Monday, 12 June, 1995
Wow, so you’ve had the baby. Wow. Please name her Sis, it’s kinda important. Or maybe you could wait until she’s old enough to decide for herself, that’s a novel idea. Forty-four hours hey? That’s a stretch. Gee, is this kid gonna have that hanging over her head or what?
Man, did you see the list of dud relatives I had to ring for you? God, I haven’t seen any of them for like twenty years! I had to keep explaining that I was “Fay’s son”. I even had to call Gloria. She said she’s coming over to help with the baby. Won’t that be nice? I told her you could use her help, but only for two or three months. Tee hee. God, I had to tell her I had something on the stove to make sure I got away. I’m so mean.
So I guess you must be feeling rather light on your feet eh? Does your skin feel all loose and ill-fitting like a baggy old track suit? Jack told me about your pethidine trip. Cool man, see if you can get some to go. You know, some for the kiddy (will you please name this child!) when she acts up – “There you go (insert name here), this will stop the tears won’t it? Yes it will.” Mother’s Little Helper, you know how it goes.
I can write you letters now without fear of them being broken into. I’ve figured out how to save onto a disk, so they’re not sitting around on the hard disk. I feel like a spy, with secret files. I’m so daggy.
Wednesday, 14 June, 1995
Brett’s girlfriend, Lara, rang me just before 5pm yesterday and ambushed me with an invitation to go to their house for dinner. I was flummoxed and had no excuse ready, so I walked down to Spencer Street and caught a No 96 St Kilda tram to Acland Street where Brett picked me up. It actually wasn’t so bad. Brett let us put the heater on normally their flat is freezing because the heater fumes make Brett sick, and the windows have to be open all the time because of the fumes from the paint on the walls and the carpet.
It’s funny how some people come alight when you hit on a subject they’re really interested in. Lara and I chatted about feminism, she loaned me “The Beauty Myth” by Naomi Wolf. I’m going to read it really ostentatiously on the tram so some girl will chat to me, thinking I’m a sensitive man in touch with a modern woman’s needs. Ha! My evil plan! I think Brett sort of resented it because he said at one stage “Oh don’t mind me, go one with your intellectual conversation,” which smacks of indignation don’t you think? So, we watched TV for a while. They made me watch Melrose Place. It was insufferable. I’ll make sure I don’t go over on a Tuesday night again.
OK stuff to do. Bye for now.
Please name your baby!
Photo of S and “Baby Girl No Name”