Mr Dopey

Strange Man Update.

Why do I keep attracting these people? Mainly because I keep breaking my other New Year's resolutions such as smoking, drinking too much etc etc, which lead to my being caught in the strange man web.

Went to Fair Day (part of Mardi Gras Festival) Sunday week ago. It was alright although I can think of better things to do other than queuing literally for everything…..beer, food, toilets, dancing, kissing….it was like Moscow in the 90s……..not to mention beer was $7.50 a pop………they were charging $7.50 for beer in a plastic cup!!!!! Anyway got over that…..hung out with some mates in the disco tent which was on situated on a hill…….I spent the whole afternoon disco dancing uphill…….I kept looking for the rope to pull me up.

I finally dragged myself away from said disco tent at 9pm and went to the Bank Hotel where most Fair Day revelers had moved. The place was packed with far too many twinks who kept touching my beard and going "is that a beard?". Need I say more.

So considerably over that and just really really tired (uphill disco dancing can take it out of you), I left……was waiting with five hundred other freaks trying to get a cab driver who would be brave enough to pick one of us up when this strapping 6ft4 swimmers build American college boy look-alike fella came up to me and asked for a cigarette.

I obliged.

"thanks man…..hey….how's ya night" He had a dopey voice. I am an absolute sucker for dopey voices. And of course dopey voices come with the dopey face. And I am sucker for those as well. He was a Brendan Fraser (George of the Jungle) lookalike. I was suddenly not feeling that tired anymore.

"not bad mate…….trying to get a bloody cab….yaself?", I said doing my best rough as guts Russell Crowe impersonation. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't…..I was suddenly feeling lucky.

"yeah….I dunno….ur alright actually…..are you like…like a bear?". I smirked. I always get that question….particularly from the dopey ones. Years ago I used to hate it because I really didn't want to be known as a bear but these days I've succumbed to the fact that I fall into that category…….and if it scores me the odd Brendan Fraser lookalike here and there ….why not.

" I dunno….there's a rumour going around….word on the street….I better check with my publicist." I thought I'd try some sarcasm and see how it went.

His hazey blue eyes just hung in the air looking straightforward into mine. No reaction at all……I saw my flock of sarcasm fly straight over his Robert Redford brow…….not a brain cell in sight. He was dim as Britney. I was in love.

Next thing we were snogging in the cab rank surrounded by fags and their hags, lesbians and their dogs, and drag queens and their make up kits. It was as romantic as chips and gravy. I took him home and did what desperate pissed gay men do. It was fantastic.

Normally I don't do one night stands, not because I am not a tart (I definitely am) but because I can't stand strangers in my house and what to do with them the next morning…..even worse when it's a school night. So Monday morning I was finding myself in a very rare situation…..complete (ok hot) stranger in my bed faced with the prospect of work and getting said stranger out of my house…..even if he was most pleasant to look at. He was from western Sydney but worked at Mascot. He was supposed to be staying with a friend at Newtown and his car was there. I'd left my car at Newtown due to my intoxicated state. I'd originally proposed catching a cab to Newtown but I knew the traffic would be a nightmare and I didn't want to spend 40 bucks on a cab .

After finally unentangling myself from Mr Dopey……it is very difficult to pull yourself away from tall men (who are continually demanding more sex)…..they are all limbs…..it was like fighting a giant octopus. Anyway once I got myself dressed, I looked around to find my taxi rank lover dressed in his kit from the previous night……he looked like he was about to lead the Mardi Gras into oxford street. There was no way I was catching a train on the Bankstown line with him dressed like Esta Williams. We'd be bashed. Not thinking, I gave him a pair of old billabongs and a karkee lacost polo…..one of my favourites……..I remember thinking to myself……..don't give that to him….you will never see it again…..famous last words.

He slumped on my couch like a big cat and looked up to me and said, "I'd really like to see you again…..you're a nice guy." Minus beer goggles in the harsh morning sobriety, it is always a relief to discover that one's pursuits from the night before were indeed (in the purely physical sense), worth pursuing. He really was quite a good looking boy.

I smiled. "Yes I'd like that." I did and I didn't of course. He was sweet and certainly not harsh on the eye but I could tell that he had not a scerrick of sarcasm or sense of humour in his bones and for me that is a minimum requirement in a suitor; well a similar sense of humour and sarcasm. Everyone has a sense of humour peculiar to themselves (ok there are some who clearly have none...I think they all work for Customs). As I've gotten older that's what appeals to me most in a guy.....someone with a similar sense of humour to mine. Someone who will laugh at me, with me and vice versa and not take themselves too seriously. I guess I am just a big kid looking for that other special big kid. I just haven't met him yet. So when it came to Mr Dopey, I wasn't going to be pulling out the wedding invites, but I certainly wouldn't say no to an encore shag.

We gathered our things, had one last pash (I grant the fact that the guy could certainly kiss: tall boys can always kiss for some reason…must be the thin air) and then headed for the train.

Later that Monday night, I got a nice text message from him : " Thanks for an enjoyable night, ur a nice guy, looking forward to seeing you again soon. Dxxx" This is where things started to go a little pear shape for me. Up until that message, I was quite happy to think of him as a good time and a bit of an ego boost…..he was a spunk and it had been a while since I'd picked up a spunk. It was sex and that was it. At first I wasn't going to reply to the message….I thought I'd leave it til later in the week….perhaps another shag and he could bring that lacost polo back. I read the message again. I thought to myself, actually, be nice to him, he seems sweet, make a bit of an effort….send a message now. So I texted…..

"Hey [Mr Dopey]! How was your day? Thanks for a great time mate. You're a sweet sexy guy. I was so tired today at work but in a good way. I definitely want to see you again "

Sent text. I never heard from him for the rest of the week. This of course caused me to re-read and re-read the sent text. I shouldn't have sent that text. It was too full on. Why did I draft and send that text when I was so tired? I was deliriously slumped on the couch when I sent it having had only an hour or so sleep the night before. No one can draft a cool snappy witty text in under four lines in such a state. No wonder it sounded like a Valentines declaration of love from the desperate and lonely. Oh no…….I was Mr Cool up until my reply…..he was the one who texted me! These thoughts went over and over in my head. AGHHHH!

See how texting has ruined dating. In the old days, I would have called him say the following weekend….asked how his week has been…..see if he wants to catch up….and when can I pick up that shirt. Bla Bla. Now it is a constant re-examination of text messages and their various re-interpreted meanings which drives you into some inadequate morphed state of desperation where you become quite convinced that you are indeed completely nuts. I still am.

"Don't worry about it. He's probably just busy. You said he was having trouble at work…he's probably caught up in that." Judy loves dishing out advice…..particularly to me. Mainly because I dish it out to her. We're like twin sisters….we know exactly what each other's thinking and she knew exactly that was not what I wanted to hear. But it was true…he talked about hating his job.

" I don't care. If I liked someone, I would reply to how was your day." Am I 15 years old with braids?

"I know you would. But he isn't you." Thanks Judy.

"Well why did he bother texting in the first place?" Actually make that ten years old.

"I can't answer that. You know I can't answer that. You don't know what is going on his life." Thanks Judy again.

"I don't care. I just want my shirt back." Hello denial.

"No you don't. You don't give a rat's arse about that shirt." We are twin sisters.

"Shut up." Enough said.

Judy suggested that I should send a dirty care-free text message late Friday night along the lines of hey when are we up for a hookup. That is so not me but I thought I should follow Judy's advice to the word simply because really, I had no one else's. So I sent a so-called dirty care-free text message…..Hey Spunk, how's ya week….when are we hooking up?. Sent 4am Saturday morning after being out on the town with Judy; surprisingly I was quite sober….not drunk or tired. I wasn't expecting a reply straight away obviously. But by about lunch time the next day I kinda was. By 2pm most definitely and by 4pm I was furious. More furious with myself that I'd actually got myself wipped into a frenzy over someone that originally I could have taken or left. It was purely pride at stake here……I'd sent two ridiculous text messages and got nothing in return…….he was the cool cat and I was Bridget Jones and I still didn't have my shirt back……..which yes Judy may not be as high on my priorities as I make out to be but it is still a nice shirt and its only polite to return it…..it is!

At 10pm, my phone buzzes, text message from Mr Dopey:

Hi mate how are you? I just arrived home from Picton : my stepmother's birthday. How are you?

I reply:

Not bad mate. Hope my text last night didn't wake you (Obviously it didn't). Am having a quiet night in for a change. How was Picton?( did I really ask how Picton was? Oh yes I did)

His reply:

It was good we went to this nice restaurant. I am about to go to bed very soon

I reply:

No probs man. Sleep tight. Talk soon (whatever)

Well at least he had replied….eventually….I had a little bit of pride restored. I continued to potter around the house working on this novel (which is all wrong) and chain smoking (which is also all wrong).

By about 2.45am, I'm gathering my shit and getting read for bed. 3am…..my phone starts ringing….I fully expect it to be Judy or Trev screaming at me to come out. I look at the number………..my my …..it's Mr Dopey.

Me: Hey
Mr D: Heyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy…….what are you doing…… (I could smell the vodka coming down the phone)

Me : well it being 3 am….am either usually dancing or sleeping……you've got me on an off night….am standing.

Mr D : oh (he seemed surprised by this response)

Me : What are you doing (I hesitantly enquired)

He was beyond drunk. It was like talking to Jodie Foster in the movie Nell….remember the one about a mute woman who had grown up in the woods and developed her own language. Did that make me Liam Leeson (Foster's co-star) in this scenario? I'm not tall enough. All I know is that in the time between 11pm and 3 am, Mr Dopey had managed (he told me and after hearing him speak, I believed him) to consume an entire bottle of vodka. Great….. a reclusive alcoholic.

Being the trooper I am (read: desperate), I managed to talk to him for another two hours. In that time (through a lot of stops and what did you just say?) I discovered the following:

1. Was about to be married at 22 (he's 33 now): he told his wife to be that he was gay on the day of the wedding: well he does seem to take his time to get messages through….look at his text messages.
2. He still lives in the house that him and his fiancé bought; his father bought it for him: at least he owns a house.
3. His brother tried to run him over in his car two weeks ago: why's that I asked? He hates my guts he responded. I can see that, I said, but is there anything else….I can't stand my neighbour but I haven't got her Spanish rollers stuck under my corolla yet….no response….he repeated the story about 4 times.
4. His parents split when he was 16: ok run of the mill.
5. His mother left his father for another woman: ok moving into Oprah territory.
6. His mother now weighs 140 kilos as does her partner: ok Jerry Springer now.
7. On one hand he's said he's only had two boyfriends and then he said he's had lots in the last year because "like I'm pretty hot". Oh my god was I talking to Paris Hilton? I was worried that Paris Hilton hadn't text me? This is so embarrassing.
8. Mr Dopey: "I like you man. There's a reason why I met you. I know there is." Oh my god…..how did I get myself here?
9. Me: "Why did you come up to me?" I actually was interested to know this……
10. Mr Dopey: "Well I needed somewhere to stay…."
11. OH MY GOD
12. Me: "Oh thanks…."
13. Mr Dopey: "Nooooooo man….I'm only joking….." Maybe….although he isn't funny enough to make it a joke. Great. I picked up a homeless person who I then text-stalked for a week. Can someone just exterminate me? Thanks
14. He wants to come over Tuesday night. Of course.
15. Tuesday night locked in. Don't ask.


The next day, I had five million things to do with Mardi Gras float orientation day and float rehearsals as well as picking up my cheap Mardi Gras party ticket…..got off a friend of Judy's for 100 bucks…instead of 150…..since it sold out, there are now tickets on ebay for $1500…..outrageous!

After putting down the phone on Mr Dopey, it was about 5.30 am. I was back up at 8am. I was delirious. 10Am. Mr Dopey calls again. It seems to be all or nothing with this one.

Mr D: Come over
Me: I can't
Mr D: Why not

(he'd already asked me this about 50 times the night before….me always saying, I can't …telling the whole Mardi gras story…over and over and over and over again)

Me : You know why
Mr D: Yeah…u can't cancel
Me : I can't cancel my own float.
Mr D: Ah yeah that's right….yeah can I go on the float?
Me: Ummmmm.....welll we may need some extra numbers….I will let you know
Mr D: And I need a ticket to the party…try and get me a ticket to the party….like it's sold out.

Oh my god he's telling me what to do already.

Me: Ok I will look out for one for you.... I've got to go
Mr D: Ok….so we're on for Tuesday night (Christ he remembers…he's a drunk with a memory…they're the worst of all): I've got uni first then I will come over.
Me : yes sounds good…I will text you my address. We'll speak before then. (I'll believe it when I see it. )

I end the conversation and tell him I will call him later that night.

He texted me during the day saying he's with friends and he will call me later. Ok cool….I didn't really need an update.

The whole Mardi gras day and night followed: I get home. I am absolutely rooted. I sent him a text to that affect. I went to bed. I didn't hear from him Monday.

Tuesday morning: I think…… perhaps I should text him and ask him if tonight is still on? Yes I know….am I mad? If you haven't worked it out by now……..yes I am…completely. Text: "So Mr Smith...are we still on for tonight?"

And do you think he responded or called? Na. I'm not surprised but slightly relieved yet confused all at the same time. Why bother interacting in the first place.

I still want my shirt back. It is one of my favourites. It is Judy. So I texted this morning:

Hi D. Didn't hear from you yesterday. No dramas but I would like that shirt back. You're welcome to post it. Let me know and I will send you my address.

Any response? Na

Do u think I will get my shirt back? Na

Do you think I care? Shut up Judy

C

Waiting for Britney....

I am so exhausted. The gay silly season in Sydney is upon us in full swing. There is hotpant and disco in the air everywhere you turn……yes for those of you who live in a cave, the first weekend in March for the last 30 years, Sydney's Oxford street has been transformed into the Gay & Lesbian Mardi Gras….and as mentioned in my previous entries, a mate and myself are entering a float.

It all started over "u know what we should really do" conversation over our venna schnitzel and salad one Tuesday night at the Court House Hotel Bistro (they italicize because they can). I said to Trev that considering it was the 30th Anniversary of Mardi Gras "we should do something!". I dunno….a horse tail platted quilt? From there we went from headlines to Britney to hummers to limousines to paparazzi to a cast of 30 people…….to the Gimme Gimme Britney Float: a tribute (I use the term very loosely) to the car crash that is Britney Spears.

Basically we have 9 (there maybe 20 by the time we get to the parade) incarnations of Britney Spears

School Girl Britney (played by Trev….of course)
Toxic Air Hostess Britney
Wedding Dress Britney
Oops Britney (in the red cat suit)
Straight Jacket Britney (no explanation needed there)
Pink Wig 711 Trash Britney (played in all short denim skirt glory by myself)
MTV Losing the Plot Britney (the disastrous MTV performance from last year
Bald Basher Britney with Brolly
Track Suit Britney with Baby

Are you exhausted yet?

Surrounded by those 9 Britneys are 20 paparazzi hounding her every move. It all sounds pretty simple but the closer we get to the actual event (this Saturday night at 7.45pm) the more and more logistics there seem to be. There's choreography (Mike Walsh meets Kerri Anne), there's characterization (the stanislavski method), there are hummers, there are limos, there are utes, there are lights, there are sound systems and the biggest headache of all ….there are 30 queens.

On Saturday Trev and I went costume shopping. I got mine sorted out rather quickly. Short beyond belief denim skirt with pink wig and camel cowboy boots and FO fake CC sunglasses. I found myself in the K Mart Plus Size women's section trying to measure up white slapper strapless tops. Me with a beard in bonds singlet and footy shorts trying on women's clothing…..what has happened to my life? I settled on the size 18.

We attended the Mardi Gras float orientation day on Sunday where representatives from each of the 150 floats were required to attend to collect registration papers and instructions for the actual night of the parade. There are ten thousand people in the parade this year…..INSANE! Back to back, the floats stretch for 4 and a half kilometers. It is by far the biggest street parade in the world (I thought Rio Carnivale was but apparently it's not held in a street!). Gimme Gimme Britney is located in block J of the parade, which is the third block from the end. This is good for us because the biggest floats this year are towards the end of the parade….and we need all the help we can get.

I have to say I was very impressed with the organization and the work of the Sydney Gay & Lesbian Mardi Gras……everyone in the organization has volunteered their time and the work involved is on a massive scale. The Mardi Gras Festival and Parade brings an estimated $100 million to the NSW economy in February and as Marcus Bourget, the chairman of Mardi Gras, stated on Sunday, the NSW Government (or the Federal Government for that matter) donates absolutely nothing to the Mardi Gras. Considering the Sydney Festival was given $1.1 million this year from state government coffers (not to mention the Catholic Youth Mass to be held in August receiving a wopping $40 million), Mardi Gras's lack of state funding is shameful. Something tells me though, while NSW has a Catholic Italian premier in power, nothing much is going to change.

So following our float rec day, everyone involved in the float gathered at Trev's place (30 queens in a small space ….don't ask…) in Darlington to rehearse what we will be actually doing in the parade. The float (which it isn't really….it is 30 people following a ute….anyhoo) will be set to the soundtrack of Britney's Gimme Gimme More. The Britney's when they are not being their designated character, will be doing a little bit of a catwalk shuffle so to speak. Thankfully Gimme Gimme More is basically a march; so Trev's catwalk choreography fits perfectly and (thank god for me) quite simple. The more beer we drank, the more extravagant the dance moves became. While we are doing all these dance moves, we are of course being hounded by the paparazzi who also seemed to become more aggressive the more we drank. It all looked pretty darn good but then again we were all pretty darn drunk by the end of it….so we probably looked like Brown's Cows.

I also had to break the dreadful news that we were going to have to let the stretch Chrysler go. Our idea originally involved the Britneys being draped over a stretch hummer. Our failure to locate a stretch hummer for free turned into borrowing a friend's Hummer (obviously not one of my friends) into Dr Paul (trev's partner) convincing Star Limos to lend us a new stretch Chrysler for the night. That was all very exciting and glam until we realized that we still had no where to put the sound system and generator (to power said sound system). It was first decided that we would simply get a trolley for the sound system and someone could push it. I looked at oxford street Saturday afternoon……….oxford street is pretty much a hill; whoever pushed this trolley with the sound system would be calling an ambulance by the time they reached Taylor Square (half way point). It would be too much to expect one person to push a sound system all the way to the end of the parade. …..although they would be looking rather toned by the time they got there just in time for the party…..pity they would also be dead. So the limo has to go; we are only allowed one vehicle for Mardi Gras and we need the sound system more than we need the limo. This was met with gasps from many of the Britneys but as I put to them, it was either do a dance music-less Marcel Marceau style around a long shiney vehicle or doing a dance to some hot sexy music and getting the crowd right into it. They agreed……so bye bye stretch Chrysler. Hello black 4wd truck ………which I think is just as sexy.

Every day this week has been endless emails, phone calls, text messages about costumes, wigs, strobe lights, sound systems, tarpaulins, meetings, rehearsals, handbags, people dropping out, people dropping in, make up artists dropping out then dropping back in……….why are human beings so raddy indecisive??????? Am sure there is a foxtel reality show in this somewhere.

No more Mardi Gras float talk………will provide review after the car crash on Saturday. Happy Mardi Gras everyone!

Procrastinate Now.....Don't Put It Off

I've been a tad slackarse the last couple of weeks.

Been busy procrastinating, preparing Gimme Gimme Britney Float (the parade is this week and wedding Britney just pulled out)….and procrastinating….. and where can I buy a cheap strobe light???

Ok Oscars……

Fashions First:

Jennifer Hudson: Oh Lordy. Advice from one big girl to the next………white curtains are not slimming.

Cate Blanchett: she looked like she'd had an argument with a satin pillow case;….but she is 7 mths pregnant so I will forgive her. And what a speaking voice……I hope she does another Elizabeth film in ten years and makes sure that they don't get the script editor from Bold and the Beautiful to write the film like they did this time.

Nicole Kidman: how glacial is that woman? Even when she tries to be warm, crystals form under her nose. Maybe it's the botox. Still, her outfit got better with the night; at first glance on the red carpet, I thought she had run into a bunch of cobwebs and then I realised it was her necklace. Do you think her and Keith share the same wig maker?

Renee Zillwegger: will someone throw a bowl of pasta at the woman? EAT!!! I love Renee; she seems like a sweetheart and she's a great actress but seriously, she looked like a piece of cutlery on the red carpet: I couldn't work out where the material finished and the skin began.

Anne Hathaway: stunning frock but she looks like a horse.

Diablo Cody (wrote Juno): The writer of my favourite film. Everyone hated her outfit but I loved it. Leopard meets Toga. Loved her speech as well………..what a talented girl. I hate her.

Cameron Diaz: She'd make a flour bag look a million bucks and considering that's what she wore, it worked! I think she dumped the surf board behind the Kodak just a few minutes before the show, wacked on the frock, tussled the hair and presto! Don't you love good genes???

Hilary Swank: Looked very elegant but still she looks like a horse as well……if they ever do a bio pic on Princess Anne…..

Julie Christie: Washing up gloves? You're wearing washing up gloves? What? Get out. No wonder she didn't win the oscar….they saw her arrive and swapped winners.


Rebecca Miller (Daniel Day(are two earrings back in?)Lewis's wife): She looked like she'd been gift wrapped. What was with the ribbons and bows?

Tilda Swinton: Yes she wore a garbage bag but I think she's fabulous. I hope I can look that young at 47.


Show Last

Ho hum. Can they please bring back Whoopi? She's the only who can do the Oscars ……who is still alive………otherwise…Bob Hope (Great excerpt showing Bob Hope explaining how the nominations are collated …as I best can recall "Mr Cooper brings the nominations to the secretary, the secretary types up the nominations, the nominations are then packaged and taken to the theatre and the secretary is taken outside and shot"….LOL!…CLASSIC!)

I loved Jon Stewart's remarks about the acting capabilities of Cate Blanchett "She so's good she played the pitbull terrier in No Country for Old Men…..and in fact Cate Blanchett is playing me right now…….this woman won't be stopped." Hilarious!

Apart from that the only other thing I enjoyed was eating my ever-increasing body weight in cheese, crackers, chips and dip whilst watching the show; a perfect Oscar night in.

A Valentine's Lament

.....oh look I've written a pome!

Where are my flowers
Where are my candles
I was expecting you draped over a barrel
Where are my violins
Where are my chocolates
Don't forget I don't like mint

You should be here by now
Tanned and square jawed smiling
Buttocks buffed and teeth set shining
Cufflinked and ready for dining
A Tom Ford brood with a Clooney smirk
A Selleck chest with a Gibson butt.

You should be here by now
I must contact my doorman
I ordered you back in 94
From that catalogue entitled More
You were set in a terry toweller
Holding an ab buster between your thighs
Free with you if I used my visa
Quickly within the hour

You should be here by now
Available in white black or coffee
I like a blend who doesn't ?
I simply ordered the latter
You were perfect for the drapes
My soft furnishings and lamps
You were programmed to be polite
Dirty and not too camp.

You should be here by now
I'm all dressed up
Resisting the nowhere to go
The dinner is ruined
Not to mention my hair
Should I cancel the butler?
The stripper and the laird?
I'm absolutely furious
Although hardly surprised

I've placed orders for you before
Last week
Last month
Last year
Last century
And still there is no knock at the door

No Sweet Valentines at the bus stop
No underwear in the bathroom
No I love you's on the phone
No arguments at dinner
No morning glories at home
No night time waltzes

No snuggles at midnight
No spooning at 4
No breakfasts in bed
No afternoon papers
No bottles of wine and you
No you at all

You should be here by now
But I guess you're not coming
What a damned bl**dy pity
I loved you so very much
You fitted in marvellously
And I still hope you will get in touch


C

GIMME GIMME BRITNEY

Britney’s back. Do you think she’ll wash her hair this time? Lets hope.

Now to my hideous day at work yesterday; honestly after fighting all day in court I felt a lot like Britney in the adjacent pic except that I would never wear a hat after 5 nor present my pooch to the press wearing my discarded pantihose . I rarely talk about my job mainly because there is nothing much to talk about. It’s a “nice cup of tea and biscuit” public service lawyer job with pleasant people and pleasant carpet. If my job were a colour it would be beige….and if it were a clothing item….it would be a sensible beige blouse surrounded by beige soft furnishings with suitable beige sunsets. All of this beige of course adds up to it being dreadfully dull. That was my choice: I simply don’t have the brains or the care to be a highflying corporate lawyer, a hysterical trial attorney or a twisted litigator. I want a life where work can start at 9 and finish at 5 and I don’t have to allocate billable units to bowel movements As a result I am on half the salary than that of my law school mates and drive a car that has a cassette player. All good; I can cope with that. However the dullness every so often becomes a little too much to bare and I start disappearing amongst all the beige. But a day like yesterday comes along to wake you up from your dead letter office and remind you how much you don't miss anything exciting happening.

I work for a federal government agency as a prosecutor where my matters are simple strict liability summary prosecutions in the State Local Court. Most of the people I prosecute rarely appear for their court hearing; as a result, they are convicted in their absence. For my matters to proceed to convictions in the defendants’ absence, I have to show to the court that these defendants have been served with the Court Attendance Notices (CANS). Since the matters I prosecute are simple summary matters, defendants can be served with these CANs by way of post. I prove to the court that these CANs have been posted by producing affidavits of service affirmed by my secretary ….who actually does the posting Generally such an affidavit of service has satisfied the sitting magistrate that the CANs have been served……until yesterday.

Magistrate Lady Marmalade (this of course is not her real name) decided to throw the 200 prosecutions I had on the list into limbo when she questioned the validity of my affidavits of service. We had the following conversation:

Magistrate Lady Marmalade :
Mr C I have concerns about the validity of this affidavit of service?

John C (thinking fuck)
Yes Your Honour. What concerns do you have?

Magistrate Lady Marmalade
I have no idea how the Court Attendance Notice has reached this particular defendant.


John C (what? Fuck?)
Your Honour as the affidavit states my secretary, Ms *****, posted the Court Attendance Notice to the defendant.

Magistrate Lady Marmalade

Yes I can see that Mr C but it is not stated how the Court Attendance Notice was posted? Regulation 37 of the Local Court Rules states that their must be a description of how the Court Attendance Notice is posted.

John C (you’ve got to be fucking joking)

Your Honour I can inform you that postal process involves Ms ***** placing the Court Attendance Notice in an envelope, addressing that envelope with the defendant’s address and posting the said document.

Magistrate Lady Marmalade

Who does the posting? Where does it go from there?

John C (am I seriously having this conversation?)

My understanding Your Honour is that the mail is collected from my secretary, taken to the mail room and then delivered to Australia Post to distribute to the defendant.

Magistrate Lady Marmalade

That’s all very well Mr C but that is not stated in your secretary’s affidavit.

John C (is this really happening?)

Yes Your Honour I can see that but I would submit that the word “post” would infer a postal process that is known to the general community…that is….placing the said documents in the envelope, addressing the envelope and then employing Australia Post to distribute the said documents in the said envelope.

Magistrate Lady Marmalade

Mr C that may be case but such a process is not stipulated in your secretary’s affidavit as required by Rule 37.

John C (clasping at straws: give me a break lady)

Your Honour this affidavit is drafted from a pro-forma document sent to our office from your court registrar. Our office has been using the same affidavit pro-forma for the last seven years. There has never been any objection to that by Your Honour or any of your brother magistrates before.

Magistrate Lady Marmalade

Well Mr C I am objecting to it now. I will break for morning tea adjournment and deal with the matters where service has been acknowledged by the defendant.

John C (double triple fuck….acknowledged service?….the defendants would be here if they’d done that; oh no I wanted to be out of here by lunch)

It was a complete disaster and there was no scotch or disco lights involved. I wish there had been. I had 200 matters which were to proceed in the defendants’ absence which Lady Marmalade the Magistrate was now refusing to proceed with, due to the fact that she didn’t know how to post a postcard. It wasn’t the end of the world: I could simply adjourn the 200 matters to the next court date in a month and re-do the affidavits of service; however that was forgoing 100K worth of potential fines for the month of February which I would prefer not to…..it makes me look hopeless and incompetent and as much as don’t give a flying fang, I like to keep up appearances. Lady Marmalade came back from her lunch time adjournment:


Magistrate Lady Marmalade:

Yes Mr C

John C(I can’t believe I am asking for this)
:
Yes Your Honour. I am prepared to enter the witness box and give sworn evidence as to the postal procedures employed to serve the Court Attendance Notices on the said defendants. I would submit that such evidence would then satisfy the court that the Court Attendance Notices have been appropriately served.

Lady Marmalade allowed me to do this. I then jumped in the witness box, swore to tell the truth and nothing but the truth and then told Lady Marmalade the postal procedures of my employer. I have a degree in laws, a degree in business and almost completed my masters degree and here I am telling a woman dressed in a black robe (two sizes too big) with Marge Simpson hair how to post a letter. No wonder I drink. She accepted my evidence; however she made me repeat my evidence for each matter....effectively 100 times for 100 defendants. It was like being stuck in Ground Hog Day on crack. She convicted all my absent defendants giving me a record haul of fines. In the end I wish she had convicted me and given me the maximum sentence of 12 mths imprisonment. Although she probably wouldn't have accepted my service of my Court Attendance Notice on myself and adjourned the matter.

Now back to Britney. Is she dead yet? No but to more important news my float proposal to Sydney Gay & Lesbian Mardi Gras has been approved! YAY! Yes with tick of a form and the payment of a 100 bucks Cindii and I have our very own Mardi Gras Float…………to be called…..The Gimme Gimme Britney Float…..a celebration of the walking car crash that is Britney Spears. Now we have the six incarnations of Britney organised; we’ve even got a Hummer for the parade…..just not quite sure what we’re doing with it. All we need now is Paparazzi to chase Britney…..so any of the three or four of you who read this know of anyone or you want to participate yourself, please let me know as we need to lock in numbers.

Here's to you Brits….

C

Sorry

Today is a significant turning point for Australia. I hope. At 9am this morning Prime Minister Kevin Rudd made a formal apology on behalf of the Australian Parliament to the Aboriginal People for the Stolen Generations. This apology has been 11 years in the making, following the Bringing Them Home Report being tabled in the Australian Parliament in 1997. The report followed an inquiry by the Human Rights and Equal Opportunity Commission and described the systemic removal of aboriginal children from their families throughout most of the 20th Century to the later 70s: The Stolen Generations. It was recommended in the report that as part of the reconciliation process, a formal apology should be offered by the parliaments of Australia to the aboriginal people for the Stolen Generations. All the state parliaments of Australia took part in this process. Today was the Commonwealth Parliament's turn......albeit slightly late.

I can understand that many people both indigenous and non-indigenous see such an apology as a hollow one due to the absolute woeful conditions most Aboriginal people find themselves in today. Aboriginal babies only have a one in three chance of living past the age of 65. This is shameful in a country where the average age of mortality rate for men is 79 and for women is 81. How is an apology going to change that many ask. I can understand why many non-indigenous Australians object to apologising for what many see as the well-intentioned mistakes of previous generations. I was one of those non-indigenous Australians ten years ago when the report was first tabled in parliament. Why should I apologise for somebody else's mistake? And what about all the non-indigenous Australians who were stolen from their families as well? Are we to apologise to them as well? Where is the line drawn?

Time and work experience has changed my attitude. For three years I worked as a lawyer for the Sydney Aboriginal Legal Service. I saw how aboriginal people in this country live. I saw how it is nearly impossible for an Aboriginal person to walk down any street of any town or city in this country without the fear of being questioned by Police simply because of their colour and background. I saw how aboriginal people find it almost impossible to catch a cab because no one will pick them up. I saw the entrenched inter-generational dread in my clients' eyes when I advised that DoCS (child welfare) wished to do a "home visit". There was not one Aboriginal client I dealt with who did not have family member who was a member of the Stolen Generation. And yes I saw the alcoholism, the welfare addiction, the domestic violence, the drug addiction and the child abuse; problems that exist in non-indigenous communities as well, not just aboriginal ones. They are more acute in indigenous communities due to the mistrust that many aboriginal people have for government authorities such as the police and child protection authorities. This fear is entrenched because of the past actions of government policies such as ones that instigated the Stolen Generations. Most child abuse and domestic violence is not reported in Aboriginal Communities because of this grave mistrust of White Australia. And who would blame them? Our ancestors invaded their lands, took away their rights, for a great deal of time considered them to be sub-human and then systemically removed all their children. Wouldn't you feel a bit strange about reporting abuse in your community to a ruling authority who had committed so many atrocities on your people in the past? I know I would. And that is why an apology by the Australian Parliament must be made. It is the beginning of the road to a unified Australia; a place where one day hopefully the non-indigenous and indigenous peoples of this nation can be one people.

Now lets see if the action of this government backs its words. Lets hope for future generations of all Australians it does.

C

The apology in full as read by PM Kevin Rudd in the Australian Parliament today:
Today we honour the Indigenous peoples of this land, the oldest continuing cultures in human history. We reflect on their past mistreatment. We reflect in particular on the mistreatment of those who were stolen generations - this blemished chapter in our nation's history.The time has now come for the nation to turn a new page in Australia's history by righting the wrongs of the past and so moving forward with confidence to the future.We apologise for the laws and policies of successive Parliaments and governments that have inflicted profound grief, suffering and loss on these our fellow Australians.We apologise especially for the removal of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander children from their families, their communities and their country. For the pain, suffering and hurt of these stolen generations, their descendants and for their families left behind, we say sorry.To the mothers and the fathers, the brothers and the sisters, for the breaking up of families and communities, we say sorry. And for the indignity and degradation thus inflicted on a proud people and a proud culture, we say sorry. We the Parliament of Australia respectfully request that this apology be received in the spirit in which it is offered as part of the healing of the nation. For the future we take heart; resolving that this new page in the history of our great continent can now be written. We today take this first step by acknowledging the past and laying claim to a future that embraces all Australians. A future where this Parliament resolves that the injustices of the past must never, never happen again. A future where we harness the determination of all Australians, Indigenous and non-Indigenous, to close the gap that lies between us in life expectancy, educational achievement and economic opportunity. A future where we embrace the possibility of new solutions to enduring problems where old approaches have failed. A future based on mutual respect, mutual resolve and mutual responsibility. A future where all Australians, whatever their origins, are truly equal partners, with equal opportunities and with an equal stake in shaping the next chapter in the history of this great country, Australia.

PS : Kevin Rudd looks like Mr Sheen (the cleaning product cartoon). Sorry I had to say it.

A Tennessee State of Mind

It is a Tennessee Williams kinder night tonight. You know the ones where the moisture hangs in the air like wet cotton wool and there is a storm rumbling in the distance not sure whether it’s going to visit or not. And you wander around your apartment chain smoking, sipping scotch and clutching your pearls asking your imaginary maid to close the blinds and draw a bath. If only I had some scotch, some cigarettes (haven’t inhaled in 5 days) or an imaginary maid; I reported her to immigration some time ago…she’s been on the run ever since.

So here I am, stuck in my Tennessee menagerie waiting for something to happen. My parents arrived down from Brisbane Friday night and they brought the monsoons (along with ten pieces of luggage) with them. It has not stopped raining in Sydney since. They are out in the Tennessee storm tonight catching up with friends for some noice choinese in Casula; a suburb I’ve read about somewhere between the M5 and Perth. I have tonsillitis. I love it. I haven’t partied or drunk in two weeks and nor has a billow of nicotine passed thy lips in this time and I now have tonsillitis. No wonder I relapse.

My parents are down for ten days. Such annual visits are akin to somewhere between an episode of Survivor and George & Mildred. Four adults in a two bedroom flat wacks the allenging back into challenging. I’ve been in Sydney since 2001 (my brother; 2002) and since then, my parents have made their annual ten day visit; it always falls around mum’s birthday on the 7th….which is tomorrow. And as I get older, I’m still continually amazed at how easily I fall into the psyche of that a 15 year old when they are around. It’s like I am back at school waiting for my lunch to be made so I can catch the bus. I’m 33; I really thought I’d be getting over that teenage angst by now. Maybe it’s guilt or denial ….probably both.

Still; it is nice to have them down; home cooked meals every day, the fridge full and everything an “other worldly” clean. It makes me realise how much I miss them and how guilty I feel that my brother and I are so far away. When you only see your parents a few times a year, you notice abruptly how much older they are becoming. I guess it reminds you that time with them isn’t forever. Good god how depressing is this ….am I Charles Dickens? Scotch please.

Britney has been committed: finally. Maybe I should join her.

My friend Kevin had a birthday party for his partner Jason on the Monday of the Australia Day long weekend. It was Kevin’s first soiree since he purchased his flat and he had Martha Stewarted himself into bbq perfection. Perfect salads, perfect crackers, perfect tongs …..perfect company. It was wall to wall gay couples all of whom I know but never actually see due to their coupled predicament. I felt like the gay (slightly plumper) version of Carrie Bradshaw.

Happy Gay Couple (they always talk in unison: like American tourists): So John no one special?

John (looking for more wine): Oh no….happily single (no matter what you say here regardless of whether you’re happy about being single or distraught, you sound deranged, desperate and/or delusional.)

Happy Gay Couple (still in unison): really? u don’t want to meet someone nice?

John (skulling wine): Ha ha…well who wouldn’t (desperate) but not out there overly looking (delusional)

Happy Gay Couple (more unison…is there a chord between their heads?): Well you’ve always been the wild one. (great: they think I’m an alcoholic)

The Happy Gay Couple will then go on to try and match-make you with someone who holds about as much attraction to you as Ralph Harris. All this talk of course makes you think that you should be out there pursuing every lingering stare or lazy eye……otherwise something must be wrong with you. I couldn’t be bothered. I did that in my 20s and am happy to leave that experience to that absolutely dysfunctional decade of my life where I fell in love with a pot-plant if it looked at me sideways.

Having said that if someone with the looks of Orson Welles (the young version thanks), the wit of Richard E. Grant and the charm of George Clooney came up to me and asked me out to dinner…..well a thoroughly modern homosexual isn’t going to say no is he?

C