It’s not the meek that shall inherit the earth, it’s the technologically literate.

Thursday, 9 May 1996  8:30am

Howdy S,

Spoke to Mum on the phone yesterday.  We chit-chatted. Aunty Marge is coming down for the weekend for some genealogy grave-robbing gig with Ma. So anyway, we’re chattin’ away, and Mum Says ‘Oh your sister called on Sunday by the way.  ‘Really, how is she?  What’s she doing?  ‘Well, it was so early, I answered the phone all groggy, and there’s S singing “Happy Mothers Day” down the phone at me…’

I nearly shat myself S.  I had that awful sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach, you know the kind I’m talking about.  I thought ‘Oh for fuck’s sake J, you’ve gone and forgotten Mother’s Day. You stupid, stupid twat!’  And so my mind just goes kind of blank as I try to figure out some way of excusing this monstrous oversight and then Mum continues’…so I said to her, “You’re a week early!” Ha ha ha ha ha!’  Slack-jawed J on the other end of the phone feels the relief wash over him like that steamy hot shower, first thing on a Winter morning.  He sticks his head right under the shower rose, and bathes in the feeling, appreciating it down to his very hairy toes.

The other thing that Mum and I spoke about was public transport. Mum comes in every now and then, and we meet for lunch.  Up ’til now she’s been parking in those city pay-by-the-hour jobs, but it’s costing her $16 and up. So we decided that maybe she ought to park behind my house in that lane-way, and catch a tram.  So I was giving her the low-down on tickets and so on, ‘coz I really don’t want Mum to come across as one of those complete tits who get on the tram and carry on like they’ve never been on public transport in their life, as if that’s some measure of their wealth.  You know the type, speaking really loudly and slowly to the conductor, like he’s retarded or French or something.  Using the wrong terms, asking for out-of-date types of tickets, asking the conductor to tell them when their stop is coming up, ‘coz they’re too damn dozy to look out the fucking window.  They really get on my tits.  I’ll have to coach Mum, get her to use a low-key, matter of fact tone.  If you want to appear really savvy, you ask for the ticket by quoting the price – ‘two-ten please’.  That’s all it takes.  Public transport is one of those things that kids seem to do better than parents.  Public transport, the timer on the video, and any sort of electrical equipment that has a digital display on it.  It’s not the meek that shall inherit the earth, it’s the technologically literate.  That’s me.  I’m gonna inherit the earth.  Better be nice to me, and get your bloody Mother’s Day dates right [here he also used my middle name, hee hee I was in real trouble].


PS There’s a Mother’s Day song?

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