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October 12, 2005

Everyone loves a cheese and vegemite sandwich

I went to my friends’ house the other day, it’s one of those big old rambling houses by the beach that the owners are just waiting to run down with a bulldozer when the time is right. I call it the men’s refuge. There’s three hairy boys and three hairy dogs that live there. Next-door is a big block of land with overgrown grass that the boys use as a car cemetery. It’s one of those houses.
When I got there I saw a head pop up in one of the dead cars in the block next door. I know they can all be pretty feral, but I know for sure they would always make it to their beds at night, or at least the couch.
I wasn’t going to tattle or anything, but I just thought the boys should know that there was someone in their car. Even if it was a bomb and not going anywhere.
Matt, whose dog is the fat slobbery one called Stella, went out to the car.
Turns out there was a man and woman in the car. They said they’d slept there the night and were just hiding out until night fall.
Matt told them that it was cool with him, as long as they didn’t come inside.
I thought we should make them a cup of tea and something to eat.
Mark, whose dog is the dingo called Martu, wasn’t too keen on feeding and watering them.
“Cath.” He always calls me Cath even though I hate it and it makes me sound like a fat librarian. “Don’t encourage them, they’re like stray kittens. Next thing they’ll be wanting to come inside. They don’t need anything, they’re alright. Just leave them.”
I made them a cup of tea and a cheese and vegemite sandwich. Matt and I decided that cheese and vegemite was a criminal sort of sandwich.
Mark got angry because we used the last of the bread and he had to have fish fingers for lunch instead.
We took them out two cups of tea and two cheese and vegemite sandwiches wrapped in paper towels. The man was smoking a rolly in the front. He was doing a pretty good job of looking like he was on the run - he had a black beard and a black jumper and black jeans on. The lady was laying down in the back seat just sort of staring out the window. She looked new to being on the run - she just looked scared, and her jumper was white.
“Thought you might like something to eat. Hope cheese and vegemite is ok,” I said.
“Thanks,” said the man.
The lady, she just looked scared the whole time.
Even people on the run need a cup of tea and a cheese and vegemite sandwich sometimes.

Posted by catherine at 1:46 PM | Comments (0)

October 5, 2005

Some things I don't need to see

My blogging career seems to have died in the arse since I have returned home from Sri Lanks-a-lot. My only crack at a computer apart from when I subject myself to stiky-keyed internet cafes is when I am visiting my parents in Bunbury. But even after I travel the 200km divide between my temporary home in Perth and my temporary home in Bunbury, I still face another challenge in getting my mits near a computer and accessing the world wide web.

The computer at my parents house has found a home in my brother’s room. Looking around now after being granted permission to enter his sanctuary this is what I have to look at - crusty footy socks, piles of clean clothes tipping over and kissing the dirty floor and a sports-clothes-mixed-with-boozy-going-out-clothes fug in the air. What is really distracting me from writing anything of real substance though is the absolutely outrageous amount of Ralph and FHM magazines in this boy’s room.

Now, you know me, I’m a liberal minded kind of girl. I really don’t find girly magazines offensive in the slightest, I think they play their role in the modern day magazine world and hell, I’ve even got tits myself! I just don’t know why one boy (and my brother at that!) has to have quite so many and why they are on every single playing field in the bedroom. On the floor, on the unmade bed, curling up and out over open draws, why there is even one sitting on the desk by the computer as I type away. The young lass on the page that the magazine is open to is wearing overalls and a red g-string and is holding a power drill between her breasts. Actually, come to think of it, the power drill looks like the one we have out in the shed - a blue Black and Decker one, all worn and rusty….

I’m sure that’s what my brother was thinking when he was looking at that page too.

Posted by catherine at 8:51 PM | Comments (0)