Turning the Sod

Now, this is a surprise. Entering into the world of Blogster was the furthest thing from my mind until last Saturday at the Nova Cinema. During a screening of The Ides of March the thought occurred to me that I could blog as well as the next person. Considering the seats all around were vacant, that was a given. So I
fiddled about and here it is. I should be writing my novel (isn't everyone) but my ten years of writers block/funk/attacks of unworthiness/fear of failure still continue to beset me. Mayhap this is a step to getting some words under my belt. It might lead to something worthwhile, it may not, but I'm prepared to give it the old college try .
 I hied myself hence to Melbourne last Saturday to get in some shopping. At the watch repair shop on Russell Street, I had to leave some work to be done-unsatisfactory, as I hoped to have it done on the spot. Nike watch bands are hard to come by apparently. So I took myself off to the movies, mainly to escape the horde of Christmas shoppers until it was time to return to the sleepy embrace of my little village- Violet Town. Thus "The Ides of March."
7/8ths of an excellent film, but like one of my short stories, ran out of puff at the end. It was as though the film makers said "Look we've taken this about as far as we can, let's just wrap it up here OK?"  and they did. And I know what that feels like. A frisson of annoyance beset me, as I thought that there was about ten minutes left to go in which some sort of denoument would ensue-but we, as the audience, were left with the rather glum visage of Ryan Gosling accepting that such is his lot, having played the game and won, albeit with a price to pay, and a politican off the hook. Life reflecting art for the zillionth time..

So I returned to Violet Town in the early evening, appreciating the still air, the dusky shadows in the countryside, barbeques in back yards at Footscray and Seymour,  drinkers on hotel verandahs and back gardens in Broadford and Longwood. Walking from the Railway station where I was the only de-trainer, I realised it had been a wet, humid day in the town. The air was heavy and thunderous, some quick flashes off to the North in the purple sky, the darkening streets silent, except for my footfall.

King Parrots

 As I passed the Ellen Frances, the only bird calls I can readily recognise, the Galahs, the Cockatoos (those with the yellow headdress, ) the Magpies, and that harsh call of one other, I think is some sort of Honey Eater, were all quiet.

GangGang Cockatoo

There were a couple of others I can't name, but I hear them often at sunset since I moved here a little more than six weeks ago, I'll find out eventually. The GangGangs come into the village for two weeks in February to strip the trees in Cowslip Street. which, apparently, is a local avarian highlight-grey/green parrots they are, the male has a orangey-red headdress-unsuspicious and unshy of humanity, and will allow one to observe them from a meter or two distant. Now, on Monday morning, with vacuuming, dishes and laundry still to be addressed I'm rabbiting on-the air still laden with rain, heavy and sultry. Redolent of many months in Singapore, Manila, Darwin and points North. Enervating at best. Thank God I've foresworn Pink Gin- In my misspent youth I'd be prostrate by now, and the sun barely over the yard arm. I will call this my first blog, and search through my stuff to see if I can find anything suitable to add.

I can't decide how profane and blunt I need to be.Well, I don't need to be at all- but, do I want to be? My natural wont is to swear like a trooper, but I have become pernickety in my old age and have been known to glare at citizens who pepper their converations with that word followed by the other one, especially if said citizen is about twelve years old, and particularly if said citizen is bellowing into their cursed mobile phone, living their lives in public. It concerns me that the word "fuck" has become such a stalwart in the lingua franca, so much so that "cunt"  is now threatening it for favouritism. My twelve years of service in the Royal Australian Navy gave me to believe that both words could be used in everyday speech with nary a micro second of reflection as to whether it was appropriate, in either setting or grammar, so I am a long way from shockable, however I think I won't use either.  Any reader might understand that it will not be for any squeamishness on my part or any feelings of self righteousness, but because I think if I start off that way, it will eventually limit me, and run the risk of me becoming boring. And I want to avoid that.

More later.

Mickledrippin'