XXXXXXXXXXXXX Represents the parts of his diary that my brother has delicately cut out.

J’s Diary Entries

Friday, 5 May, 1995

Went a drinking with Nadia and Cav.  From “Klicks” to some pub on the corner of Spring and Bourke Street, where I actually paid my bill. (I didn’t want to distress Cav, he gets so embarrassed if I do a runner.)  I drank vodka, lime & sodas until somewhere around eleven or twelve I think.  I got so drunk I even told Cav and Nadia about my XXXXXXXXXXXXX Nadia was bemused, Cav – horrified.  I felt so good, so high on sugar and caffeine and booze, I just thought, “What the fuck? It’s an interesting story.”  With hindsight it was probably a mistake, but what isn’t a mistake with hindsight?  Hitler probably would’ve left the Russians alone and spent more time porking Eva Braun with hindsight.

Christopher Watts rang me sometime around lunch and cancelled our planned drinking session at the Builder’s Arms Hotel – he has no money.  I foolishly offered to shout him a round or two, but he’d already cancelled the other troops.  It’s a shame, I was in a fierce drinking mood which unfortunately revealed itself to Nadia and Cav.  So be it.

I caught the last tram home after a very strong La Monde Cappuccino and annoyed a bedded down Leah and Aidan for an hour or two.  Seeing as it is their last weekend here, they bought me a Dustbuster.  It was very nice of them, I’ve wanted one for ages but I’m too great a tightwad to buy one.

Saturday, 6 May, 1995

Could not sleep because of all the sugar and caffeine in my system – tossed and turned all night.  Got out of bed 9ish and cleaned the kitchen with my new Dustbuster to Leah’s bleary-eyed surprise and apprehension – apprehension at the upset in the natural order of things.  I don’t normally clean,  well, not at 9am Saturday after a blinder Friday night anyway.  I felt so damn good. I mean great!

I turned a corner while in bed this morning.  I lay there, thinking about what I’d told Nadia and Cav, and started to kick myself.  “It’s not important, it doesn’t matter….” over and over and over.  OK, it’s not as deep as “Om Mani Padme Hum…”, but it did the trick.  It warded off that dread, that jaw clenching self-recrimination which so often habituates my Saturday mornings.

The day turned half-way through though.  An abortive haircut was the trigger.  Leah wouldn’t do it and I started feeling bad about my appearance.  Then fatigue stepped in, closely followed by Leah overbearingly wanting to know what was wrong and then blaming herself.  I got her to take me shopping to get out of the house and then stopped at the Sam Merrifield Public Library on the way home.  Leah borrowed two vegetarian books, I got Susan Sontag essay “Illness as a Metaphor” and Eugene O’Neill’s “Long Day’s Journey into Night” which is a play.  They’re both quite easy to read.  I also picked up Mark “Chopper” Reid’s “Chopper… From the Inside” which is a good, fun and easy read.  Quite shocking in its blase violence, but he has a good dry wit and is not a stupid man.  Reading about all that violence has pushed me into another fitness kick – I did a load of push ups and so on.  Maybe I can make it last this time.

Sketch by J

1993 Dustbuster Advert