Think I'm in love....

 Love, in the middle of the afternoon / just me, my spike, my arm and my spoon / feel the warmth of the sun in the room / but I don't care 'bout you / and I got nothin'....





Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Vignette #212 – the beginning of an affair

Image
  About 18 months after my first child was born, I found myself at an IT journalists' awards night, the sort of self-congratulatory event I generally hated because I’d long before reached the conclusion that most journos were self-important bores whose conversational repertoire only extended as far as how great they were, and their latest scoop.   So why was I there? I was a senior editor on a national paper -  I think we were up for some gongs and so it would’ve been bad optics not to attend. Besides, despite loathing the company of most journos, there were some old colleagues I liked, and it was a good opportunity to catch up. And unlike most journos, I generally found the PR folks in attendance to be good value, with a much richer world view and more interesting ways of looking at things than many of those on the other side of the fence. The drinks were also free: it would take a brave person to stand between a hack and complimentary booze.    After the cerem...
Read more

Immortality is in our hearts and minds

Image
  It was that liminal moment when one class has finished but you’ve yet to make your way to the next period. She walked out onto the veranda of the demountable building school had installed while the permanent classrooms at the ‘new school’ were being built and told me to wait a ‘sec.   I had probably lingered longer outside class than was strictly necessary. Next period was maths and both the subject and teacher – Mrs Grindley, who oversaw enforcing uniform violations by doing things like getting the girls to kneel and then measuring the distance from the bottom hem of their skirts to the ground, and whose extremely hairy legs were visible through the sheer stockings she wore in winter – were not favourites.    English, on the other hand, was a favourite. I loved reading and I loved books. And our new year ten English teacher, Miss Cusack, was excellent. She made the books come to life, and I looked forward to her classes. It was 1988. The Bicentennial Year. I’d bee...
Read more

The whole of the moon

Image
  “Why are your legs shaking?” she asked.   “I’m cold,” I replied.    It was late in the evening, a clear night with a bright moon casting jagged shadows across the small courtyard at a mutual friend’s house where we sat facing each other, our legs entwined.   We were both 17, and had grown close, recognising in each other a kindred spirit and a mutual desire to escape from the straight-jacketed dogma and conformity of the Pentecostal school we unwillingly attended.   The Cure’s Kiss Me Kiss Me Kiss Me album played quietly on a boombox as we sat, content in each other’s company, smoking Dunhills and talking about the future. What would happen when we left school in a few months? What would our lives look like once we were finally liberated?   It wasn’t a boyfriend / girlfriend thing. We’d never held hands, let alone kissed. And the idea of sex? That just seemed like an alien concept. Our relationship wasn’t like that. I needed her and, I guess, she nee...
Read more