It’s a psychological thing, no matter how painful the seat is, it’s preferable to standing comfortably.

Wednesday,  6 September 1995  8:50AM S, You know how I decry myself every Monday for my appalling behaviour at Friday drinks, and then promise never to go again, and then go again, and do exactly the same thing over again every week? It’s stopping here.  Last night Simon invited me over the road to burn some time before he headed off to a family dinner. … Continue reading It’s a psychological thing, no matter how painful the seat is, it’s preferable to standing comfortably.

My beloved hair dryer blew up. I gave it a state burial. Well, I put it in its own plastic bag inside the bin so it wouldn’t get food in its grill.

Monday, 28 August 1995 So Sis, Continuing on from “Pisspot’s Undoing” Saturday morning at 10am Brett comes knocking on my door, offering to give me a lift to his place in St Kilda.  I get ready, quickly shower and comb over my scruffiness and Brett gives me a ride to Coles for my shopping.  Then it’s back to my place, a coffee, and then to … Continue reading My beloved hair dryer blew up. I gave it a state burial. Well, I put it in its own plastic bag inside the bin so it wouldn’t get food in its grill.

It’s no coincidence that sexy chicks always work in music shops, it’s a sadistic plan to make you feel embarrassed about buying daggy music.

Thursday 13 July 1995 9:19am Sis, I got smiled at on the tram this morning. Some blonde lady with dark blue eyes smiled at me as the boisterous conductor carried on trumpeting for tickets or something.  I actually didn’t hear him properly, and just looked up from my Herman Hesse novel to see this lady smiling at me.  I hesitated dumbly, then gave a thin, … Continue reading It’s no coincidence that sexy chicks always work in music shops, it’s a sadistic plan to make you feel embarrassed about buying daggy music.

Maybe I’ll shout at the top of my lungs that photography is poor man’s painting. That’ll make sure I’m never invited back – sensitive, arty types.

23 Jan 1995 Dear S, Howdy. Dropped your load yet? I’m getting impatient. What is it, five months to go? In this age of instant soup and TV dinners, you’d think they could speed up the process a little. Eventually, I see all pregnancies starting and concluding within half an hour, allowing you to get back to work for the end of your lunch break. … Continue reading Maybe I’ll shout at the top of my lungs that photography is poor man’s painting. That’ll make sure I’m never invited back – sensitive, arty types.