how lovely

It's 8.30am on Sunday and I am reading yesterday's papers. I have already clipped some articles: one about two sisters born to an aboriginal father and Dutch mother; one about the tradition of literary salons; one about the fear of mental illness and one about the suicide issues the Yolngu people are facing in their community.

Then I came to an article by Peter Craven, presumably about Australian theatre according to the headline. It's not an article I will read or clip. Lots of stories I just flick over. I'm not interested in clipping anything about wars, current or past. I am interested in Holocaust stories. I am interested in mass murders and things like that, but I don't clip them. I do clip stories about children dying at the hands of their mothers. I clip interesting articles about animals and especially if there is an unusual intersection with humans; recently there was an article about a family living in Melbourne with an autistic boy who was displaying very extreme behaviour. They read about and got a dog (from America I think it was, because none are trained here) who now lives with them and is companion and "helper" to their son. Their son's behaviour has modified, or become more moderate; he doesn't have as many tantrums, doesn't wander as much (and if he does, the dog follows him and stays with him.) It appealed to all my latent Lassie fantasies and I cried as I read out bits to the family. My daughter thinks I'm weird, I'm sure. The mother who is close to tears.

This photo above appealed to me. It made me think about men and how they generally aren't physically affectionate with each other. Possible Rush and Armfield are in a lineup to take a bow? This was my first thought. But no, the caption to the picture says they were photographed as they were preparing for Exit the King. Also Armfield's other hand is in his pocket. What strikes me is the way Geoffrey Rush is looking at Neil Armfield and how completely comfortable he looks, in holding another man's hand. Armfield is displaying some body language of discomfort, but he might just be laughing at something completely unconnected to the fact that he is gripping the hand of a man.

It's a lovely photo and it makes me wish we saw more men holding hands, with arms across shoulders, kissing each other on the cheeks. When I first went to Turkey, I was surprised to see men walking arm in arm along the street. Young men, old men. It was a very real cultural difference to me. I'm not sure it still happens; in later years I don't remember seeing it, but in 1990, it was very apparent.

The only time I see men kissing each other hello, and goodbye, is when I'm with two of my gay friends. Maybe it's up to gay men to start the revolution. They need to start bringing the kiss hello to their heterosexual male friends.

If we could all touch each other a little more, maybe we'd all be happier.

Fridayrama Diarama oh yeah good one ah ha ah ha

It is 10.40pm on Saturday 17/8/85. Fucking long day. Yesterday, college was ok. Went out with Jeanette last night. To bed at 3am at Ashburton. Then this morning:

Sat: arose at 5am. Out to Tullamarine. [Sister] to New Guinea. Brekky at airport. Home. Watched Sounds. To town. Met D. (Will fit in stuff later.) Went to Monet exhibition at the Art Gallery. Now it's 10.40pm and after only 2 hours sleep last night, I am fucked. Goodnight.

PS D is staying the night.
PPS Lots of work tomorrow.

*

Greetings! It is 1.30amish on the morning of Monday 19/8/85. Just returned de Helen's in Fitzroy where for the last 7 1/2 hours I have been slavishly writing my Language Log Book and Drama Impro Essay. Not bad going! I thought I'd be working all night. Had a good evening - grouse good and a nice joint. When Helen was cooking dinner, I listened to Brian Eno - that song. First time since I left South Yarra. I was so emotional about it. I wrote all the images that were in my head down. Anway... yesterday was ok. Early night, woke this morning. D and I read magazines, had brekky and procrastinated silently over our work. (She had work to do also.) Eventually I drove her home then to Helen's. Dad's not home. I'm gonna climb into bed and read. Ciao.

*

Hello. It's 12.30am on Tues 20/8/85. I'm in Orange Bed. Today was the first day of my holidays! Yay! I drove to college about 10.30am and handed in my essays etc. Home. Read a bit. [Brother] rang. He came over. Went to Ashburton with him. Dinner. TV. Mucho tv. Return to Eden. He drove me back home here.

Bungalow man rang up tonight at Ashburton. They're putting the slab down on Wednesday. Tomorrow I'm gonna get the beetle serviced. Then I'm going to go around looking for stuff for the bungalow. I need a few things (desk, paint for walls, roof, bookcase etc.) Bed. Fridge.

Now to read Garp which I reread last holidays (May) at Inverloch, and am rereading with mucho pleasure now. Ciao.

*

It's 3.40am and I am drunk. On Wed morning 21/8/85.

Today:

- woke
- went to Camberwell
- saw K in her Trans Am van
- coffee with K caught up on all the goss
- bought some clogs for $10
- home
- washing
- tv
- out to Market Bar with K, L, D, T and M.

Good night. Played Spin the Bottle at M's house. Wooah. Now to sleep. Man putting bungalow slab down in the morning. Ciao.

*

Now it's the next morning. It's 10.34am, I'm sitting in the sitting room at Ashburton. Al is on my lap and being super affectionate. Listening to Prince's Purple Rain. It's so good. I haven't heard it for about 5 months or so.

Last night was good fun. At the Market Bar three tought looking lesbos were eyeing us girls off. It was funny. They were behaving just like men. Dressed like men. Sleazy like sleazy men.

Then we went back to M's place, had a gin and I was so drunk. Played Spin the Bottle. I escaped unscathed. K had to doff his clothes and stand in front of the window. T had to show me his dick. D had to flash her tits. Then L got upset and we stopped playing. Then we went home and I crashed. Went to sleep as soon as my head hit the pillow. Amazing.

Aldous is so super affectionate. Mega affection is being ladled onto me. Now "I Would Die For You" is on... Then "Baby, I'm a Star" which is fab.

Now it's 3.29pm still the same day. Still sitting here listening to records. At the moment it's "Syncronicity". D should be here soon. I've listened to so many records:

- Prince
- Madonna
- Police
- Clash
- Adam Ant
-Midnight Oil

No Beatles as such. Mum came home for lunch and she rang [brother] at work. When she was dialling the number, she said to me that she should pretend to be an old lady. I suggested she ask if she can claim her pet food because the doctor said it's good therapy to have an animal. So, she gets onto [brother] and says, in an old lady's voice:

"I'm 90 years old, and I have a kitten... I was wondering if I could claim for pet food... my doctor told me it's good therapy to have an animal."

In between all this she was laffing so hard, all red in the face, tears skidding out of her eyes, trying not to laugh out loud. I was sitting there laughing. Apparently, [brother] thought it was someone from another department joking around and he advised quite sincerely that it would depend on "what you do to the cat." He didn't know it was mum! God she's good fun! I love her so much!!!

I've been sitting here reading through all my diaries from Vol 1 on... Fuck I have to get [sister] to read my 81/82 era. I was so angry, frustrated, depressed, anti everything. Negative. Grumpy. Tortured. Self-piteous. But in a real rut. I think she's going through the same thing I did, only earlier. I am so pleased I've kept my diaries, they're so full of so much. When I finish this one, I'll get another blank-paged one cause then I can do drawings as well. It's a vivid one, the big blank one.

The bungalow is being started on Friday. It's reality now... so bloody exciting. I'm gonna work so hard and make it look good.

*

Now it's 5 mintues prior to midnight, the same day. After last writing, D came over and we went and saw Mad Max III, Beyond Thunderdome. It was good. Then, I picked up the car and he's in excellent nick. Drove to Ashburton which is where I am now. I'm in El's bed, about to settle down and read Garp. Tomorrow I have to saw some trees, go through the newspapers and listen to records. The bungalow's almost here. Yay. Ciao.

PS Mum and I just watched the conclusion of Return to Eden. Very funny. Mr Reyne, ha, poor chap had shithouse lines. Wonder how Patrick's going in his examens? Well, I hope. I hope he's ok. Wonder why he wants to see me? Mmmm. "Time will tell" and "we'll see".

*

It's around 12.30am on Friday 23rd August, 1985. In [sister's] bed. Just got home de the Market Bar. Went there with D and Kim. Saw (by chance) T and L. Chatted. Had a few beers (not many at all! 3) Came home via 7-11 and CCs. After dropping D and Kim off, I confess wholeheartedly to the crime of driving past Patrick's house - yes. The moke was there, some lights on... a flash in the night. Mmmmm. Today I went through the newspapers, sawed some trees and branches and supervised the unloading of the bungalow bits. It's so exciting. Tomorrow Peter starts putting it up and I can't wait to paint it and move in man! Now for Garp. Bye-bye.

*

Now it's a wee bit past 10.30pm on Fri night (23/8/85). I'm in [sister's] bed and it's a super duper early night. Just watched HG Wells' The Time Machine which was ok. I'm getting a bit inward (well, today I was). Wondering what to do when/if I see Patrick. There's such an impulse to protect myself, but somehow I feel I'm doing that automatically and subconsciously anyway. I'm looking forward to Inverloch. The bung is coming along well. It's going to be so big. Party tomorrow at Donvale; I'll pop in and see B and P. Hope they're there. It'll be ok. She likes me and Pat said she'd love to see me. So I will stop by. If there not there, I'll leave a note. Anyway, Miss Broodo, now to Garp. Bye.

*

It's almost 1.50am on Sun 25/8/85. My evening:

Drove to Donvale. Knocked on B's door. Door answered, B on phone to Pat. I spoke to him. He failed maths and failed TOP. I talked to him for a while. Then hung up. Talking to B and P... me thinking of Pat. Decided to visit him with tinnies. Did. Drove like a madwoman to see him. Friendly and funny to begin with then huggy and emotional to end with. I told him I'd ring him to come down to Inverloch with me. I dunno. I still want him. he told me he still wants me... misses me... fuck!

*

Many days have elapsed since I last wrote and now I take it upon myself to fill in the big gap accurately and with style! It's now Friday 30th August, 1985. 9.31pm. At Ashburton, in the sitting room, the tv is on, some music show - live. Last time I wrote in here was last Sunday morning at about 2am. I slept...

Sun 25/8: woke 8.30amish. Drove to Romsey with [brother and his friend M] to do some heavy cow labour. Arrived up there about 11amish. [Brother] and M went on the tractor to move the cows, using hay as bait. I tried to join them a bit later but the kids told me a magpie attacks. Cool Melba shrugged off the threat saying "I'll be alright, I'll take a stick and hit it if it swoops me."

Ha ha ha ha.

Armed with a measly excuse for a stick I marched outside. I made it to the front paddock, opened the gate and secured it behind me. Then... SWOOSH, FLUTTER, SWOOSH.

I looked up and there was indeed a magpie, climbing the sky, taking aim, then diving towards my head. I waved my stick and screamed a bit - I was scared. Somehow I managed to get the gate open with one hand while juggling my defence weapon. I ran back to the house and sat down, heaving and panting, stick clutched in my fist. Everyone just laughed at me. Eventually, Dad and I walked down to the yards and it started raining. We fed the cows into the narrow stock gates, and injected them with drenching stuff. The piece of equipment looked like a ray gun, attached to a plastic tube which ran into a plastic pack of liquid. I was like the nursing sister assisting the doctor in surgery. Dr Dad would hand me things he didn't want at the time and if I got overloaded, I'd pass them to [brother]. [Brother] would stand there with the "Rambo" gun, legs apart, hips thrust forward, head angled jauntily, looking as if he was about to open fire.

The yard was mega muddy and sometimes I got stuck. We laughed alot. It was good. Dad also had to ear tag some of the calves who'd lost their other ones. One particular calf was at the front of the next batch we coo-bahed* into the gates. He got trampled into the mud by some big, fat cows and struggled to his feet, mud all over his pretty white face. Then, because he'd lost his ear tag, Dad had to staple in another one. The little bugger struggled and the tag didn't go in properly. Bleeding ear. He got injected with drench. The gun is positioned against a hollow in the cow's side, towards the back of the cow. The gun is shoved against the cow, the plastic tube springs back and the needle slides in. Mmmmm....

Then this particular little cow was discovered to be a boy and Dad had to mark him. This involves putting tight elastic bands around his little balls. The contraption for this looks medieval and savage. A pair of scissor-type things with elastic bands around hooks. When the scissors are pressed closed, the rubber bands open. They're slipped over the balls and then released, and whammo, the little feller has been marked.

It was so funny, Dad had never done it before and to watch him groping while I held the tail up was novel.

Dad talks to the cows with more affection and interest than he demonstrates towards us children. It's funny. "Come on girls! This way! Turn around, that's the girl. Good girls!"

We sludged up the hill for lunch, cold and wet.

Up at the house, thawing out I was thinking of Pat. My mind darting, thinking, formulating, rejecting, approving. I came to the conclusion that it'd be a good idea (impulsive yes) to go to Inverloch the next day rather than the next week. My rationalisation for this decision lay in the thought that this week I could do nothing with the bungalow, so I may as well go to the beach. Then, my brain going crazy, told me to Inverloch that very night! (Sun.) The more I thought about it, the more I wanted to do it... So I made my excuses and left. I drove like a madwoman (again!) back to Melbourne. All the way, thinking of what I was gonna say on the phone to Patrick, wondering what he'd say etc....

I arrived at Hawthorn and rang him. He was pleased to hear from me.

"Do you still wanto to go to Inverloch?'

"Yes."

"Do you want to go now?"

"Aaaagh, yes!"

So I picked him up at 8.30pm. It was raining and black and really stormy. We set off. I drove to Cranbourne. We talked alot. It was good. At Cranbourne we had Chinese take away and got the last can of Leed in Australia. A collector's item which I won't open. We set off again, Pat driving. Laughing all the way down. It was so dark and Pat said it was like an obstacle course, one of those slot machines, driving a car through tunnels, oil slicks, over jumps etc. They'd been doing road works and so signs would loom towards us, lunging rapidly telling us to KEEP LEFT!!! It was like Dukes of Hazzard.

We got to Inverloch at about 11.30pm. I rang mum to tell her I'd got there safely. (I'd left a note for her at Ashburton, saying where I'd gone, with whom but not why! Explanations to follow.)

We had a bong and went for a walk. It was nice. Then I had a shower and then Pat did. I snuggled on the couch wondering what would happen next. After his shower, Pat came in, snuggled up to me and said "Well" and I said "well?"

"When are we going to bed?" he said.

It was really sweet, he hadn't assumed we'd be sleeping together. I said "Do you want to sleep in my bed?" and he said "yes, please!" It was so cute. So he hopped into the bed and then I did. Eventually I told him I wasn't on the pill, and I was mad at myself. I was weak and let him penetrate but I wanted it! It was great. Then we slept. I didn't sleep very well. I'm not used to sharing my bed.

Mon 26/7: Slept in a bit. Packed some food and drove to Phillip Island. Lovely weather. Went to
the Nobbies. Cowes, had a BBQ. Talked to the seagulls and magpie, played on the swings. Went shopping, looked at all the shops. Spent a while in the newsagency. I bought John Irving's The Water Method Man, and Pat got Rambo: First Blood. It was so good. We clicked again just like we always did. Good friends. Walking towards an Amcal chemist, Pat looked at me and said "Will I get some?" and I said "Yes!" with a big grin on my face. So he went into the chemist and I went into a milk bar. He told me that he went in and went right up to the girl at the counter (she was about 16) and said:

"Do you sell prophylactics?"
"What?"
"Prophylactics."
"What are they?"
"You know, those things you use during sex?"
"Oh!" [giggle] "They're over here."

She took him to where they were and while he crouched down, surverying the variety, she stood waiting. Looking up at her, Pat said "I think I'll just have a look if you don't mind." Miss 16 giggled off.

Near the Nobbies, there was a shell house, with the walls and whole house laden with shells.
We went back there after Cowes to see the penguin parade at dusk. We were early so sat in the car and laughed at all the tourists (like us). A little boy was uninhibitedly looking at us, face almost pressed up against the beetle windows.

[Insert: now I am listening to Help!]

We kicked the football on some grass while we waited for sunset. Then we went and checked out the penguin parade. There were heaps of people there and it was really cute! After that, we drove back to Inverloch. Had one drink at the pub (no one else was there). Played a few records on the juke box, laughed, left and got some take-aways. Back home we watched Yes, Minister and Clive James. I enjoyed. In bed, reading novels, fell asleep. Tired.

Tues 27/8: Woke 6.30am. Made love. Slept. Woke again, noonish. Drove to Wonthaggi. Leisurely stroll around "CBD". Two beers in pub. Played darts. I won. Bought $8 earrings in hippy shop. Home. Footy on oval. Shops at Inverloch. Bought some mince and stuff for spaghetti. Home. Cooked tea. Garlic bread. Watched The Young Ones. Funny. Bed.

Wed 28/8: Drove to Korrumburra. Yucky weather. Then to Leongatha. Beer in pub. Me a bit quiet. Pat and I talked about reality, what we want etc. He asked me what I want to happen when we get back to town. I said I want to see him, but I'm not sure on what level.

He said "Do you want to see me?"

"Yes."

"Above anyone else?"

"Yes."

Me: "Do you want to see me?"

"Yes."

"Above anyone else?"

"Yes."

He told me I don't need him. That there was a time when I thought I couldn't live without him, but now I can and I can be happy without him. I agreed, because it's true. But I said I'm glad I know I can live without him, and that he should be glad too because it means I'm not super dependent on him and weak. I said as a matter of choice I'd like to be with him because I feel good when I'm with him. I also told him it's bullshit that he has nothing to offer. After a pause, he agreed. He said he'd been wondering why I'd invited him away. Whether to see what it'd be like and come to the decision "is this what I got so upset at losing?"

I said that's rubbish. So it was all cool and comfy and relaxed. He said we click and we do! Anyway, in Leongatha there was a daffodil festival and all the shops had window displays with daffodils. It was great. In the chemist, Pat was looking at cameras, and we were really enjoying each other. A lovely holiday.

Then home. Had a super bong. Then walked to the pub for a counter tea. Yummo. Then home. Bed. Love.

Thurs 29/8: Got ready to go and slowly drove back to Melb. Stopped off at Ashburton, had a look at the bungalow. Wow! It's up and it's growly! So big and impressive! Then we went to Pat's and watched a bit of Simon Townsend's and Happy Days then I left. Pat said he'd ring me on Sun night. Then I went home, spoke to D on the phone, then mum and explained to mum about my spontaneous holiday and reassured her that everything is cool, man!

I got ready to go out and went to D's. From there, we were picked up by T, with M and L. To a Greek restaurant in Swan St Richmond. Stuffed our faces. Then to Inflation. Boogied. Got pretty pissed. Pretty bad. K moaning about L, L raving about how good it's going with T. Home about 4am . Slept.

Now, today, woke 2.40pm. Drove to Ashburton. Checked out the bungalow. One more day's work. Electrician coming on Monday. Bought some paint. Visited Aunty J. To Camberwell with [brother.] He got Hoodoo Gurus new album. Then, home to Ashb. I cooked my tea and started writing here. Now it's 11.45pm and I have achieved my objective to fill in the manay-day gap in this book.

*

Back again. It's only a few minutes later. Reading the beginning of this books and I must say I'm glad Patrick didn't ring me when I was feeling down. Shit. I dunno what's going to happen, we'll see. But in the meantime, I'm ok mate!

*

Greetings. Don't know what the time is... 11.30pmish ? on Sun 1/9/85. It's the first day of Spring. Shocking weather, rained all day, windy and stormy. Anyway, to fill in today and yesterday:

SAT - [brother] had a jam with the band at Ashburton. I painted the bungalow and they did Bittersweet (Hoodo Gurus) and it sounded pretty damn good. Went to a party in Glen Iris last night, a going away bash for K. (See details on loose sheets.) Stayed at Kim's falt that D's minding. Sleep at 5am. (I slept in the room of the guy who manages I'm Talking, wow.)


SUN - slept in super late. Got up. Chatted with D. She drove me to Ashb. Talked with [brother.] Bummed around. Mum came home. Me wondering when Patrick would ring. I drove home to Hawthorn. Eventually spoke to P. He's going to ring me tomorrow night. I'm still pretty unsure about the whole thing, but I'm not going to dwell. Now I'm going to continue Water Method Man which is really good. It's really windy outside. I watched Network tonight on telly with Peter Finch, William Holden, Robert Duvall and Faye Dunaway. It was powerful, bizarre and enjoyable. Bye.



* 2009 note - obscure National Velvet (tv show) reference. Anybody not a nine-year old girl at the time it was shown, or a very camp young boy, would not get this. These are the only two demographic groups I know who remember the coo-bah thing that Mi used to say.

Diarama Monday. A bit more poetry and a couple of new developments.

Friday 8th August, 1985. Working my way through a bottle of Seaview's finest, transcribing poetry from Norton's Anthology.

*

Ode on a Grecian Urn

Thou still unravished bride of quietness,
Thou foster child of silence and slow time,
Sylvan historian, who canst thus express
A flowery tale more sweetly than our rhyme:
What leaf fringed legend haunts about thy shape
Of deities of mortals, or of both,
In Tempe, or the dales of Arcady?
What men or gods are these? What maidens loath?
What mad pursuit? What struggle to escape?
What pipes and timbrels? What wild ecstasy?

*

That's my last duchess painted on the wall,
Looking as if she were alive. I call
That piece a wonder, now. Fra Pandolf's hands
Worked busily a day, and there she stands.
Will't please you sit and look at her? I said
"Fra Pandolf" by design, for never read
Strangers like you that pictured countenance,
The depth and passion of its earnest glance,
But to myself they have turned (since none puts by
The curtain I have drawn for you, but I)
And seemed as they would ask me, if they durst,
How such a glance came there; so not the first
Are you to turn and ask thus. Sir, 'twas not
Her husband's presence only, called that spot
Of joy into the Duchess' cheek: perhaps
Fra Pandolf chanced to say "Her mantle laps
"Over my lady's wrist too much," or "Paint
"Must never hope to reproduce the faint
"Half-flush that dies along her throat": Such stuff
Was courtesy, she thought, and cause enough
For calling up that spot of joy. She had
A heart - how shall I say? - too soon made glad,
Too easily impressed; she liked whate'ver
She looked on, and her looks went everywhere.
Sir, 'twas all one! My favour at her breast,
The dropping of the daylight in the West,
The bough of cherries some officious fool
Broke in the orchard for her, the white mule
She rode with round the terrace - all and each
Would draw from her alike the approving speech,
Or blush, at least. She thanked men - good! But thanked
Somehow - I know not how - as if she ranked
My gift of a nine-hundred-years-old name
With anybody's gift. Who'd stoop to blame
This sort of trifling? Even had you skill
In speech - which I have not - to make your will
Quite clear to such an one, and say "just this
"Or that in you disgusts me; here you miss,
"Or there exceed the mark" - and if she let
Herself be lessoned so, not plainly set
Her wits to yours, forsooth, and made excuses
- E'en then would be some stooping; and I choose
Never to stoop. Oh sir, she smiled, no doubt,
Whene'er I passed her; but who passed without
Much the same smile? This grew; I gave commands;
Then all smiles stopped together. There she stands
As if alive. Will't please you rise? We'll meet
The company below, then. I repeat,
The count your master's known munificence
Is ample warrant that no just pretense
Of mine for dowry will be disallowed;
Though his fair daughter's self, as I avowed
At starting, is my object. Nay, we'll go
Together down, sir. Notice Neptune, though,
Taming a sea-horse, thought a rarity,
Which Claus of Innsbruck cast in bronze for me!

*

Because I could not stop for Death -
He kindly stopped for me -
The carriage held but just ourselves -
And Immortality.

*

There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet
There will be time to murder and create

...

And time yet for a hundred indecisions
And for a hundred visions and revisions
Before the taking of a toast and tea.

...

Do I dare
Disturb the universe?

And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin,
When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall,
Then how should I begin
To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and
ways?
And how should I presume?

...

I should have been a pair of ragged claws
Scuttling across the floors of silent seas.

...

Would it have been worthwhile,
To have bitten off the matter with a smile,
To have squeezed the universe into a ball
To roll it towards some overwhelming questions,

...

I grow old... I grow old...
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.
Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?
... I have heard the mermaids singing each to each.
I do not think they will sing to me. *

*

Hello! It's me again! The time is now 11.47pm on the same evening and it seems to me a good time to end. I have completed looking through "The Norton Anthology" and have recored all I want to be included in this terrif little word book. The champagne bottle has quite a bit left in it. I don't know if I'll be able to finish it. I'll try but I don't want to be sick and I haven't had a substantial meal either. Tomorrow I intend to work really hard. The same with Sunday. I have to ring T tomorrow and arrange to do our Drama piece for Monday. I think I'll find something to read (I finished Setting Free the Bears - it was enjoyable) and take me champagne to bed and read. ciao.
PS Today I spent $100 on clothes but I got 4 expensive items - a real bargain!
1. some lime-green American baseball jeans/pants ($25)
2. a check, tartan, lined, double-breated baggy jacket ($25)
3. a big, floppy, roomy, double-breasted coat/jacket (light blue) ($25)
4. an orange, vivid big shirt ($25)

I'm rapt. Bye.

*

It's 11.30am on Sunday 11/8/85.
I have just stepped out of a yummo hot shower. I'm afraid it will take me a long time to record what happened to D and I last night. D and I have had some adventures together, but this one takes the cake, for sure.

At about 8.30pm (after doing my drama essay and having a hot bath) I rang D and we agreed we wanted to go out. But where to? D said she'd ring a friend and I said I'd ring L for ideas on where to go. Neither of them were home. So we thought we'd go to the Chevron. I chooffed over to D's and we set off. It was still rawther early (9.30pmish) and D said people didn't go to the Chevron until midnight or 1am. So we thought, where can we go for a pleasant drink before the Chevron? Driving through South Yarra, we stopped at the pub where J works, but she wasn't there. We considered the Cricketer's Arms, Hatters and one other, then I said "I know. The Albion." So we burned off in the beetle to Carlton. It was fairly full, and there was a live band playing '50s muzak and jazz 'n' stuff. D and I were talking to two bee-keepers and that was a fairly bizarre convo. Then, I was asked to dance by a man, so I said yes. We danced and danced. D danced (briefly) with an Aborigine who was very drunk. In between dancing, we sat at this lad's table with his friends, who turned out to be his employees. He told us he was Assistant Manager of BBQs Galore. "He gave me his card." We danced more and got romantic. It was lovely. He made me laugh on the dance floor - playing the fool and so forth. It was terrific fun. Back at the table I sat on his knee and we shared beers and cigarettes. He kept saying things like "You still like me?" (when I returned from the toilet); "Are you still enjoying yourself?" and "I feel so comfortable with you."

"Would you want to see me again?" etc etc.

When we were first dancing he told me I make him feel fresh (not as in horny; as in new.) He really enjoyed dancing with me. Asked me if I had a boyfriend. I said no. He was making confessions, like he's not a trendsetter etc. His name = Ron! He was nuzzling me and gently kissing me... it was so lovely to be held and smothered with affection. He was really polite - holding out chairs, doors etc. Then me, Ron, D, Brad and Charlie went for food and coffee to Lambs restaurant. We walked there and Ron was being a real loon. Reeally outgoing - refreshingly so. At Lambs, we all talked and it was relaxed, friendly and fun. Ron kept saying he's going to take me fishing on his boat. I guessed his age to be 26 years old. I guessed his starsign - you'll never guess! Capricorn. Born 1957 which makes him 27, 28 in Dec. It blew me away that he's Capricorn.**

After eating dips, lamb and drinking cappucinos, we walked back to the beetle (Ron swaggering and singing - good voice). We jumped in Kon, Ron had given me a carnation from the restaurant. He held my hand on the gearstick as I drove, and then he was doing the gears and me the rest. Drove to BBQs Galore. Went inside. What an environment for a small, intimate party. Heaps and heaps of BBQs, wood stoves, heaters, outdoor furniture, fancy fringy umbrellas, a pool (with water in it) and lots and lots of tents and sleeping bags.

Ron showed D and I around. Discussed the range of sleeping bags. We lit a log fire in one of the heaters at the front and drank some beer in front of the fire. It was nice. Then Ron invited us to stay the night there. D and I were unsure as to what to do. We almost left, but then we took the risk, each chose a sleeping bag, found a big tent, dragged some big lilos in, and settled down for a slumber party. Charlie, at one stage, tried to pep Ron up by making him sniff salts unexpectedly. I got them in my eye and Ron in his mouth. I sprinted to the toilet to wash my eye, weaving and dodging between tents, hammocks and garden furniture. Ron charged straight for the pool and hurled himself into it. After washing my eye, which surprisingly didn't sting, I returned to bed. Ron joined me, and stripped off his wet singlet and undies. We snuggled up and held each other. It was great. We started mucking around and it felt so good but I stopped it because I couldn't relax and get into it properly (because D and Brad were in the tent too, behind a flimsy curtain) and also because of the contraceptive problem or lack thereof). So we eventually settled down at about 6.30am. I didn't sleep, Ron did. He held me all the time. None of this "turned his back on me." At about 9am we got up. Packed up the sleeping bags, tidied up and drive to Ron's flat. There we had coffee, water, met his obnoxious flat mate. Ron was cuddly and it was great. I really like him. I said D and I had better be going and Ron asked me for my number. I gave it. He asked when he could ring. It's so exciting. Outside his place there's been a car smash. D and I got in the car and immediately started pissing ourselves laughing... couldn't stop. We were so high. I still am even though I haven't slept and I'm exhausted, I don't feel it. Big week ahead of me... my God. I'd like to see Ron again. He was fun and seems to be just what I need!

PS Just been on the phone with mum and [sister] and I remembered that at one stage, Ron was riding a motor bike around the store and also, he has tattoos (mmmm). A big eagle on his back, a dragon on his right arm (upper), a flower on his left breast, and a heart (?) eagle on his left arm. Shit...***

*

It's 10.35pmish on Sun 11/8/85. Wow. I think this is a marathon record for me - going without sleep. Haven't slept since Sat morning, which is pretty incredible for me. I awoke at 10.30am on Saturday so I've been awake for 36 hours instead of the usual 12??? Incredible!! Well here I am. I have just returned from T's house/flat. I rang her about 5.30pm re Drama language thing tomorrow. We got a bottle of wine, and ate cheese sauce spaghetti and smoked heaps and raved! And then T concocted a potion of warm sherry, fruit cordial, lemon, sugar, water. It was pretty potent. Thinking about Ron. Last night was so much fun. What a fucking trip! I really like T. We click really well man. Anyway, now to sleep, sleep, sleep.

*

It's a smidgeon after midnight, so the date is officially Tuesday 13/8/85. Today college was ok. So 1/5 of the week is over. Lunch with T and we put together our language presentation. Could have been better, but I liked it. I'll write it in here one day soon. When I've got 3 weeks off. Kept telling people about BBQs Galore and me Saturday night. It's so exciting. Hope he rings. But, I'm sick of waiting for me to ring (ie Patrick) so I'm not holding my breath. If he doesn't ring by Friday, I'm "doomed." Dad's sitting in the other room with K, J and T. He's got a big fat noive to have K and J in the same room. K has to pretend she's never been here before. She's doing well too. I just finished studying for maths. Now for another installment of sleep...

*

Greetings, it's 11.00pmish on Tues 13/8/85. This morning, there was a rail strike. So I drove to Kew Junction and caught a bus to Lygon St. Looked in Portobello windows, spied a ring I wanted but the shop was shut. It was 9.30am and sign said it would be open at 10am. So I went to the cafe opposite and looked over my maths and had a coffee and waited. When the shop opened I went in and bought the ring. $30. Pretty dear! but it's great and goes with my silver Hong Kong bangle. Maths test = ok.

Went home after that. Worked very hard today at home. From about 3pm to just now (11pm) 8 fucking hours which is a whole day in itself. Wow. Spoke to [sister] on the phone, made her laugh by echoing her laugh. Spoke to D on the phone. Had a good chat. She said she saw Pat yesterday, talking excitedly to a chap. Said he was looking really good - healthy, relaxed, happy. That's good! I'm pleased he hasn't dropped out and I'm pleased he's looking healthy, happy and relaxed.

No sign of Ron. We'll see. Ciao. PS PE test yesterday will be interesting.

*

Hello. Don't let the stolid nature of my script make you believe I am in a normal state of mind. The truth of the matter is I'm feeling shaken, shocked, pleased. For you see, I received a phone call tonight... no, not from Ron. From Patrick. As they say "could have knocked me for six." FARK!

What can I say? We had a good chat. I was babbling on, gushing a wee bit. But he was listening and it was good. Then he said he hadn't rung for a big conversation, that there was a reason... I thought in a flash, "shit! he wants something, he wants something of his that I've got..." then he said "I was wondering if I could see you in about a month?"

I said "why not?" Why not indeed? Because he might fuck me up again. He might stuff me around. Make me fall for him all over again. That's why not. At least I've got a month. And I won't sleep with him. But it was great talking to him! I feel really pleased. Excited. It's made my week. He said he tried to ring me last night here and at Ashburton but no one there (we were out for dinner.) He said it's great to hear my voice, called me a dag and it was lovely. Thing I like about this new development is that he's trying not to be impulsive or rash about it. He's said he'll be in touch in about 3 weeks, and there was no emotional pressure. Mmmm.... shit, fuck, bugger, poo, wiss, fark!!! I'm stunned. He said he hadn't written although he's been thinking of me. he said he didn't write because he had nothing more to say or add, it had all been said, as it was at the time. What's changed? It'll be so fucking interesting to find out. I can't keep up with it all but it's soooooo good. Yay. I'm all excited, my god. After speaking to him I ran [sister] and raved for a while. Watched some telly. Had a shower. Then got out of the shower and dad said Patrick had rung again and wanted me to ring him back. I first rang D and raved for a while, then rang P back.

He said "I've written letters too." (I'd told him during the first phone call that I'd written letters but never sent them.) So he wanted me to know he'd written letters to. He said he hadn't sent them because they'd been written for the wrong reasons. What wrong reasons? I asked. When he felt low, he'd written to me saying how he missed me and if I were there now he'd talk to me. Sweet. Ringing me back to tell me he'd written letters to! Sheeyit. What'm I gonna do? Why do I feel so good that he rang and wants to see me...








* At the time, that was my favourite poem of all. Not sure why I didn't write it all out. It's long, maybe I just picked out the bits I liked best.

** Perseus, before you start ranting, I was young!!!


*** I hope "Ron" doesn't get in trouble 24 years after the fact, if he or his boss reads this. But if he does read it, why the fuck didn't you call me??

fridayrama diarama oh yeah it's poetry time

8/8/85.

When we left young Melba she was working her way through a bottle of champagne and transcribing poetry from Norton's Anthology.


Though I am young, and cannot tell
Either what Death or Love is well,
Yet I have heard they both bear darts,
And both do aim at human hearts.
And then again, I have been told
Love wounds with heat, as Death with cold,
So that I fear they do but bring
Extremes to touch, and mean one thing.

Ben Johnson

* * *

Let us roll all our strength and all
Our sweetness up into one ball,
And tear our pleasures with rough strife
Through the iron gates of life;
Thus, though we cannot make our sun
Stand still; yet we will make him run.

A. Marvell

* * *

When lovely woman stoops to folly,
And finds too late that men betray,
What charm can soothe her melancholy,
What art can wash her guilt away?

The only art her guilt to cover,
To hide her shame from every eye,
To give repentence to her lover,
And wring his bosom - is to die.

Oliver Goldsmith

* * *

Alas, how soon the hours are over,
Counted us out to play the lover!
And how much narrower is the stage,
Allotted us to play the sage!
But when we play the fool, how wide
The theatre expands; beside
How long the audience sits before us!
How many prompters! What a chorus!

Walter Savage Landor

* * *

Dying Speech of an Old Philosopher

I strove with none, for none was worth my strife
Nature I loved, and next to Nature, Art;
I warmed both hands before the fire of Life;
It sinks; and I am ready to depart.

Walter Savage Landor

* * *

When lovers parted
Feel broken-hearted,
And, all hopes thwarted,
Expect to die;
A few years older,
Ah! how much coleder;
They might behold her
For whom they sigh!
When linked together,
In every weather,
They pluck Love's feather
From out his wing -
He'll stay for ever,
But sadly shiver
Without his plumage, when past the Spring.

Wait not, fond lover!
Till years are over,
And then recover
As from a dream.
While each bewailing
The other's failing,
With wrath and railing,
All hideous seem -
While first decreasing,
Yet not quite ceasing,
Wait not till teasing,
All passion blight:
If once diminished
Love's reign is finished -
Then part in friendship - and bid goodnight.

So shall affection
To recollection
The dear connection
Bring back with joy:
You had not waited
Till tired, or hated,
Your passions sated
Began to cloy.
Your last embraces
Leave no cold traces -
The same fond faces
As through the past:
And eyes, the mirrors
Of your sweet errors,
Reflect but rapture - not least though last.

True, separations
Ask more than patience;
What desperations
From such have risen!
But yet remaining,
What is't but chaining
Hearts which, once waning,
Beat 'gainst their prison?
Time can but cloy love
And use destroy love:
The winged boy, Love
Is but for boys -
You'll find it torture,
Though sharper, shorter,
To wean, and not wear out your joys.



*

Short and sweet for today. I have things to do. I've said before I don't like poetry. I do, I really do. I just don't like most poetry I guess, and I certainly don't like bad poetry.

Maybe later tonight, someone will be reading the above out from the screen to someone else, as they sit together, enjoying each other. Or maybe you will read it to yourself, and like it. It's sad, it's beautiful, it's wise.

Happy Friday.

I-N-D-E-F-E-N-S-I-B-L-E

From the Age today, by Jason Koutsoukis.

Israelis accused on water front

Amnesty International has accused Israel of discriminating against Palestinians in favour of Jewish settlers in the occupied West Bank when it comes to daily water allocations.

In the report, Troubled Waters - Palestinians Denied Fair Access to Water, Amnesty says Israel uses 80 per cent of the water from the Mountain Aquifer, the only source of underground water in the West Bank.

Israel also uses 100 per cent of the surface water available from the Jordan River.

The West Bank is home to 2.5 million Palestinians and 300,000 Jewish settlers.

According to Amnesty, Palestinian residents get a daily allocation of 70 litres of water.

"Water rationing is common, especially but not only, in the summer months, with residents of different neighbourhoods and villages receiving piped water only one day every week or every few weeks," the report said.

Jewish settlers, on the other hand, are entitled to an allocation of 300 litres of water a day, which enables them to sustain intensive irrigation farms and lush gardens.

The report condemned water conditions in the Gaza Strip where it says that 90 to 95 per cent of water from the strip's only water resourse, the Coastal Aquifer, is contaminated and unfit for human consumption.

Despite this, Israel does not allow the transfer of water from the Mountain Aquifer in the West Bank to Gaza.

Israeli's Infrastructure Minister Uzi Landau said the report was "biased, superficial and false."

***

Wow in a city where I'm encouraged to use no more than 155L of water a day, this is impressive. 300 litres? Just wow.

There are lots of other impressive things about Israel that I didn't know. Check it. The first ingestible camera. Wow.

***

I'm not Palestinian, obviously. And I'm not Jewish. So I'm kind of like Amnesty, aren't I? Impartial? Except my impartiality is not really so. I am biased towards Palestinians (people living in inhuman conditions) and away from Israel (the government that is being so mean).

I think it's really shitty that there are some people getting lots of water and some people getting heaps less water. They can't get to work if they have jobs (walls), and if they try to rise up against the oppression they get bombed back down. Surely from where I stand, I can see both sides of the thing? I read, I'm aware, I'm intelligent.

So how am I not seeing Israel's side in this? How come every argument that comes on this topic that is pro-Israel just sounds hollow and unconvincing and screechy? Why does this bother me so much? Why does it stick in my craw? I can't swallow it, and my throat is even larger than a bird's (yes, I looked it up.) It's just not fair. It's mean. It's cruel. It's punishment? It's the nasty side of power. It's bully boy.

So Friday yawn, what do you hold for me?

There is sunshine but I am not feeling a hunnerd percent.

Must take dog for run in park, though.

Have finished my final read through, will make changes laterrrrr.

Pompeii. Tonight. Oh yeah.

Finished the book. The second half was better than the first and seriously I would have stopped reading if I didn't have to read it. I just didn't like it. Not at all. Oh well.

Browning bananas in the fruit bowl demand attention. I'm thinking cake.

Dinner tonight? Can't be fagged. But last night's was a treat. Spaghetti with fresh tomatoes cooked with garlic and anchovies and pitted kalamata olives, and chopped parsley. Then fried freshly-made breadcrumbs, cooked in olive oil and tossed through the pasta. THEN loads of grated parmesan cheese.

OH IT WAS FUCKING DELICIOUS.

Sick kids this week. One on Tuesday, one on Wednesday and the third one home today and yesterday. I still managed to make it to work.

Taught yesterday, Year 10s.

Is there anyone else who, in the course of their daily work, has to say things like this:

"Can I get my three penises back please?"

"There was a guy who fingered a dog, he became known as The Guy Who Fingered A Dog. He couldn't get a plumbing apprenticeship. So think before you do stupid things."

"I need to collect my penises now. DON'T TAKE ANY CONDOMS HOME!"

I bid you good weekend.

Lack-lustre diarama. I'm just not feeling it people. Am flat and lacking energy and sick of this fucking weather. Anyway, enjoy whoever...

Hello. It's 12.25am on Wed 24/7/85. Fucking pen looked like it was going to die on me. I'm in Orange Bed, and not wallowing anymore.

I feel today has been productive and I've decided nobly that days in which things are done are far superior to days in which nil is done.

Today I...

- started off rawther badly by sleeping in and therefore missed English which puzzles me not (nor perturbs)
- arranged to get the script of Helkovitch tomorrow (yay)
- got my work organised (double yay)
- did some maths hwk. I've just finished a masterpiece affort in the form of a maths poster. Whoopee. Actually, it's quite good. How I love drawing and doodling - it's great fun.
- went to Ashburton for dinner and to get Aldous' stitches out. She's dear to me. Very precious.
- went through some newspapers and cut out some cuttings. Read a short story by Helen Garner, it's great. (Reminds me, I have to go and see Peter W this week. Even if I don't enter the competitions, I know one day I'll be published.)

The beauty of what I'm doing lies in the diversity of optoins open to me. Journalism. Authorism. Teaching of course. Travel.

Reading Oscar Wilde's letter from prison to Lord Alfred Douglas, his lover. De Profundis. A letter of 25000 words. A letter sculpted with love and affection, with blind forgivemness that only love seems to evoke. A letter that espouses Wilde's views on religion, morality, art, happiness, sowwos, life, death, love. A letter sent to a man who had sent him to prison. A letter pathetic in its tragic vulnerability, a letter wondrous in its strength and wisdom. Honest. Powerful. Aware. A letter that was burned by Lord Alfred Douglas and not read. Symbolic. That letter sems to represent a token gesture, an offering of Wilde's soul and heart, a desperate sacrifice to one he loved so much that the love never ended. Lord Alfred burned th eletter, and ultimately rejected Wilde's understanding and friendship. It was like the final slap in the face, the last of many. Fucking unreal writer, this Celtic "poof." Me likest his words.

I have to arise at 8am, no later in the morning, so now I will away to Oscar and bid yieu adieu.

PS Still hanging out for my bungalow. Keeps me going. I'm going to write a lot on the September holidays. Try poetry. I'm feeling really good.

*

Greetings mon cher! C'est 9.40pm (approx) on Thurs 25/7/85. My god! Time's wings beat on infinitely! Now to bring this journal up to date...

WED. Went to college. Phys Ed ok. Came home. Got on my little bicyclette for the first time in about 4 months and rode down to Glenferrie Rd. Returned the Robert Ludlum novel to Readings (you know, the one you were reading and enjoying thoroughly and then you discovered 30 pages were simply "not there"?) and exchanged it for John Irving's Setting Free the Bears. I've started it and the recurring themes are all there - Vienna, bears, motorbikes, halitosis.

I then went to the chemist and purchased some clothes dye (black and mauve) then to the Op Shops and for $10 (a song) I got a Roger Daltry fucking hippy fringed Indian Western cowboy suede leather studded vest. It's grand. Then I cycled home through the Rocket Park. At home (the flat) I got me gear together and drove to Ashburton (via the wool shop where I picked up 2 darning needles - different sizes - one with a big hole and the other with - you guessed it - a little hole.)

At home, I dyed my white pants "black" (well, sort of a dark grey, actualement.) I read my book, watched some telly, played with Aldous and ate food. Cooked dinner that night and watched The Greek Tycoon whilst sewing some of my jumper. (I also cried watching Neighbours. Julie was so good. Moving stuff.)

Eventually to bed. Read some of Setting Free the Bears. Talked to [sister] about Patrick, indulged in a spot of wallowing, and went to sleep.

WHAT A DAY!!!

This day (today that it) THURSDAY. Went to school rounds. RE, Drama, Creative Writing (my lesson). I enjoy teaching so much. It's fab! Home quickly for lunch. The school won the soccer final against Chaddy Park. Home. Tried on clothes. Mucked around. Fiddled. Pottered. Diddled. Watched tv. Ate. Talked with [sister]. Then, after doing some of my story (beach story) finishing it off, I chooffed back to Hawthorn, which is where I am now. I've just had a hot, hot, hot bath and I'm just about to get into bed and write my wind preface to the story. Go see Peter W tomorrow. All is well.

*

It is 12.50am on Sat 27/7/85. I have just returned from a fun evening out with my dear brother. We went to the Albion for dinner (in Lygon St) consumed Italian food with a nice, crisp bottle of Houghton's 1984 White Burgundy, then we raged to the live band. Some nights, nothing happens to you, other nights, so much occurs.

At the pub, there was one good-looking guy who I had rawther extensive eye contact with for a rawther long time. He kept looking over and catching my eye. Once, when he walked past me, we grinned at each other. He was nice. Then, there was the smooth dude, resplendent to be seen in silky cravat, singlet and intense face. He was funny. There was a camp man in a turquoise top. A businessman in a suit, sporting a weathered "I'm used to being rejected" look, who caught my eye as he was leaving, said "hi" and when I politely said "hi" back, promptly returned and set up an observation post to "check out that girl there who said 'hi' to me." He kept trying to find an opening to talk to me, but I chatted away to [brother] and after constant hopeful staring and one blatant wink, he admitted defeat and went away.

Also, the alternative hippy man, sitting down, who caught my eye and raised his eyebrows at me. I laughed and looked away, the way girls always do.

Back to Cravat Man, who by this time had arranged his necktie over his face in the style of a Great Train Robber. I laughed at him too.

On the way out, a black man patted my rear, and a tall lanky hopeful moved out of my way, and called me darlin'. Oh I love going to pubs and being attractive.

[Brother] and I had such fun. We've never been out like that together before and it was terrif! Driving home down Johnson St, we stopped at some traffic lights and I pulled up alongside a car teeming with tough Italians. We looked at them, they looked at us. Then, one wound down his window and flicked a cigarette but onto the beetle's bonnet, and started abusing me.

Tough Melba asked "what's your problem?" and while he was in mid sentence, telling me to "Shut your mouth, you slut!" the lights turned green, and my handy peripheral vision told me it was time to burn, man! So, much to their astonishment, my little car shoots ahead, passes the parked cars on the left and pulls in front of Big Wog Car. They were spewing, and set off in hot pursuit. I played it cool, they overtook me, and started playing funny buggers by slowing down in front of me so I had to brake. I kept my distance, but indulged in a spot of whingy tooting. At the next set of lights, I stopped quite a bit behind them, and the reversed back to scare me into thinking they were going to hit me. But me and the beetle don't know the meaning of fear, and we tooted them some more. Eventually they fucked off. It was fun. Now, I will away to Orange Bed and SFTB. Ciao!

*

Time = 11.45pm. Day = Saturday. Date = 27/7/85. Situation: on the Orange Bed. Just returned from a "Rock and Roll gig" at Middle Park with [brother]. Went to see Tom's band play. It was fun but not that crash hot. I enjoyed last night better. More distractions last night. Not too many tonight so I thought about Patrick a lot. Drove past his place. Moke was there, P's bedroom light on. What was he doing? Damn! A thousand times damn!

Today I chooffed off to Ashburton. Knitted a bit. Watched [sister] play netball. Spoke to D on the phone. Briefish chat. Saw Desperately Seeking Susan with mum and [sister]. It was good, I enjoyed. Now to read John Irving and sleep. Bye.

PLEASE SEE NEXT VOLUME FOR CONTINUING SAGA OF MELBA'S LIFE.

***

VOL 10. YES IT'S MORE... ANOTHER NON-PRETENTIOUS LOOKING LITTLEL BOOK THAT HOLDS QUITE A LOT.

Welcome... I am afraid that this book, like the last, will not start well. It will, however, start immeasurably better than the last. Time = 10.50pm. Date = Sun 28/7/85.

Now, for a brief gripe session.

I am feeling angry and emotional with myself.

1. My skin has gone bad again, which is highly upsetting as it was improving each day.

2. I have not done my English Assignment. The data is due in on Tues, there is a lot of work involved and I just haven't done it. I'll go and see the teacher tomorrow. I have no real excuses. Except that I'm not enjoying English and am finding motivation a scarcity at the moment.

Fuck. I'm feeling pretty ratshit at the moment. Ratshit and ugly. Damn Patrick. Damn him. I'm feeling angry and bitter towards him. Even though it's emotional not logical. Even though I understand it all (mostly) and I don't want him back now.

*

Mmmmm. It's 9.50pm on Mon 29th July, 1985. I've just been vegetating in front of the fucking idiot box. I've managed to do a skerrick of my drama essay, but not enough. I'm feeling immobilised, shitty, disgruntled, discontented, cold, ugly, frigid, empty, passionless, bored, cold (again? yes, again.) I want to go away somewhere and have fun. When did this new mood come over me? I've been "keeping my chin up" for four long months now, maybe it's catching up with me. I feel I want some love - new love, fresh love. I'm shitty. Hanging out desperately for my bungalow. Sick of being unsettled. Sick of living the way I am. No routine. All messy and unorganised. Maybe I'm feeling low because I'm not into the book I'm reading (SFTB). It's not as entertaining as Irving's other novels. Why don't I just climb into my bed and hide from the world. I've had enough of it today. Where's my energy? My spirit? My touch of derring-do? Bwavado?

Self-pity is not very enjoyable at the moment. I have to get off my fat arse and do heaps of work this week. Goodbye.

PS Patrick I'm missing you like hell. Missing your warmth. Your hugs. Kisses. Love. What happened to it all? Why did you screw me up and throw me away? Why couldn't you love me and relax? Why couldn't I? Shit I'm tired. I need a break. A holiday. But no matter what, I'll keep on at college trying to do my best, under the circumstances of abandon. (Oh, wallow, wallow, wallow, wallo...)

*

Can't talk for long. It's 11.20pm on Tues 30/7/85. Pissed off with myself. So much work to do, so little time, eating too much, unfit. Why compound it? Get your act together. Does it take a fucking broken heart to make you lose weight?

*

It's 12.30am on Fri 2/8/85. Sorry I missed writing yesterday. The first of August and all! Marking the end of my 4th month of singleness.

Yesterday, college was good. I laughed a lot in PE. Last night I was at Ashburton doing my jumper, watching Sybil, then slept. Today at school, I took the spelling test and poetry. I did some laundry and mum and I finally finished my jumper at midnight, about an hour ago! Putting it on was so exciting! It looks good. I'm proud of myself. I did it and stuck to it and did a good job.

Got an incredible letter from D2 today. It's so good to read her words. I sat down as soon as I'd read hers and wrote 8 pages back to her (both sides, foolscap.) Should keep her reading for a while. I'll send it tomorrow or Mon when I can get my short story back from Peter W.

Spoke to D on the phone. She's well and I'm going to see the Bay City Rollers with her on Tues night at RMIT. Should be fun! I can wear my new purple jumper! Going skiing tomorrow. Yay. Excitement plus. Now I'm going to read Setting Free the Bears which I'm enjoying more. Glad I persevered. Bye.

*

Hello. Can't spend much time on this. I shouldn't but I know I will. It's almost 12.30am on Monday 5/8/85. Just returned from Hotham. It was great. In brief:

- arrived about 1.30 am Sat morning
- I woke at 7am Sat morning. Skiied.
- Sat night ate the yummiest home-made pizza (care of James) and then went raging at the Arlberg Disco. What a buzz! I danced alot and thoroughly enjoyed myself. Danced with a bearded chap and at the end we arranged to meet at lunchtime tofay. We did and had a drink and a chat. He was a graphic artist, designed mags like Home Beautiful, work full time for Herald and Weekly Times and part time for his own business. He'd travelled a lot and was about 30 -35. He had said I danced divinely (on Sat night.) Today he mentioned he'd been rawther drunk and so I think he was trying to give me the message of lack of interest. Perhaps he was put off by my youth which I in no way try to camouflage. I just am me and don't try to bullshit people. We parted with a smile. He had asked me to ski with him in the afternoon but I only had a morning ticket. He seemed disappointed. And that's the end of that. Can't even remember his name. The lodge (Valhalla) was pretty lusho! I loved skiiing - it was great. I want to go for a day trip to Buller. Could the beetle make it? Should ask Erin if she wants to go. Could catch a bus? Who knows? NOw to read my book - SFTB.

I've got so much fucking work to do.

When we drove through Bright on the way up I felt a real pang and remembered how happy I'd been last year at Bright with Patrick. Ultra happy and we had such fun. Dinner at the Crazy Kangaroo, strolling through the park holding hands, finding some money ($5 or $10?) Then driving home tonight I was dozing and all of a sudden Ti Amo came on the bus loudspeaker, very gently, and it played for a while, and then faded. It all seemed so symbolic. Snatches and snippets of thought. I dunno.

*

Greetings. It's 1am on Tues 6/8/85. As expected, this morning I slept in and so "unfortunately" didna make it to Fitness! I went to Drama lecture at 10am and missed SSA lecture (but apparently it was some ballet, and not that important - or relevant - anyway.) At lunchtime, I went to the Melb Uni bookroom and bought The Empty Space by Peter Brook, and sent my chunko letter to dear D2. When I finished college, I came home and rang mum and instead of doing heaps of study, went to Ashburton and watched The Main Event on tv. It was good but I should have been working. I've just done some work, but not enough. I have heaps to do and on the Sept hols I want to go to Inverloch to get drunk, relax and write.

Wrote out some poem segments at Ashburton tonight. They're good. Why do I still check the letterbox for news of PDO? It's been 5 weeks, and frankly, why should I still be waiting? Why does he still invade my thoughts? Why do I devote so much time and energy and brainal space to someone's who's destroyed (temporarily) my life? Well, upset it greatly. Unsettled me. Am I just hanging on? Before I didn't wallow so much but now I am. Probably because I didn't accept it before , but now because I'm being forced to accept it, I'm reacting! Shit! Fuck! Damn! I'm feeling bad because my room's a mess and I'm in limbo. Pooh!

*

Allo. C'est 2.35am on Wed 7/8/85. I'm in Orange Bed. College today = good. Missed 1st class (English lecture). Came home. Worked. Then D and I chooffed off to see Bay City Rollers (scream!) at RMIT. It was great.

I danced like crazy. Wonder what PDO did tonight? Screwed some whore?

Tomorrow - PE (4 hours) then tomorrow arvo, work = heaps. Tomorrow night go to Therese's and have funno. Ciao.

PS Setting Free the Bears is really good en ce moment.

PPS D is a terrifico friend!

*

The time is verging on 11.30pm Thursday 8th August, 1985. Lying/reclining/spread on Orange Bed. Dad is chatting on the phone. Yesterday at college = ok.

Last night at Therese's was a combination of the following adjectives:

- exciting - bizarre - freaky - new - interesting - weird

I got there and she (T) wasn't home yet. A girl called Mary invited me in and looked after me. Then this boy arrived who lives there. Then another boy from Israel who was freaking me out with his serious, negative, depresso life. Later he made a collect call to Israel after casually asking T "Can I use your phone?" Fuck!

These 2 girls came around. Mary was transposing music with an ink pen. T cooked dinner for 3 hours or so. We went to another place for dope and to pick up a friend of T's. Had a bong then drove back to T's. Heavy dope. Me really stoned. Champagne. Yummy dinner - chicken wings, vegies, garlic bread and salad. Milo and minimal milk for dessert.

The actress friend unzipped her jeans and was lolling on the carpet with a chubby white belly. I couldn't handle it, it almost freaked me out. I mean I'll go back there, but they're a group of very intense, extrememly friendly, warm, welcoming people but I felt freaked. Drove home super stoned and the trip down Toorak Rd seemed to take 2 hours. Windscreen wipers not working so me driving like a granny. Eventually, after days, I got to Ashburton. Flaked. Dreamt that I saw Brad and we were consumed with lust and started kissing. It felt good, but awkward and uncomfortable.

Today - woke feeling quite fucked. Took half a day to wake up. School ok. Can't be bothered with details. Did a lot of my play essay tonight which is good. Watched Edna Everage on the teeve. Now, to bed and read. PS I can't wait til the hols. I'm gonna immediately take off for Inverloch and wallow blissfully down there. Get healthy again - on the physical and mental level. Bye bye.

PS Truly, ruly hanging out for me bungbillow.

*

Hello. Tonight will lbe an unusual entry. I have opened a solitary bottle of Seaview Brut Champagne and have just taken my first sip. I intend to get drunk all alone. I haven't done this in such a ritualistic manner before, so why the fuck not?

It's 9.54pm on Fri 9/8/85. I am going to read poetry and copy good bits in here. Then, I'm going to fall into bed and have a deep, heavy, wonderfully inebriated sleep. Here we go. I'm perfectly sober and I'm going to start my poemathon with the following appropriate words. So read on...

Drinking
The thirsty earth soaks up the rain,
And drinks, and gapes for drink again.
The plants suck in the earth, and are
With constant drinking fresh and fair.
The sea itself, which one would think
Should have but little need of drink,
Drinks ten thousand rivers up,
So filled that they o'erflow the cup.
The busy sun - and one would guess
By's drunked, fiery face no less -
Drinks up the sea, and when he's done,
The moon and stars drink up the sun.
They drink and dance by their own light;
They drink and revel all the night.
Nothing in nature's sober found,
But an eternal health goes round.
Fill up the bowl, then, fill it high,
Fill all the glasses there, for why
Should every creature drink but I?
Abraham Cowley.