Wednesday, 12 January 1994
I know I wrote a letter only yesterday, but work is so dull. I’ve done loads and loads of work and I just can’t seem to get into the mood, maybe it’s because of lunch. I went over the road with a few friends from work and got half pissed and now I just can’t seem to be bothered. I could have gone a few more vodkas actually, but I guess midday trips to the pub are not essentially good work practices. We only get a half-hour for lunch anyway.
So tell me, were you bombarded with publicity for the wedding of Julian McMahon and Danny (Sorry that’s now spelt Dannii – what a pretentious twat!) Minogue like we were? Who the hell would pay $100,000 for their wedding photos? I mean really, the only thing they’re actually famous for is being related to other more famous people. And might I add Julian is not suited to shirtless Jacuzzi pics – it looks like he’s wearing some sort of mohair singlet. I’ll bet his feet are hairy too.
What did you and Jack do for the Christmas holidays? Do you get Christmas holidays over there with the Tories in power? I know Jeff Kennett is actually going to the High Court to dispute the existence of Christ in his noble attempt to liberate us from the burden of Christmas and Easter Public Holidays. A fine, fine man. Anyway back to the point, what did you do with your holidays? Personally, I just lazed around the house and plotted to kill my house-mates, but it was a relaxing time, and I guess that’s the main thing. Leah and I had the house to ourselves which was nice for change. We cleaned it up and for once it actually stayed clean.
Did I tell you about Mum’s and my Deal of the Century? (As far as I’m concerned anyway.) I swapped her big remote control tv for the small one I used to have in my room. HA! – Sucker! Now I’ve got it linked to my (Pete Smith Copper Art voice) new stereo, and by-jingo it sounds good. Leah got me a video for my birthday, so now I don’t have to worry about any more major electrical appliance purchases, which leaves me to save with all my might for our Euro-Odyssey. And after that, I’m going to start saving for the Big Thing. I’m not too sure what that is yet – probably a house or some land or something. I’m just sick of wasting my money on all this consumerist crap when I could buy something worth having. These thoughts and well planned strategies give me the heeby-jeebies. The onset of maturity lingers, like a big lingering thing.
Thursday, 13 January 1994
And so another day dawns and – what do you know –Despatch Boy is away and it’s up to Simon and I to hold the fort. I can’t stand doing despatch work anymore. That being the case though, I was considering asking the boss if I could do some extra work down there (for money) because Despatch Boy is always run off his feet and they don’t want to pay casual rates to get anyone in. I’m just really money-hungry at the moment.
Anyway back to the Big Thing, I’ve been thinking the past few months that I’d really like to try a hermit’s life for a while. I know that sounds very stupid, but it’s just an idea which really interests me because basically, I just don’t think I like people that much anymore. Maybe it’s just the people I know, but I’d still like to give it a go. Maybe on Flinders Island where Dad’s got shares in 150 acres of land with its own private beach and everything, he reaches it by plane. Perhaps I could be the caretaker.
Bear in mind, I’m planning to do this in maybe six or seven years. I’d like to try some sort of self-sufficiency thing, grow most of my own food and all that, and live off the accumulated savings of the next five or six year. I could get spare money by selling the nautilus shells that wash up on the beach there. I don’t know, the idea of just slaving away for fifty years, doing what everyone tells me to and languishing in the suburbs, basically just waiting to die turns me right off. Maybe it’s just a phase, who knows? Please don’t mention this to Mum or Dad, Mum would be horrified. I mean it’s just an idea, and i want to glean more information from “The Father” before I spring this on him. Can you picture me at 60 though, this totally pious old hermit with dreads down to his ankles, giving holy advice to travellers and seekers of wisdom? Not bloody likely, I’ll probably jump ‘em from behind bushes and take them back for my cooking pot, hee hee hee.
Enough of that, I’d better get back to work and stop all this nonsense before I get busted. I’ll write again soon.