This will hurt me...

A Brave New World. It turns out that he was really a girl, and she was at heart a boy. Naturally, this meant things became complicated reasonably quickly. Rather than get caught up in the “He said, She said” (or, for that matter, the “(S)he said, s He said”), they agreed upon a catch up to clear the air. “What do you want to do?”, He said. “What do you want to do?”, She said. “I need coffee”, She said. He nodded, and she sighed. “I don’t really like the coffee here”, He said. So She took her bag and left.

Well said Henry. I could not agree more.

Water jets in Franklin Square, Winter '09 . Theme Thursday today, and what a task I have! The theme is RHYTHM, so I set myself the goal this morning of penning a lightning fast drabble on today’s them on my way to work on the bus this morning. Alas, my trusty notebook was elsewhere! Thus, I fished out a receipt from the fresh fruit market in Salamanca [APPLES GRANNY SMITH SML KG], and set about squeezing out 100 words on the back. I’m glad to say that I had the requisite number done and dusted by the time I hit the bridge and was able to dip back in to Dame Rebecca West’s interesting little tale The Return of the Soldier . Let’s take the easy way out and call this one RHYTHM . The rhythm of their relationship was a familiar one. He worshipped her, she loathed him. He adored her, she was disgusted . He would whisper the sweetest, gentlest paeans of his affection into her lovely ear as they made love, and she would shun his offerings a cat might a command. When he arrived home, h...

Man, if there is one thing that I CANNOT stand, it is war rudeness poverty theft man's inhumanity to man wanton environmental destruction wives who neglect their stockings . C'mon girls, as the ad says, husbands admire wives who keep their stockings perfect . Conversely, husbands detest and abhor slovenly oafs who crash about like drunken moose with ladders from here to eternity. Fair dinkum ladies, check out that look of disgust the dude above is giving his wife while she's there knitting away, completely unaware. She'll only have herself to blame if he starts fooling around with a more careful dame. This message was brought to you in the interests of marital bliss and harmony between the sexes.

This is a Datsun 1600. It went by the name of the Datsun 510 in the US, where it was apparently known as the “poor man’s BMW.” I see this car every morning as I approach work. It is usually sitting on its own at the Silo’s end of Salamanca place, and I have no idea who actually owns it or why it is parked there. Even though I have no idea who it belongs to, every day I like to exercise my imagination and mentally prepare a brief back story of the owner. A guy has to have a hobby, what can I say? This other morning was a good one. On Tuesday, the owner was a ruggedly handsome Mossad agent who is deeply penetrated into a shadowy organisation that ostensibly facilitates theatre programmes for prisoners on day release, but in reality operates as a sleeper cell that recruits and trains ‘cleaners’ for splinter groups administered by rogue elements of the Palestinian Authority. He is a great dancer and his hair always smells very nice. Yesterday, the owner was an elderly gent who takes great ...

Taken a little after Christmas, here is Henry looking bemused after I reflected upon a tale of lessons learned long ago. Here I found myself and the little bloke standing outside a licensed establishment that sometime ago had a somewhat less than wholesome reputation. I remember one incident clearly, just before closing, with only the tired and emotional flotsam and jetsam that remains after a big night . Of course, at this point flotsam is threatening to smash jetsam's head in with a bar stool over some trifle incident involving the relative merits of Ian Botham over Imran Khan. Kinky Friedman summed up Friday nights like this better than anyone else I can think of when he observed Friday night was the night most people thought they were supposed to have fun. Trouble was most people didn't know what fun was or how to have it, so things usually ended up pretty ugly. So this particular Saturday morning was the ugly child of another Friday night when this 'lady' with cut...

Some time ago I had an acquaintance who was – at that time – involved with a much older woman who treated him abominably . She would curse at him in public. She would mock his lovemaking abilities in front of mutual friends. She flaunted her (numerous) external dalliances as if they were a virtue. She hit him, bit him, and scratched him. She routinely emptied his bank account to purchase gaudy baubles and trinkets, only to proclaim them “tat” and ridicule his inability to fund more luxurious possessions. One day, she up and left him without a word. “Cheer up old son,” I said to him, “you’re better off without her.” “But you don’t understand,” he pleaded, “they were the best years of my life. She made me so happy .” He was in love, you see.

Finally I have reached the last of the five old poems that I pulled out of the notebook. This one has me channeling Ginsberg and messing about with tabulation. June 1996, and I really must have been an enfant terrible . I don't care what anyone says, I still like this one. Far more so than a certain poetry tutor at university anyway. I should post some of his poetry one day, that really would be good for a laugh! [ MEOW . Kitty, get back in the cage!] The Outer Hebrides hip cool               cat knows the score. sweet sixteen and                                never                                            been                                                     fucked in his arse. one hundred                        and fifty dollars is all it takes               he fakes                               for fifty more।

Here we have a juicy little number from July of 1997. T'was an excellent year: I discovered the joys of political theory, 'playing it cool', Wilco's Being There , a certain degree of 'swagger' and was turned off the UTas English Department for good. I also managed to get some poems, and even more prose pieces published here and there. I have chosen, however, yet another 'off the cuff' bit to post, as I think that time has been far kinder to it than the tosh that got in the luvvie journals. romeo and juliet now that i love (love!) you and you love me (lights out outer than outer can be) can’t can’t do any more (can’t!) (why cry now i can’t see?) me and you happy to be neither too far neither to be

Some time ago I reflected upon Dr George W. Crane's Marital Rating Scale from the 1930s. You will be happy to hear that prior to Ezra's early arrival, I discovered an online version of the test. Now, after things have settled down somewhat, I have been able to inform all that visit this here humble website so that you can all contribute to saving your marriages . In the interest of honesty and openness, my wife and I completed the test together, and I scored a healthy mark. I will be honest with you though, 1930s husbands set the bar awfully low. That said, there are a few areas where I need to pick up my game. Who knew that "drawing in pencil on the tablecloth" annoyed women so much? Go figure! 133 As a 1930s husband, I am Very Superior Take the test!

Here is a photo of my three most favourite people in the world. Henry, Jen and Ezra. I don't care that Jen reckons she looks demented here, or that Henry has his tongue hanging out, or that Ezra has his eyes closed. It's lovely.

Regular readers of this blog will know how passionately committed I am to ensuring that people are empowered to cultivate a marriage that remains loving , passionate and most of all successful . Whether it is awareness around ignorance in the area of inadequate drainage ; the importance of complete feminine hygiene , particularly when a wife is lax about issues related to her charm and health; the intimate relationship between a woman’s work ethic and her attractiveness; why regular beatings are not conducive to a constructive partnership; as well as the importance of fresh coffee . Thus, I would like to think that this record, and many, many years of successful marriage (over two consecutive years and rising!) more than establishes my qualifications as an effective source of marital guidance. Personably, I owe most of my practical knowledge about dealing with a temperamental spouse through the groundbreaking and still magnificent work of the long departed, but dearly missed, Barba...