage issue was this morning, finally. After an hour with and electric eel and a bath full of water the plumbers drew out a larger grey lump of goo and the smaller guy of the two man handled it for a few seconds before withdrawing a small gold crucifix and then he said ‘Ahh…god botherers and white mice’.

It took me a second to realize what he was talking about…now it's your turn, think about it.

Imaginative answers will be marked out of 5 and the correct answer for the person I know will be rewarded by a few bevvies for actually writing the word.

Street Level

About two months ago I moved into a house on street level in the city. I have come to realize that this has both benefits and drawbacks.

While I love having my own space I find it is invaded by a plethora of junk mail on a daily basis. Catalogues from Coles, Woolworths, BuyLo, Freedom Furniture, Myer and David Jones are just a few of the many I receive. The quality of the paper stock improves as you work your way through the list, which is nice. But these don’t arrive in my letterbox, nope, they are thrown at my front door to be found when I get home somewhere on the step or amongst the plants on the front border. If it rains, they get wet and are useless pulp.

Puss gets to sit outside. He also get to go for walks in the evening, but I’m pretty sure he doesn’t go far because he’s never gone for long. There are big scary noises out there in the big wide city world. The bush is much safer.

People trying to sell me stuff/convert me on a Saturday morning. So far I have had Jehovah Witnesses at 9.45am, raffle tickets for some charity or other (I don’t know who because it was 9.01am when the doorbell rang and I was less than polite), the Smith family at 0845 asking if I had any unwanted items (I told them they had more chance if they asked after 10, but no, I don’t) and finally the Jehovah Witnesses again at 9.30. I’m thinking of having a sign that says ‘if it’s the weekend and before 10AM, do even think about ringing my doorbell’

Drainage Problems. When living in a flat on the seventh floor, drains were never a problem. At Bucketlike we had a sess pit and again drainage was never an issue. But Now I seem to be the outflow for the neighbour sewage system. For the last couple of weeks my little house has been getting smellier and smellier, at the weekend I went outside to find the drain had overflowed I had fag butts, cotton pads and toilet roll all over the back garden. Eww! After two weeks of asking the agent to get it sorted, I figured a photograph of my new garden décor would do the trick. Today a plumber arrived on my doorstep at eight o’clock.

Buses. I don’t like them very much, they are unreliable, noisy, dirty and they scare Puss. They run up and down outside every 5-10 minutes in both directions. They do however alert me when they are just around the corner by being noisy and I have just enough time to run across the road to the bus-stop without having to ‘wait’. Marvellous!

All-in-all I like living at street level.

Pictorial Trip to Work

I like my new home, so I thought I’d share a few pictures from my trip to work each morning. I cheated yesterday and got the bus most of the way, as I have most mornings since I moved in because it was raining AGAIN!

Will this Winter never end?

- My Street, I'm sure it looks much nice in sunshine

- These tree seedpod are everywhere. I have still to identify the tree.

- Crawford Place, Is this the most boring street in Sydney?

- The Bike, someone was brave enough to leave their bike outside chained to a fence.

- An innocent row of terrace houses? I'll give one guess who lives behind the door of 99.

- Shot from the hip, and example of the cafe on my way to work.