I’m writing to you from the belly of the beast.

Tuesday, 27 June 1995 8:04am

Good morning,

At least, it is here anyway.  I’m in early, kudos to me, kudos to me.  I woke up at 5am, listened to the radio for a while, and, seized with expiatory zeal, I thought I’d come in early to make recompense for my days of wayward bludging earlier this year.  Truth is I couldn’t get back to sleep and I was bored.  The city is nice in the morning. Especially in Winter when the dawn is all pink and you can watch the buildings, bereft of their grimy detail in the morning half-light, slide past one another as the toasty-warm tram sails down Elizabeth Street.  I’m a sentimental old thing.

I got the colour photos of Brady and family in the mail yesterday.  Thanks.  Cute baby Sis.  I just pulled them out now to refresh my memory, the one of Brady in the car seat is especially cute.  I like the one with Mum (or should I say Nana) too, I like the look of bemused surprise on Brady’s face.  I wonder if babies connect facial expressions to emotions straight away?  All that genetic coding and everything, the way they come out with all the stuff already on hard drive – it’s a crazy thing. She has a good head of hair too.

Oh yeah, and this is the last time I’m gonna say this, tell Mum to STOP WRITING ME LETTERS FROM BRADY’S PERSPECTIVE – IT’S FUCKING FREAKY!  And it’s not even convincing you know – make it stop!


Thursday, 29 June 1995 10:39am

Boom, boom go the temples.  Churn, churn goes the stomach.  I write from the belly of the beast.  I’m so hungover.  There was a going-away do for one of the journo’s last night.  We went to a Vietnamese restaurant in Victoria Street, Richmond.  Damn crowded, damn noisy, damn cheap.  It was good, it had atmosphere.  Nathan, the office booze-hound, started reciting Gough Whitlam’s parliamentary dismissal speech again.  He tried to steal my food again.  He was rude to the waiters… again.  It was fun.  We went to the Builder’s Arms pub over the road afterwards where we stayed until about 1am.  Then Cav and I walked up Victoria Street and then caught our respective taxis home. I had an enthusiastic African driver who clued me in on the intricacies of the computerised job despatch system. I stole two shot glasses from the pub too.  I don’t know why, I’m not a thief by nature.  When I say that I’m not a thief by nature, I mean that it’s not some lofty moral system that prevents me from pilfering, it’s pure fear of being caught.  I feel a bit bad about it really, the people in the pub were OK, they didn’t throw us out when Nathan knocked a bench over and smashed a pot plant.  Or when he asked those two girls if they were lesbians. Or when he fell asleep.

I’m actually going to a party this weekend.  I can’t remember the last party I went to.  Don’t enjoy them much usually, but it’s for the same guy that we had dinner for last night and that was fun so I’m gonna give it a shot Sis. I can always scurry off home if I feel like it.

OK stuff to do.





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