i know i shouldn't joke, but today the doorbell rang and there on the doorstep was joe.
he had some literature for me to read. it contains information which is basically conspiracy theory stuff, and incoherently written holocaust denial-type stuff.
so, i'm an idiot for telling my neighbour exactly where i live. if i disappear, you'll know what happened. but seriously, i think he likes me.
okay. so, maybe i shouldn't have indulged him and been so friendly on the street, and i have to work out what will be the point where i let him know i don't share his ideas? i was joking with clokes that i would sleep with him for a million bucks. clokes thought that was too low, but i said no way, i would, i wouldn't even stop to think. it's funny, we might joke about it, but i see a little spark of worry in clokes' eye.
also, something weird and a bit spooky. whenever someone comes to the door, and it can be anyone, gigi is always there trying to push past me to say hello. she is so annoying like that. well, today, she didn't want a bar of joe. i felt her come and take a look from behind me, and then she went back to lie down or whatever.
she knows. she knows who he is and what his anti-semitic inclinations are.
so he told me to read the stuff, a couple of very thin news-sheets and a newsletter, it's for my "personal protection" (all sorts of stuff about banking, and political manipulations etc, particularly hard on dick cheney, and alot of stuff about gaza) and when i offered to return it when i finished - hoping to get the number of where he lives - he said to give it to a friend.
sure, spread the goodness.
when i asked him how he was coping with the grand prix planes overhead, he said "it's not loud enough!" [funny] and "it's like they want us to get used to them, for when there's the next war..." [not so funny].
i swear, this guy is pretty full on, but he's softly spoken and genteel and likeable; he has a sneaky charisma that i find myself responding to. i like his jaunty cap, it's like a baker boy, and you know what, he has the bluest eyes, and they're not old-man eyes. there's not a blood vessel, no filminess, no rheumy milkiness. very, very weird.
so that's my wrap up for sunday night. i was going to post about the things i cooked today (awesome lunchtime pasta with slut sauce (puttanesca) including truffle oil that we got in florence and which has a use-by date of tuesday; also a chicken and leek pie for dinner - also awesome; about princess returning from her weekend in sydney (she ate at icebergs, it wasn't so great she said but her dad managed to bluff his way into the private area) but i can't be bothered. i'm tired, my grammar is shite, i want to go to bed now and either read the january '09 marie clair i found in one of the rubbish bins downstairs this morning or the gathering by anne enright, which i'm really enjoying. i'm hoping it doesn't disappoint plot-wise, but gee she does write quite beautifully.
happy sunday night, dear reader.