Maybe I should learn French, the language of love, me being single and all.

Monday, 16 May 1994

Dear S, Mum and Jack,

Sorry it’s taken me so long to get around to writing, its mail-out time at work and I’ve been incredibly busy.  I’ve been working in despatch on the weekend too, just for extra cash (I don’t get paid for over-time spent on the book).  I just got your post card, it sounds like you’re having a really good time, the Chateaus look fantastic, I think I might visit France next time I’m over (currently its planned for Easter ’95).  Maybe I should learn French too, the language of love, me being single and all.  No news on that front either, I’m afraid.  I’m seriously contemplating sending away for one of those pheromone sprays to lure the women-folk to me, helpless.  Maybe not.

I tried to ring for Mother’s Day, by the way, but Le Maison was empty, its occupants cast to the four European winds.  God, Jack – a weekender in Holland, you and Ma – a jaunt through France!  I might get down to St Kilda beach this weekend if I’m lucky and the weather’s nice.  When I did get through Jack sounded a bit hoarse and a bit dazed.  I’m sure it was, as most Rugby tours are, a most sombre and sober occasion.  Personally, I’ve given up the demon drink for a few weeks.  I over-did it the week before last at Hard and Fast, a Nightclub down in Prahran on a Wednesday night.  I got in at about 4AM and was still a little woozy at work on Thursday.  That was a slow paced day, I can tell you.  I’ll save money anyway, I’m going into one of my Scrooge stages.  I derive a certain grim satisfaction out of living on ten dollars a week.  Only for a few months though – austerity loses its shine after a while.  Actually I’ve got the decorating itch which is none-too-good for the economic-at-heart-and-hip (pocket), but I’m too unsure of my taste, especially when it coincides with that of my friends. So I’m waiting for Mum to get back and give me counsel.  The place still looks a bit like a “Guy-House” – stereo and chair, but I’m sure with Mum’s decorative flair, we can transform it into a seething pleasure pit.

As for me, mein klein Scheibtorte, I must be off, I’ve loads to do.

Love J

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