For the past couple of days, this has been on a loop in my mind: Well, at least it wasn't Dutton. Also, playing on a loop in my mind has been: I think he's nearly as bad.
Anyway, if past history is indicative of anything at all, ScoMo had best not wear too comfortable a butt-groove in the prime ministerial chair because he will end up getting metaphorically knifed in the back, and ousted.
Oh, and Malcolm Turnbull? That line you spun about government having achieved marriage equality under your leadership? Bullshit! The people voted, and they should not have had to even vote, but you just had to waste $122 million tax dollars, didn't you?
What's on my mind today: I'm exhausted. Like the pocket money of a greedy kid in a lolly shop, I am just totally spent. The reason for this is last night I attended a Rolling Stones tribute show in a nearby large town. I won a double pass, so Mr Bingells and I attended, along with a friend who purchased a ticket upon arrival. How was my evening? For the most part, it was feckin' awesome! If you've read my bio on this blog, you will be aware one of my top three favourite albums is Sticky Fingers, and the band did five tracks from it: Brown Sugar; Can't You Hear Me Knocking?; Bitch; Dead Flowers, and Wild Horses. 'Keith Richards' performed Happy in the less-than-dulcet tones of an adenoidal cat (like the real thing). 'Bill Wyman' looked more like Richard Clapton, and I don't know whom 'Charlie Watt's was meant to look like. Interestingly, I would not place any of the guys who played last night as over thirty years of age. I chatted with 'Mick' during interval, and he said modern music is 'crap'. Anyway, it is indeed gratifying to see the younger generation keeping the good music going.
I consumed copious amounts of vin blanc, and danced my boots off. I haven't danced in ages, and was undoubtedly busting a few mum moves out there on the dance floor. It was fun.
The phrase I mentioned before is 'for the most part'. So what went wrong with this evening? As I was bidding farewell to some other patrons with whom I had struck up a conversation earlier in the evening, some slimy globule of postulant knob-cheese felt me up. It was a sly grope to my genitals. Who the fuck does this to people? Why do some people feel entitled to do this to people? It's not welcome, and it's not wanted. In strident tones, I told the creep to keep his fucking hands to himself. He said, 'I didn't touch ya! Wanna smell me fingers?' Oh, yuck. Just...yuck. It really soured my evening, and if I see him there again, and I will attend the venue again because they've got some fun-sounding cover bands booked, I will tell all the women to be on the look out.
Finally, I just want to share a little something I wrote the other day, when I went to pick up my seventeen-year-old from soccer practice. I haven't been writing as much as I should, but I felt the inspiration hit me as I was driving to the soccer field. It was just my thoughts, but I was pleased I felt inspired to write them, because having been a bit despondent and very busy lately. Mondo Rock's Cool World came on the radio, and it immediately triggered a memory for me. I parked the car, picked up my pen, and wrote: Associations. Hearing 'Cool World' on the radio as I'm picking up my 17yo from soccer practice. I had the single. Laughed when I found it whilst cleaning out my dad's house. Reminds me of the bittersweet emotions. The laughter and camaraderie with my siblings. My sister going mad at my brother when she found her glow-in-the-dark figurine of the Virgin Mary (who looked like she'd been caught in nuclear fallout) because my brother had snapped the Virgin's arms off when they were kids. 'It's been fifty years. You've got to let it go,' I laughed at her. But there's a void with a dull ache. How I miss my dad.
And that's all for now, folks.
No comments:
Post a Comment