500th post

I have written an elaborate celebration piece but came across this while going through my archives.

I'll bring the other one to you soon, but in the meantime I wanted to re-post this from the Dormitory Boys.

I think it has to be my absolute favourite. Consider this the beginning of a small series of fave videos revisited.

I just watched it again for the first time in a couple of years. It makes me smile and then I get all teary for some reason at the song's peak towards to end.

Enjoy.

Lindcraft Angel

I've just returned from Lindcraft. I met an Angel; an elderly man with a European accent who was hovering near the thimbles when I asked a shop assistant for help with sewing machine needles.

"This would be the best person to ask," she said cheerfully. He was wonderful. He helped me get the right needles, he told me the reasons why the cotton can loop underneath the fabric. He told me to ask God for help when I sew, to feel happy when I sit down to sew.

"I'm such a beginner," I said. I didn't say I was also such an atheist.

Let the people have their God, I thought.

But I do need all the help I can get, I thought after that, wondering.

No, I told myself. Don't be a using hypocrite. You can't just borrow Him when you want. When you need to.

But that's what other people do. They rush to church when tragedy strikes, isn't this the same sort of thing?

No. They are believers anyway.

They're not seeking comfort in the beauty of the architecture? The music? The words of a wise preacher?

Oh shut up.

*

I wanted to cling to the man, ask if he could adopt me and make me his acolyte, even though I think I'm the wrong gender for acolyte-ism, and probably a few decades too old. I wanted to ask if he gave lessons, did he have a card, did he ever sew for anyone famous, what stories does he have, which country did he leave and why? Who knows? He could have been Melbourne's Dior for all I know. Or another old Nazi.

He bought a thimble with an open top - he said they are the best types. He wished me good luck, and to have a wonderful day. I told him he was very kind, and thank you. I didn't want to walk away from him. Did he feel it too? I wonder.

I bought:

- a measuring tape: soft, not a fucking metal builder one which I've been using and which likes to attack me as I'm stretched out on the table, in my most vulnerable positions.

- some fabric scissors.

- some thread snippers.

- a metre metal ruler. Look out.

- some cotton.

- sewing machine needles, pack o' 5.

So I'm all set to go. Again.

Tomorrow is sewing day. Again.

I will practise more on the fabric scraps, which are kind of running out. I will fix my looping thread problem. I will get these curtains done.

Happy Tuesday to you all.

I am not a natural

You know how there are some things that you are a natural at?

I'm a natural eater, writer, gadabout, teacher, cook and imbiber of wine. These are things I think that I do well, with little or no formal training.

Then there are things I am shit at, and no matter the help I get, or the study, the effort, the brain-power that is invested, I am still shit at it.

For me, one of these things is maths. Another is that I find it very hard to read sarcasm, or irony in a face-to-face situation with a person I don't know. This is because I'm naturally gullible and trusting (another "natural ability" of mine) and so I don't pick up on the cues.

Another thing I'm shit at is money. Oh, don't get me wrong. I'm good at spending it, but can't save for the life of me, can't budget, can't understand where it all goes. Connected to this particular anti-talent is my shit abilities at navigating what normal people might find ordinary, every day stuff. Like paying bills, remembering to get milk and understanding why, but why do we have to do things like do tax returns, change light globes and clean the oven. I just want someone else to do all that stuff so I can do the stuff I like. Because the stuff I like is incredibly demanding and time-consuming. And all that other stuff just seems so uninteresting and not "important."

But the thing that I am most shit at in the whole, wide world is sewing. It has been this way forever, I have always been crap at it; in fact it's one area of my life I've shown most consistency. Even the simplest, easiest task that involves needle and thread, I WILL FUCK UP.

Now, I'm not a stupid person. Once I did one of those thingies that told me I could be in MENSA.

But I can't sew.

I know why it is. It's a blend of impatience, lack of skills and bad maths. My genius lies in tangential lines of thinking, being able to find patterns and abstract forms of logic. All the things that maths isn't. I'm not terrible at maths the way some people are, but it's hard for me to visualise things spatially if they are not right in front of me. So this, combined with possibly a kind of sewing-trauma induced phobia means that whenever I try and sew, I fuck it up.

Evidence of avoidance:

When I was at uni the first time, instead of trying to sew a seam that had come undone in my nice cardigan, I used a million little safety pins to pin it up. AND IT WASN'T THE LATE '70s!

Buttons I can manage, but that's taken me thirty years to "master" and I'm sure that a pro would snigger at my buttons.

I just can't sew. I'm hopeless at it, I really am.

Recently I decided to take up my own pants, now we have a sewing machine and all. How hard could it be, I thought. I can do it. I'll just take my time, be logical and work it out properly.

First I tried on the pants, took them up with pins to the length I wanted. And because I'm SMART and I think of all eventualities, I tried them on with really high heels, and then again with flats to get the best length. I double checked. Then, when I went to cut the pants, guess what I did. I moved the pin, which had been holding the make-shift hem in place, let the bottom part of the fabric drop down, and put the pin back in the same place.

WRONG. WRONG. WRONG.

Thank fuck I thought it looked like heaps of material to be cutting off so I didn't cut that much, but even so I could only make a tiny hem rather than an elegant cuff, so basically, I fucked the pants. They are ok, they are wearable, but they are not the hems I wanted and planned.

Then the actual sewing. It was fucked. I used white cotton on tweedy black and beige pants. I was in a state, a lather. But I get so stubborn that I don't stop, I just push on, and I ended up breaking the needle on the machine, finishing by hand IN BLACK COTTON, it was a disaster. This was less than a week ago.

SO, now I have set myself a project to make curtains. And not just easy every-day curtains but lush, bordello-style velvet curtains with a heavy lining.

Luckily, I've had some help. When this project stalled recently, the Lovely Elaine offered her help, so yesterday I went around to her house and in a couple of hours, she made a curtain. I took notes and watched closely and then slipped her a few shekkels to pay for her expertise. Here is the result:

It's not hung yet, obviously. I need to keep it down as my model. Elaine's seams are so straight, she has no loopy threads underneath and it didn't take her a whole day just to cut any of the fabric or lining. She is ace.

Today, all day, I have done the following:

1. changed the needle on the sewing machine.

2. figured out again how to put the bobbin in.

3. cut the lining into the right-sized pieces.

4. cut the other bits of fabric into the right sizes.

5. done some test seams on off-cuts of velvet.

6. found it is quite hard to sew a straight line.

7. blushed when I remembered Elaine saying "how hard is it to sew a straight line."

8. found that the stitches are looping, so I've tried adjusting the tension but it doesn't seem to be helping.

9. been very relieved that I had decided to do some test seams on off-cuts instead of just plowing ahead and getting started.

10. blushed again when I remembered my mum saying "And you'll do some testing with fabric, before you start sewing the real thing?" and me saying "I know how to use the sewing machine!!" in an injured voice.

So my initial estimate of taking three times as long as Elaine has been revised. I think it will take me ten times as long as her to do one curtain. Maybe longer.

But for some perverse reason, I am being very determined about all this. I can't say the same for bills and tax and other grown-up things. Maybe because this is creative, I am determined to not let it beat me.

Anyway, stand-by for more updates as I go along this week.

diarama you know you want it, oh yeah

Volume 7.

Hello there. It's 9.34am on a fucking dreary Monday morning. Pat's first day of holidays. This place makes me feel anxious and tense. I wonder why? Maybe because I associate it with so many tense thoughts and feelings. I was fine until I walked in and at down and started writing a letter to J.

I had a good weekend. Pat and I were close and had 2 excellent sessions which convinces me we're on the road to absolute success. I was happier this past weekend than I have been for a while. I mean happy in that I was smiling and laughing and so was Pat. Sat night was great. We had mucho fun together. I'm feeling strong. Stronger than ever. Anything that happens from now on will not be a matter of fate or bad luck. Only decisions loom in the future. And if some go against my wishes, then so be it. I'm ok.

Told [sister] everything that was said between Pat and I on Thursday. She was more upset than I am. Poor little thing. Having to tell her Sid died, and then unloading my heart and brain onto her. But my God, it helped me and my tension. Just to get it all out to another human being was great.

I'm feeling tired. Even thought I wasn't when I got up this morning. It was a late night though. When we made love last night, it was as Pat said "terrific." My mind buzzed and my body tingled. We climaxed at the exact same moment, and it proved that it can happen with a bit of effort and that we can have wonderful sex. Saturday was excellent too.

But I don't want it to get noring and routine. Different places and positions etc. I'm going to take initiative and have more of a say in when, where and how.

Oh I'm so happy he does want me. It's not just an accident or fate, that we can both set out to enjoy our bodies and achieve something special. I'm sure the deep emotions running between us can be felt and appreciated by Pat too.

I'm going to stop going on about it. Quit the deep psychoanalysis and just start living properly. Bye.

Hi. It's 12.03pm on Tuesday 31st July, 1984. Here I am in my big, empty office and I'm feeling happy. Had a good night last night and I've settled down incredibly. No butterflies. Hanging out for Friday though. Then I have NINE glorious days to have fun. Can't wait. Can't wait. Can't wait. Spoke on the phone for ages last night. Spoke to [brother], mum and [sister]. And D.

Only five hours to go. [Cousin's] calling back tonight about some dope. We're hanging out for it so much that we'll even drive down tonight to get it.

I'm really enjoying The Magus. Mum said "if you can read The Magus you can read anything."

I hope Patrick's happy. He's noticed my change in mood. Believe me, it's not forced. I am truly relieved and happy and he knows it. It delights him. I cooked a yummy meal last night and did all I could for him. Tonight, he can spoil me. He says he worries about me - it's nice to know he does but I don't want him to. Bye.

Hi there! It's 11.41am on Thursday 2nd August, 1984. I have just, 30 seconds ago, finished The Magus. I still don't really understand it but it's so incredible!

My God, I'm not even sure how it ends. It's a book full of deception and tricks. No one is who they seem to be. Amazing. I'd love to discuss it with someone who's read it closely and who has ideas on its meaning. I'm stunned by it.

* * *

I put those asterisks above because I wanted to separate what I'm now writing from my comments above. Tuesday night we drove in the Moke out to Waverley and got McDonald's. Yum. Then home and sleep.

Wednesday August 1. I woke up early in a sweat. I'd been sneezing the day before, so I had a cold. Blocked nose, etc. Pat rang work and said I wouldn't be in. Then I snuggled down and slept in. Pat got up and went out and I read my book. Then Dunx arrived at 12.45pm. (He was meant to show up at 1oam.) Then Pat returned and we all chatted for a while. Then they made HEAPS of phone calls about tyres and I got dressed. Then we went and got retreads for the Moke. We went to Mind Games in Chapel St and Duncan bought a game (PLOY) which is like a future-style chess game. We went and got the Moke and went home. Played PLOY, waited for [cousin] to come. He didn't. Then we went to Taco Bill's in St Kilda. Ate, laughed and drank. It was a great day. Really good. I laughed and laughed. I can't wait for next week. Pat, Duncan and I all get on really well. Pat says I'm his best mate and he loves me heaps. We're both disatisfied with our jobs. Last night he said most of that talk we had last Thursday was motivated because he was concerned about my happiness. I told him the truth, about how all I ever wanted was for him to be open and honest, and that I feel close to him, and now that he has opened up to me, the wall is dropping. I feel happier, I know where I stand, and I can now continue my life without the worry of how he's feeling. I suppose that's not totally true, but at least now I'm more at ease. I'm gonna stay away tomorrow. I feel off, and I've had enough of the place.

I have to organise my costume for Sat. night. What will I go as??? Tomboy? Ah fuck.

HI kids! Now it's Sunday night, about 11.30pm, the 5th August, 1984. Last time I wrote was last Thursday.

Brief rundown on elapsed days:

Thursday, I left work around 12.30pm and went home. Luckily Pat was there and could let me in.

Stayed away Friday and mucked around I think. I got my hair cut and tipped on Fri afternoon. Then out to dinner with Pat's mum and hubby. Yummy meal. Great fun. Greek dancing, the works.

Sat - burned around getting things we needed. I made Pat go to bed. So we read, had some bongs and went to sleep for about 4 hours. Dunx came over around 6.30pm and woke us up. Pat stayed home in bed sick and I dressed up as a St Trinians and went to the 21st. Wow. What an evening. I fought off lecherous Jan who was extremely humble. Had my foot caressed by Dieter, and listened to suicidal, bitter Therese who's life story was rather boring. Then drove home and got into bed about 3am.

Sunday 5th August. Slept in. Went to Donvale to get the camping stuff. Pat's mum and I got steadily sloshed on red, while Pat and P fiddled with the Moke. The stereo looks absolutely fab. and sounds great. Drove home via Ashburton and saw [sister] and Mum. I love Mum so much. She was embarrassed tonight about being a clucky mother, maybe I teased her too much about it in front of Pat, and she got embarrassed.

Then home. Watched The Howling, was not impressed (boring!) Then packed and now I'm in bed with "sweet thing" and I would now like to quickly chronicle my love for him. I've been so happy the past week and it's all brilliant. I can't believe how lucky I am! I love him so much. He's a precious person. My gem!

Hi. I don't know what the time is. We are just leaving Mansfield and my writing is off because we're cruising along in la moke. Now we are following Dunx. It must be after 4.30pm because the sun's getting low. I just consumed 2 pieces of oily fish and a cigarette. I love my Pat. We are going to "set up camp" at Bright and I'm getting my period. Shit. Pat just told me it's 5 o'clock. And my tummy's hurting a little bit. My fingernails are growing too! It's been a beaut day - SUNNY. Hopefully there's snow on the mountains! Pat is concerned about la moke - it's driving funny. Now I just helped him put his parka on and he's just turned Led Zeppelin on. There are some tiny spots of rain... It's getting colder and I dearly hope we get some good skiing in.

Pat just said we're only about 1/2 way there. Oh no! Dunx just put his lights on. It's getting colder all the time.

Led Zep's on and it sounds like a dying dog. My God! I'm freezing now. My God! It's beautiful out here in the country. I wish to be nowhere else in the entire world.

We've seen three dead WOMBATS. It was "horrible" but Pat laughed loud and clapped his hands. I'm having a ciggy and then I'll return.

We'll I bet you thought "we won't hear from her for days." Correct!!!

It's 10.30pm Sunday 12/8/84. I haven't written since Monday, 6 days ago. Details of holiday in Bright:

Mon - got to Bright. Set up camp in darkness and rain. Chinese food for dinner. "Interesting." Went to sleep.

Tues - Went to Hotham. Cars ok. Came home. Take away from fish and chip shop. Went to bed. Slept.

Wed - Went to Fall's Creek. No snow. Came home. Did some shopping. Counter tea at pub. Fun. Went home. Played Oh-Wa- Ree. Slept.

Thurs - Went to Hotham. Raining on the mountain, then snow. Got there, snow heavy and constant. I waited at ski hire place while Pat and Dunx put anti-freeze in the cars. Rented stuff then "hit the slopes man." Fog got heavier and heavier, snow so thick, visibility very low. Went to other runs, ok. Very cold and wet. Then home. Moke wouldn't start. Waited for RACV man, then before he came, Moke started. Then waited for road to be cleared. Then drove home in blizzard, dark, wind, me wiping the foggy windows every 30 secs. so Pat could see where he was driving. Home. Waited for Dunx at Harrietville pub. No sign, drove home. He there. Tent flooded out. Dried as much stuff as possible. Sleep. Electrical storm. Scary.

Fri - very wet and yucky day. Blobbed. Dunc drove home and we stayed an extra night in an on-site caravan. Out to "the Crazy Kangaroo" for tea (pancake parlour) and home. Good night.

Sat - drove home. Arrived about 2pm. Did laundry. Discovered Clawed gone and Dan moved out. Dinner with Pat's dad and wife at Taco Bill's. Yum. Slept.

Sun (today) Slept in. went to St Kilda market and bought some candles and egg cups. Then went to see an x-rated movie in a sleazy cinema in town. Sick movie and strippers in between shows. Then left and went to see Supergirl which was a bit off really. Now I'm in bed, Pat is reading the Dice Man and there are patterns running on the computer. Bye.

Hi it's about 1/4 past 11pm. What a fucking day. Monday 13/8/84.

Clawedy's gone. The milk bar man said she was run over last week. It's not bloody fair, we loved those cats and now they're both gone. I feel empty and upset byt I've got Pat. Dan is a cunt - fucking shit. Scenes at work. Can't be bothered even beginning to explain it. Didna see Lucy today. I'm sitting on the bed - Jeff and Pat are talking "shop." Dick Smith stuff. It gets boring after a while. I just want to cuddle my Pat. Poor Clawedy! She was so fab. Buddha Cat. She talked to me and she'd just started to accept me and love me. She'd crawl into my lap and scratch me. I've got tears in my eyes and I've got to get control. Well, my nose is dribbling and I'm sniffing. I'm going to read my book. Bye.

MY GOODNESS! It is now Monday September 3rd. Many days since I last wrote. The time = 2 minutes to nine o' clock am. I am at work and I am at peace with the world and in love very muchly. Since last writing not much has happened. If it had, I would have written about it. I've just been working at my boring job. I've seen a wee bit of D2 and D. we went to Kaniva one Friday night and I went again with mum, [sister], and [brother] to celebrate mum passing her exam. Those 3 fab members of my family have just returned from 4 days up at Buffalo, and htey had a great time. [Sister] got such a sunburned face, she's blistering.

D2 had her nose done, and it looks good. Just last Saturday night, D2, D, Pat and I went to Kaniva for tea and got very drunk. It was a good night. Yesterday (Sunday) my poor baby Pat was sick. I was nurse for a day and looked after him. We stayed in bed all day, with me running up and down the stairs fetching drinks and ice-cream for my darling invalid. We watched The Leylands, and John Laws, then 60 Minutes and finally a boring movie with James Caan and Jane Fonda Comes a Horseman. After that we watched most of Entertainment Tonight which was juicy as usual.

Friday night I met D2 at Target and spent $75 on 4 pieces of clothing. Then we went and had tea at Ashburton. Dad has also put 4 brand new tyres on the Beetle. Today I am wearing my "high heels" because my suede booties (the left one) is peeling open at the toe. Not very attractive. Also, M has the lead in Camelot, starring opposite Richard Harris. M is Guinevere and Rich is King Arthur. D is seeing a young lad by the name of Vincent and I love Pat. I keep thinking that if we want to move to the beach, Albert Park or South Melbourne aren't such a bad idea. I checked the Age on Saturday and there are 1 bedroom flats for very reasonable money.

Jeff is at Ballarat this week so we have the house to ourselves. It's cold up here and I need to do poo. I can't wait for sumer. I sat out in the sun on Sat. in top and undies. This man came to the door, looking like a cop, and asked Russ if he could "have a few words." Ph no. We're getting busted. Not quite. Apparently they'd been informed (he was a traffic officer) that we had "no standing" signs in our back-yard. He checked the ones we do have, left from the previous tenants but they aren't the ones he meant. An informer is in our midst. WE didn't have to think at all to figure who it would be. Mrs Bored Housewife. Jeez. **

If we move to South Melbourne, we're not far from work, so we won't be cutting ourselves of from "civilisation."

I've just read over my writing since the Thursday night that Pat and I started pulling down the wall. I have been so contented and happy since then. I'd been defensive, paranoid and suspicious for too long that I'd almost forgotten what a delightfully happy and buoyant person I am. I want to move out of Richmond. It's depressing and holds bad memories. The cats are gone and Pat and I have experienced pain in that house. But at the same time, we've had a lot of fun. It's amazing.

I should get my period today. Pat asked me last night if I'd got it yet. "You're not pregnant? Let's call him... Conrad!" Nice name anyway.

I've read so many books since the Magus. Mario Puzo the Pilgrim, Dick Francis (computer betting one), Agatha Christie, 79 Park Avenue, Robert Ludlum The Chancellor Manuscript and lots more.

Now I'm rereading the Matarese Circle which I will continue now.

Hi. Yes, I know I'm slack in terms of writing in this book. The date is September 25th the time is 2 minutes past 11, AM, I'm at work listening to 3XY on my wee red transistor which I purchased at Coles for under $8 a couple of weeks ago.

There's nothing major to report. I've been a bit funny lately. Our love life is good - both Pat and I are in agreement on that count. At times, however, we both seem discontented and restless. I want to move out. The house depresses me. Especially with the shocking weather lately. Fucking downpours!

Pat is working at Springvale and doesn't like it. A few exciting things are in the air.

1) Real estate agent is sending us a form to break the lease, so with a bit of luck we'll be out soon.

2) ON October 13th we're having one hell of a big party.

3) the other day Pat came and picked me up from work, unexpectedly, complete with a big bunch of flowers, comprising 4 different bunches of flowers. SO SWEET!

4) I've been in the process of pulling myself together by reading Psycho-Cybernetics. I spent a week at work typing out excerpts from the book, and it really lifted my spirits. I've been beaming alot.

5) Yesterday I applied for a job in South Yarra. For a group of 4 dentists. Hopefully I'll hear from them soon. It sounds a fab position.

The party will be great. We were planning it one night - and even though no one will know but us, it will celebrate one year that Pat and I have known each other. We fed 60 or so different themes for fancy dress into the computer and it randomly selected 5 for each person invited. Each person then has a choice - and some of the themes are funny. Rubber, glad wrap, Colonel Gaddaffi, John Howard, NASA, television, sex, baby, Hawaiian etc.

We've invited heaps of people and may have about 100 coming. Got to go to the toilet.

*

Back now. Shit my wee is bright yellow. Like an irridescent colour. Pat and I have been taking Vitamin B.

Last Tuesday (a week ago) Pat and I both stayed home from work. He with a crook back and me with a crook work attitude. The rain was pissing down and consequently our roof was leaking in 3 places in the bedroom. Our room is a mess and it's depressing to walk into.

I wish Patrick would settle down. His restlessness concerns me - I dread that he may do something silly, but as it says in Psycho-Cybernetics, what's the point in worrying about "maybes"? Invariably they become a destructive issue in themselves, and my actual nervous and physical reaction to the thought of P being unfaithful is exactly the same as the reaction I would have if it actually happened. So why put myself through hell for an idea? An overactive imagination?

* * *

Now it's 11.40am on Wednesday 26/9/84. The radio is making noise - 3LO noise to be exact. I'm feeling a bit anxious and sweaty. Why? Last night I felt neglected by Pat but he's preoccupied and shitty with work. He'd had a bitch of a day and came home shitty. I'm going out to lunch today as a farewell for [colleague]. I'm really looking forward to:

- moving out to South Yarra

- our party

- getting a new job

I wonder about my future with Pat. He claims not to feel committed but I think he's deceiving himself. He's too scared to admit he's probably found the best person in the world for him. He should just relax and accept whatever happens - so should I for that matter.***

I'm glad I've got tomorrow off. I intend to make the most of it. Go jogging and check out the job situation.

Just rang Pat and he says he's going ok. He's doing interviews for positions on the counter at DS. Apparently they're trying to get girls working there which is very interesting.

11.51pm on Sunday 30-9-84. Well writing twice in one week is really amazing! Toay we were busy bods. Woke up. Got up, started cleaning the house. Rearranged our bedroom, carried the carpet downstairs. Moved carpet to front bedroom. Moved bookcase to little room and stereo too. I went and did the laundry. Tonight I sewed my hems and watched most of Alligator. Dunc came over. Talking about the party. Yesterday we went to the pub near Dick Smith's with D and watched Essendon win their 1st premiership since 1965. Last night we went to Le Joke with Duncan et al. Good night. Very sexy!

Fri night we went to Ashburton for dinner. Yummy. Now I'm going to read Taken at the Flood. I've done my ironing. Goodnight. PS The question of the evening is "what do I wear to our party?"

HI It's 8.56am on Tuesday October 2nd, 1984. I'm sitting at my desk with a can of limonade, my ciggies and my current book for today - The Other Side of Midnight. Pat and I are going very well at the moment. In alot of ways we're settling down to be more comfortable with each other than we have ever been. I got my period this morning - thank God. A day late. I was a bit worried because I vomited after [brother's] birthday dinner a la Croisette; but I was in the last week of my cycle so I didn't get preggo. I think last night I dreamed about babies.

Pat is talking again casually of marriage. Just things like getting secretly married as a joke. I'm not listening much. I'll not take him seriously, althought I think we both want each other in the end.

Tonight I'm going to catch a train over to mum's. Now I'm going to read my book. Back later. Promise.

Well... I didn't come back at all yesterday but today, here I am.

It's 10.50am Wed Oct 3. I'm sitting at my desk and I've just finished reading The Other Side of Midnight.

Last night I caught the train to mum's and had tea. Mum drove me home and Pat was there with Dunc. Then mum left and we smoked some grass. For the next 1/2 hour or so Pat entertained us - going off on tangents about musical graphs and such stuff.

Truly amazing how he goes off and talks non-stop. He's so funny when he's stoned. Then Dunx went and we went to bed and sleep.

This morning I woke up shitty cause Pat seemed distant - no cuddles etc. He drove me to work in the Moke with the top down. I can't wait for the party. Spoke to [cousin] last night and he's coming with a couple of mates, should be good. I still don't know what to wear.

There'll be so many people there.

When I went to Mum's last night, Pat thought I had "eloped with Jeff." I just laughed.

P's mind is running on marriage lines again. Not seriously, but he had been taking care not to mentioned the word up until now (after our discussion re: marriage, commitment and affairs) but now he's joking about it again. If he says it too often, I might say something. We're so much better now but still I can't trust him. Still I feel betrayed because he admitted to considering a casual sex affair and lusting after J. But I know it's only natural. I have had a dream where I slept with someone else, felt little or no guilt and then in my dream I went and found Patrick who was upset and feeling neglected and then tried to cheer him up.

Also the matter of D. When I met him I felt an attraction and knew he liked me. It's like a little secret in my head, and if I'm totally honest with myself, I know I want him to try and seduce me, or pay attention to me, or flirt heavily with me.

I'm scared of P doing something silly behind my back and then telling me. If he's going to be unfaithful, I want him to leave me with my dignity as intact as possible.

Because he knows I'll leave if he is unfaithful, perhaps he just wouldn't tell me. I've noticed he's secretive and devious - but I think that's just the way he is normally.

He's told me he cheated on Tracey (first girlfriend). He'd tell her and she'd be upset but accept it. He says he was surprised at that attitude. Now that he knows my attitude and what my reaction would be, I think he'll behave himself. It's just that he's told me things that aren't true, or aren't totally true. He hasn't been totally honest with me. He's said he'd tell me, but after. I don't want that. I'd rather he said to me: "Look. I want to try someone new" and then I'd leave straight away.

But he would hedge his bets. He doesn't want to lose me, but at the same time people are so stupid something and I know he tends to do things that are silly, and not think of the consequences. Am I being too paranoid, or do I have a reason to be suspicious?

This is the one thing that is potentially wrong in our relationship. My inability to trust him. Sometimes I berate myself for not trusting him, and I feel assured he wouldn't be so stupid and fuck someone else. But at the same time, it's a natural thing to think of.

As it says in Psycho-Cybernetics, you must be happy. Period. Not "because of." I can't worry about "straw men," things I dread that aren't fact. So forget it!

*

Reader's Digest - August 1984.

Vladimir Nabokov: "Knowing you'll have something good to read before bed is among the most pleasurable of sensations."

* * *

9.03am Monday 8th October.

Howdy. Today top of 28 degrees. I found it very hard to get up this morning. Feeling tired. Struggled out of bed. Running late, but I didn't give a fuck. Walked to tram. Very warm morning. It's 22 at the moment.

A few things to report:

Got a job at DSE - casual Friday nights, and some Sat mornings. Doing typing on the Challenger Perfect word-processor. Good fun! I started last Friday and went in on Saturday morning by train. Then home. Sunbaked. Sat on "balcony" outside Jeff's room for a while reading and drinking a bottle of champagne. Then I fell asleep from about 5.30 to 8.30pm. We went to Club Cinema to see the uncut X-rated version of Caligula. Quite good but boring in spots.

Then we went to Pancake Parlour and stuffed our faces. Mmmmm. Yummmmy. Then home. Bong. Sleep.

Woke up Sunday morning at about 9am. Had muesli for breakfast, then got to work weeding the garden, back and front. Talk about good exercise. Then I made yummy lunch, and Pat slept on the balcony for a wee while. Then Pat did the dishes and I read The Truth.

We went to mum's at about 5.45pm and had roast pork. In the middle of eating, someone walked in and it took a while to recognise him - PAUL. He stayed about an hour, and we had a good "nostalgia" laugh session. It was good to see him.

Then Pat and I zoomed off in la moke (with the top down). It was such a beautiful night for driving. At home we got the laundry together and zoomed to South Yarra. Put washing in, then went to K's. She not there. So visited Mark and Jo and watched a bit of Carrie. Good to see them. They're moving to Kew and we're going to get together once they've moved out. Back to the laundry. Checked out "Flats to Let" in the real estate window. I'm so excited about moving out and getting a really nice place. Pat says we'll get a little kitten to share, and make our flat look really good. Well, the party happens in 6 days. I still don't know what to wear.

Ideas:

- gladwrap mini skirt.

I don't know!

Hi 1.15pm Friday 12th October.

More drama to report. So complicated and complex - the details are baffling. I won't go into the details but last night we had a marathon talk re the "relationship." Recovering old ground, etc. It was intense but amiable. No anger, just quiet speech and reason. We know what the problem is and we're going to fight and conquer it. Patrick just rang to see how I was. It was very sweet and nice of him - sensitive. He said he'd been thinking of me all days, that he loves me deeplu, that we can and will be happy, that he doesn't want affairs, that he's not going to go hunting fresh cunt and that we are going to make it. I love it when he rings me here with a funny voice - Chinese. It's so cute. He reassured me he's thinking positively, that he doesn't want me to be unhappy because he loves it when I'm bright and funny. I feel so relieved that he's been thinking about all too. He's never told me straight (almost like a promise) that he doesn't want affairs. I said I don't either and he said good. Last night I told him about Dieter. I didn't think I ever would, but I did. He said he was jealous, that he even got jealous when I told him about Jan. He says we love each other and that's what counts.

I'm so pleased everything is all out in the open. Our first heavy Thursday night talk (after D's party and before L's 21st) he did most of the talking. I sat there stunned and shocked, anxious and hurt, not really saying anything. But last night, I did nearly all the talking. Poured out my brain to him. Even said I've distrusted him, not believed I wasn't being deceived by him. Now I've let him know all my feelings - every little suspicion, jealousy etc. It's all out and I feel so much better for it. Now we both know exactly how each other feels and what they think. I know he's had dreams of sex with others, and he knows I've had one (Dieter.) It's good. I think we're both beginning to realise we have to cut all the bullshit and get down to living, making the most of life, and being happy.

*

Hello there. It's 9.55am on Monday October 15, 1984. And it is one year today since I met Patrick Dean. It's amazing. We have spent so much time together - when we met on the Saturday, we saw each other the next Thurs, then Fri, Sat and Sun. And there have been very few days since that we haven't seen each other every day. I can't believe that we've seen so much of each other and not started to hate each other. Of course, we're having some difficulties but if we didn't, something would be wrong. That sounds very contradictory, doesn't it? But it's true. I find myself starting to withdraw a bit, starting to detach myself to try to block out a bit of the hurt.

I worked at DSE on Friday and there was heaps of stuff to do. Pat came and picked me up about 9pm. Then we all went to a pub. Then we went to South Yarra Arms (me, Pat, Dunx, Stac and Charlie.) Walking from the car to the pub a guy hung out of a car and yelled out to me "How're you going cutie?" Pat just squeezed my hand and said "EGO!"

Then in the pub I got "attended to" by a guy in a wheelchair, and later and very handsome Scotsman chatted me up. Pat was talking to Stacia but I felt powerful and not threatened. This Scottish guy Jimmy asked me if I worked at Kicks. I said "no" and he said "with legs like that, I was sure you worked at Kicks." I just laughed. Then we went to Amigos and ate Mexican. Then home and sleep.

Sat. Woke 7am. Dunx picked me up at 7.30am and we went to DSE in town. Worked from 8am to 10 and then Pat and I zoomed off and got costumes, and stuff for the party. Then back to DSE. Bit more work. Then home and got house ready. So exhausting. I couldn't get into it. [Sister] and mum came over and helped.

Then the party "happened" and it was a success. I got very pissed and smoked a bong compliments of [cousin] and then was sick. I didn't really enjoy the party but that's neither here nor there. Then when the last had finally left, bed. Lucy, Barb, [sister and sister's friend] [cousin] and Stacia stayed. Cleaned up the next morning then lazed in the sun. Got sunburnt. Drove [sister and friend] home and bought them flowers on the way to say thanks for their help.

Had a few nibbles at mum's and talked about the party.

Then home. Showered, and went to town to see Bolero which I expected to be really bad, but it was surprisingly good. I loved the characters, and instead of it being a vehicle of exploitation for Bo Derek, she was really quite good. The photography was superb, the acting was good, the humour was good, but so was the drama.

On Saturday while we were decorating Pat said "Everyone wants to fuck you, I'm worried." I just laughed and said "come on." We were going to go to dinner tonight to "celebrate" but we can't cause Pat has to write a report for his management course. He told me last night in the pancake parlour "can we make this our night out?" I just stared. Face dropped, etc. But then I was ok. We'll do it next Saturday. But I don't think he wants to make a big deal out of it, so I won't.

Made love yesterday for the first time in a week and it was good. A solid, satisfying orgasmic experience. Fell asleep in each others arms it was so good. Woke when D2 came around to explain she wanted Fergus' phone number, NOT Marshall's.

I was sitting there talking to her with come dripping down my thighs.

I can't believe it's a whole year. In ways it feels that long, but in others ways it's gone so quickly. Big achievement for Pat in the exclusive sex department. I think he was just thinking himself having an affair, but in just the last few days when I told him about D and the attention I've had from perfect strangers has opened his eyes a bit and made him look at me from the eyes of others - that I am desirable and I might just as easily stray, especially my dream which means I think about it too. I think he's been taking it for granted that I love him too much and I'm too devoted to even look at other guys.

Pat asked about Paul last night, so I think he's thinking differently about me.

It's just that I'd miss Pat so much if I didn't see him. He gives me so much. He gives me laughter, in a way my friends just can't manage.

* Dan was sharing with us. It's funny the things I don't mention in here. Like the way he used to drink heaps of milk and there'd be billions of empty milk bottles lying around. One night Pat lined them up outside Dan's door so he walked into them when he came out in the morning.

** Reading this now, it was probably Dan who ratted on us to the cops, and maybe the dude was looking for a dope plant. Can't remember if we had some growing in a pot at that stage?

*** The level of my delusion here is incredibly embarrassing.

The problem

The problem with wearing these shoes out on the town




is that you end up walking home looking like Mrs Doubtfire.

But fuck me, they are good looking shoes.

Diaries tomorrow. I promise.

ROVE

So last night I watched Rove. I don't think I have ever watched Rove before. The reason I watched was for the unmissable triumvirate of Bruno, Kevin Rudd and Matt Preston.

Just imagine.

This

meets

this

meets

this

Of course, they weren't all on stage at the same time, and while Rove found himself in a knitted body-suit complete with nipples and genitalia, he was spared the humiliation of having to interview the PM "like that."

Bruno was funny and outrageous.

Matt was funny and entertaining and smart.

Sandwiched in between them was a man who really is just a nerd. He's smart, sure. But it left me having to explain to Princess that you can have cool PMs (Hawke, Keating, even way back, Whitlam) but that really, they just have to be themselves. Unfortunately, KRudd coming on the heels of JHow means that we seem to have the same guy twice.

There were several irritations for me, about the interview between Rove and the PM. I wish Rove was a better interviewer; then he would have gotten something worth watching. As it was, the PM hijacked the interview, proceeded to repeat himself about the Ute Thing, came off looking like someone who was just a little gleeful about what is happening to the Opposition, over-justifying himself. It was, frankly, embarrassing to watch. But it was over soon enough and we could move on to Matt Preston. We are unashamed fans of Masterchef in general, and of Matt "Man of a Thousand Cravats" Preston and George "Plosive Diction" Calombaris in particular.

And on Bruno. I like that he's outrageous and does and says the unthinkable. But I think Borat is a better, funnier character. Something about the innocent abroad in the world is very appealing, whereas the Bruno character is more knowing, more cynical and bitchy. As he is meant to be. Alot of the laughs are in the fashions, and I think the movie won't be as subtle as Borat was. Did I just use the word subtle to describe Borat? Maybe I'm wrong there. Am revisiting tonight with Princess. She hasn't watched it, and maybe I'm making a mistake about letting her. She's pushed and pushed so I figure, let her. The worst part is the nude fight scene, right?

Movie review - Disgrace

I saw Disgrace last night. It's based on the book by JM Coetzee. I must say I am thrilled that we have such a fine writer in residence at a university in Adelaide. It is a fantasy of mine to do a course taught by him, or attend his classes, or a workshop or something. I don't even know that he does such workshops. I tend to think the finer writers hide themselves away in caves - they don't want to deal with people, self-promote etc. This is one of my ideas which is possibly wrong. Why can't a fine writer be an extrovert, well-adjusted and likeable person?

Coetzee is an interesting writer. When I ask myself off the top of my head what he's written, I can only come up with Disgrace and Elizabeth Costello. I bought the second but couldn't finish it. It was tedious and circular and nothing happened. I'm thinking there's something else he's written that I've read and liked, but I suspect that I'm mixing him up with another author I like - Ian McEwan. Of his books, I've read and liked Atonement, the balloon one, and On Chesil Beach. I think I read the Child in Time, but didn't like that one. Of course, the Comfort of Strangers is well-known; I've not read it, but plan to. I've heard Saturday is "not that good" so haven't read it. But hang on, the balloon one. It doesn't appear in his list of writings. Could the balloon one be a Coetzee one? Quick google check. No, it's not a Coetzee book. Back to McEwan. Ah yes, there it is: Enduring Love. Also liked that one. Really liked it. I've got McEwan's The Innocent here as well. Must read. Soon.

Oh how I yearn for my books. They're in storage. I know I keep banging on about that. In storage. May as well be on the moon, for they are hidden beneath a mountain of stuff - house stuff - and because they are boxes they are on the bottom layer, out of view, supporting other stuff which is less solid. I've dragged home what I could, boxes that were more on the edge of the mountain of stuff. But there are boxes and boxes, 30, 40 of them, tucked away.

They complete me.

But back to Coetzee. The above paragraph has proved my point. Coetzee is elusive as a writer. He has the reputation, but I don't seem to know much of his work, and indeed have only read one and a half of his novels. While I remember enjoying Disgrace, I seem to remember either being puzzled by certain parts of it, or not fully realising the themes. It took seeing the movie last night I think to brings things more into focus for me.

Firstly, John Malkovich was quite good, but he never becomes the character. He is always John M. In recent years, he's become a parody of himself, most obviously I thought in Burn After Reading. But that was the type of film it was - character exaggeration was key; subtlety not required thankyou very much. I was wondering how he would do the South Efrican eccent in the movie, and to my ear, he did well. Somehow, it forced him to tone down his tendency to bitingly enunciate and snappishly torture every syllable, and it smoothed his speech out so that it moved to the background, and wasn't the distraction it can so often be. (I put my hand up as one of, or perhaps the ONLY person in the world? who didn't fancy Being John Malkovich.)

Anway, I wanted this post to be about the themes of the book/movie as I saw them. I welcome discussion, what did you think? Have you read the book? Seen the film? I thought it was a successful treatment of some pretty hard, difficult, uncomfortable themes. If you don't want to know about book or movie, don't fucking read it! Do I have to tell you everything?? Jeez.

So. At the beginning we see the Malkovich character, a university lecturer in Capetown, a Byron-freak, single, 53 years old. He's self-possessed, erudite, but flawed and completely aware of his flaws, even arrogantly so? He is driven by desire it seems; he utilises prostitutes (a clue to his 'pushiness' - he gives one a gift then we see her making what seems an excuse as to why she can't see him again. Is this "relationship" making her uncomfortable? It is a hint to his character.) We then see him pursuing a student to her obvious discomfort. Why does she continue? Why does she 'let him' we ask? It's plain he either repulses her, it is clearly unwanted attention, or she has a boyfriend (an unexplained male starts to act as her defender, but it's not clear in the movie if he is relative or bf; it's hinted at he's her partner via a camera focus of her clinching his waist from the back of a motorbike.) He lies when he says "don't worry, I won't let it go too far." She and I both thought that meant he wouldn't fuck her. But he does, and it's unwanted. Even when it is clear to everyone (except him? even him?) that she doesn't want to be doing this, the lecturer does not desist in his pursuit; he is pushy, and we see him just taking what he wants, when he wants, despite her struggling with the whole thing. We never see her say "NO" though; she is passive, amazingly so. But is this what it's like? Even here, when attentions/pursuits are made which are unwelcome. What do women do? Even without the imbalance of power? Without the racial shit? Or is it only when there are those issues? I don't know. My sympathy for the girl at this point was tempered with an irritation that she wasn't standing up for herself. But could she? And what the fuck do I know about that kind of inequity?She was mixed-race (a point made later); is she a symbol of the incursion of the whites into the country? Of them spreading their seed as a way of taking over? This idea comes back into focus later in the story. Also, there is a terrific scene later where a young woman is planting seedlings in a garden bed. She is heavily pregnant. The camera focuses on the earth, dark and moist. Her hand enters sideways and pushes the soil to make a hole; it was a striking image and resonated with me in a surprisingly sexual way. Was it deliberate? Was I reading stuff into this movie? Was this character indeed impregnating the soil, marking her claim, her territory? It looked like it to me.

We see the lecturer hauled before the university board. The affair has become known, the girl has told her father. The lecturer makes no sincere apology, admits guilt on all counts, they seem stunned at his demeanour. Yes, I've been a bad boy, what can I say? kind of thing. There is no thought about what he has done, and while he doesn't blame anyone, he doesn't really blame himself, or offer any kind of reason or excuse. Because there aren't any reasons or excuse for impetuous desire. But they don't just happen. Mostly there is aforethought, even right from the beginning. Especially with predators - and he is clearly a predator of the most urbane variety.

He resigns from his position and travels to the country, to see his daughter who is living on a farm there. We quickly find out she is lesbian (the reason for this? Not sure. But he makes the comment flippantly though not damningly.) When he arrives, we find out her relationship has broken up, she is staying there alone, she has some dogs for protection, her father is worried about her, there is an older, man on the property who she has struck some sort of deal with where he can live there, help her and she's given him some land. As the movie progresses from this point, we can see the expansion of the African man's territory on the farm. At the beginning, he is living in a shack. Then a couple of goats appear, his wife (presumably from the village), a nephew, he starts laying pipes to bring water from the dam, which he has rehabilitated. He starts to build a proper house, with bricks. He is taciturn and has a kind face, but he is revealed to be quite hard. Hard? Realistic? With his own agenda? With little empathy for any plight a white person can find themselves in? I don't know. it's almost like he wants to say "What did you expect?" when the terrible thing, inevitably happens.

The daughter is attacked and gang-raped in her house after showing a kindness to a stranger; her father is beaten unconscious and can't help her. We don't see any of the attack on her, but we know. We see it from the father's perspective. What happens afterwards is the puzzling bit, and the audience, I suspect, was meant to be as confused as the father when the girl refuses to leave her farm, doesn't want to make trouble by going to the police, and even when one of the attackers shows up at her neighbour's place at a party, and is his nephew, she still decides to stay and not cause a scene. She is pregnant from the attack, and as her belly swells, other things come into play. Her African neighbour offers an arrangement where she can become his wife and give him some more land, and in return receive his protection. There have been suggestions that the baddies will come back; there's also the suggestion that her neighbour was somehow involved (he was away the day of the attack, which the father sees as a bit too coincidental.) Does the horror and lack of understanding that the father shows echo the horror and lack of understanding that some of the panellists at his university enquiry showed on their faces? Is it a case of the racial divide being uncrossable? And then the divide between man and woman - when he asks why his daughter didn't have an abortion, she says "I'm a woman." And something like: You expect me to make a decision on a child's life?

Why doesn't she have an abortion? Why doesn't she leave and go somewhere safer? She refuses these things when her father asks. It's like she is resigned to something; is she trading her life as a form of redemption for what she sees as her forefathers' crimes of invasion? She has a Dutch background - we learn that casually. Is she so settled that she can't leave? Even she will let her farm be taken from her - was it taken from someone else before? We get no information about how she came to be in possession of the farm. Is her determination also an echo of her forefathers'? And of the blacks that have been dispossessed in South Africa? Is it simply human determination? To survive, no matter what. She has a baby growing in her. Even if she dies, there's a chance her baby might continue.

Apart from small side stories which illustrate the father's continuing physical desires and impulses, even in a place where at first there seems to be no one to fill the part of hunted vixen (there are no nubile young girls as targets; there is a middle-aged, frumpy fat woman, who turns out to be desirable to him - lack of other opportunities?) the movie goes forward. The daughter starts to come through the horror of the attack; towards the end we see her again with colour in her face, smiling gently, she's back in the garden, planting, she's at the market, selling goods, she seems to have some sort of peace back. We see her father working at the animal shelter/vet with the frumpy love-interest (I'm saying frumpy as he would have seen her at the beginning; I though she was lovely) assisting her with putting down an endless stream of dogs. Even when it comes to the last one, a beautiful, alert, healthy young pup; he takes it in to her to be euthanased. Does this dog symbolise the father giving up? Loss of hope? Killing hope? I don't know, but it does represent something. The woman makes the comment "Oh, you've giving him up? I thought you were saving him a bit longer."

It's a terrific film, partly for the scenery, the colour, and how it's a different viewpoint. A different country, different accent, different cultural issues than what I'm used to considering as a movie-goer. There was something quite Australian in the setting; maybe that's why alot of South African whites come here? Even the accents seem similar, with a twist of Kiwi added in. It was conveyed with the neighbour that he was at home in that land; the father and daughter weren't really. But maybe they were becoming so. The neighbour had a sort of proprietorship about him which is revealed in certain ways. The father, the lecturer, would just take what he wanted, from whoever he wanted. He makes a throwaway line earlier in the movieabout "raping and pillaging" and guess what; those very things come to pass. His daughter raped, her house pillaged, his house back in Capetown when he returned, also pillaged. And he himself is seen to rape and pillage, both literally and metaphorically.

He goes to try to make some sort of apology to the girl's family; the student he seduced in the earlier part of the film. Her younger sister answers the door, she is home alone, she opens the door, several security doors in fact, and tells him he can wait until her parents get home. She is innocent, completely unafraid; she doesn't fear the white man. The irony is that with her Lolita beauty she should fear him. He is a predator, a fact her parents know and show when they come home. He apologises; he seems sincere. He even prostrates himself on the floor in front of the mother. The parents are shocked, but it's not clear what exactly they are feeling.

Is this story about karma? That what you visit upon others will come back to you? Is it a commentary on white settlers in South Africa; how they can invade and take, rape, steal, or have been able to, but now the tides are turned. For those people stupid enough to stay there, or stubborn or whatever; the revenge will come back to them? Was the neighbour somehow involved in a plot to get the daughter's farm from her? Threaten her, make her feel scared? And when that didn't work, make a land grab in other more civilised ways? Her becoming pregnant to one of her rapists; is this a deliberate twist on the methods historically used by humans to decimate or dilute another race? Or is it just a symptom of desire? Are there no layers of meaning, other than the theme of desire, and taking what you want, from people who are for whatever reason weaker than you?

It's a movie that's hard to watch. There was one delicate flower in the audience last night who gasped audibly a couple of times. There wasn't much of a soundtrack which was unsettling for me at the beginning as I'd eaten too much popcorn, and my digestive tract was struggling and gurgling embarrassingly. So I was physically primed for discomfort, and the film picked up and carried me along, from beginning to end, in an enthralled yet unsettled way. It was great.

The reason why I want built-in book shelves

Some people might find a wall or two of books oppressive. Not me, nuh-uh, no way Jose. While I'm not sure about the other features in this room above, I like a huge wall of white book shelves. Built in.

But you can't move them, you may say. You are stuck with them, you may add.

Exactly. A permanent house for my books. They have been moved around and stored too much. Like me, they are tired, and need a proper spot. I need a room to call my own; they need a shelf to call their own.

In other news, I just went to see Disgrace. Go see it, you must. Malkovich is somehow less Malkovich than usual, and less insufferable than he was in Burn After Reading (even though I enjoyed that movie and saw it twice. He was very Malkovich in it. A little too much, perhaps.)