Wednesday, 15 March, 1995, 9:22am
Mornin’. It’s a good day. Winter has poked its ruddy nose out of its burrow for the first time this year. A lovely chilly day – grey, overcast, windy. I might even venture out to augment my Winter Couture Collection. I hate shopping per se though. Shopping stresses me terribly. I bought a CD yesterday, and it gave me a hot flush. I always blush when I have to buy something. Maybe I should shop by mail order. Naa, the postman would probably think all the parcels were porno’s from Canberra, and I’d never be able to live with the shame.
It looks like there might be some neighbourly interaction coming my way. Yesterday this guy asked me if I ever cleaned my gutters, ‘cos he was going to clean next door’s and he wanted to know where the down pipe was. I was a bit impatient because I had a White Magnum in my hand (Magnums are absolutely the most delicious ice cream that, I believe, are an essential part of every day diet) and I wanted to get inside and watch “The Simpsons” and gobble down that Magnum with its 23 grams of fat. I told him I cleaned them about a month ago, and then I noticed a lady poking her head out the window, keeping an eye on the proceedings. It was her….. my next door neighbour, swimming out of the murky depths of obscurity for the sake of her gutters. I smiled near-sighted and went indoors. Then I started a-thinkin’ ’bout the relationship betwixt this moustachioed Lothario and my flame-haired neighbour. What if there is something improper going on? What about the reputation of the neighbourhood? Property prices will plummet and all sorts of undesirables will start moving in. Hippies will flock to the once prestigious locale, taking it for some sort of communal “love-in”, besmirching the street with their Comby Vans. I think I should spy on her for a while… it’s for her own good in the long run. Well, that’s enough of that. I just hope she doesn’t make a habit of speaking to me, it’d be just one extra pain in the ass to try and think of something to say to with whom I probably have nothing in common. Backyards have fences for a reason, it’s to keep the neighbours out.
Did I tell you I’m thinking of leaping into the 80’s and buying a computer? I’m thinking of going for the Notebook variety. The computer honcho at work bought one a few weeks ago and it’s pretty impressive. Changes are being made to my book’s database soon (from Dataflex to Windows, and not before time might I add) and I’ll be able to work from home. This doesn’t sound like such a good deal until you think of all the late night trams I’ve had to catch when I get really busy. It’s depressing not getting home until 11pm. If I can take it home with me on a disk, at least I can work in more pleasant surroundings. Well, they’ll be heated surroundings for a start. Actually, Mum told me you’ll be working from home a few days a week after your belly bears its fruit. What sort of work can you do from home as a Personnel Manager? Are you gonna be linked up by modem to work? Local calls are metered in England aren’t they? That would make it a bit unfeasible I guess. I’m thinking of becoming a techo-terrorist, you know the whole cyberspace-cowboy thing. It’d be a change as good as a holiday.
Tell me S, what is all the brouhaha surrounding this “Criminal Justice Bill” all about? I buy a few English magazines (Face and ID) and they’re saying it’s the “end of democracy in Britain” and so on. It’s abolished the right to silence yeah? How exactly can they do that? They can’t pull the words out of you. Then again, I suppose they could lock you up without trial until you spill your guts. Write back and tell me what it’s all about, I’m curious.
Monday, 27 March, 1995 1:29pm
Sigh. Simon, my office mate is away today. It was his cricket grand-final yesterday, and he had the forethought to take today off to recover from the jubilation – or commiseration – hangover. It’s a bit dull all by myself. the day is flat and hollow with no-one to annoy.
Had a dull weekend, didn’t do anything. I guess the most exciting part was hiding from the Christians who were door knocking on Sunday morning. I think they heard me stumbling around the lounge trying to stay out of sight, but who cares? They’re only Christians, they love turning the other cheek and all that jazz. I suppose that being mean to Christians is doing them a favour really. I mean, they aspire to follow Jesus by example, right? Ergo, they need someone to be mean to them. They can’t really fulfil their Christian destinies if everyone’s nice to ’em. I wish I had a lion like the Romans. Then I could really do those Sunday-morning-door-knocking-fuckers a favour.
And on that salubrious note, I’ll be off. Write back or your dog gets it, comprende Senorita?
Came across this Magnum update, Oh J would have been beside himself.
© 2015 Dead Mans Diaries (S)
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