Anthony Malloy

I feel sorry for Phee, not for the birthday party that won’t be, but for her teenage self.

We spent half an hour this evening outside chasing one of the cats, young Thomas, from roof top to roof top before giving in, defeated by a swarm of magpie sized mosquitos. We sat inside stressing about him being out after dark, calling him every name under the sun for breaking the responsible keeping of cat rules about coming inside at dusk; it’s not as if we don’t tell him every night. Before long there was the noise of a huge cat fight in our drive and two bundles of fur rolling to and fro. With much yelling Rae managed to corner Tom in the garage and dispatch Evil White Cat back home.

That was when it really started. Rae was yelling at him for being such a bad boy while I was trying to get him out from under the car. I eventually nabbed him then Rae grabbed him by the scruff and lectured him all the way inside where he was sent to bed (Phee’s) without any supper.

We get this mad at a cat for causing us anxiety about it not coming in. Imagine 18 year old (okay, I can dream, more like 15 year old) Phee trying to sneak in past her alloted home time.

If only she had been awake to learn the lesson tonight, life would be alot easier in 10, okay, 7, years.

I’ve lost count of the weddings my dad has MC’d. He’s a natural at the role; charming, well spoken, funny and serious as required, he has it all. The well worn lines always sound fresh, the words always perfectly pitched.

Well Dad, looks like I’ll be coming to you for help ’cause the flame has been passed.

At a barbie today Veronica and Steve asked if I would be MC for their wedding. What an honour, how could I say no? I just wonder if I can get anywhere near making the brief words sound as good as Dad can.

Two firsts this morning – car wash rage and actually seeing karma come back to bite someone on the bum.

Car Wash Rage. Yep, it’s real. I went to wash my car in the car wash as there’s no time for a proper wash today. When I drove in I noticed a red car was last in line, cool, only two in front of me. Ran in bought the ticket and came out only to see an empty car parked behind the red car. Red car move forward but I couldn’t fit completely so I sort of nosed in. A few minutes later big bearded Herald Sun reading owner of empty car appears, “I was here before you.” he yells through his window and pushes around me then sits there reading his Herald Sun, not looking up once. Okay Mr Important, what can I do now? I sit and fume for a few minutes and then I’m over it.

Now for the karma bit.

Mr Important drives in, his Important Car is all soaped up.

And it’s soaped up.

And it’s soaped up.

And the rinsing spray isn’t spraying it’s rinse.

Yep, the car wash has broken down. Mr Important’s car is now streaky, wet and not clean and he has to drive off to Important Manor in car that’s now a lot worse than when he drove in.

What a rare day you get to see karma in action. Of course my car is still dusty so I’m not sure what I did wrong.

I found out last night that the seat in my car goes all the way back. (Stop that sniggering up the back)

I was also reminded that plastic garden seats are not the best things to sit on when watching a movie.

And how did these two things happen? We went to the movies, but not just any movies, this was our very special movie going time. Every month (except December) the Barwon Heads Film Society screens a classic film in the community hall. For those readers not from round these parts Barwon Heads is a sleepy sea side hamlet an hour and a quarter out of Melbourne. It was made famous in the series Sea Change but thankfully has never grown past being a small fishing village.

The film society seems to be made up of a group of locals, they all know each other and the banter flows in the lead up to the screening. One of them plays an out of tune piano before the movie, and during intermission. Yep, no mega spools here, there’s always a pause between reels and the sound pumps out of a glorious mono speaker, along with a good deal of static. It’s a gold coin donation to get in ($1 or $2 for those not in the know) and a cup of tea prepared by the ladies of the committee sets you back another two dollars, but with all you can eat genuine home made goodies to go with it.

We love it; it’s a trip back in time. We always try to have dinner before hand at a great little caf? up the street and make sure we get there in time to claim a front row. Of course we always pack away the white plastic garden chairs after the movie finishes. Last night was The Manchurian Candidate and in a couple of months it’s Logan’s Run so we’ll go back then, but by then we’ll have to take blankets ’cause the hall gets cold. We’re looking forward to it already.

Oh, and the car seat? Rae drove home and I slept. That’s all.

Yes, our toilet ponged.

Really really ponged. And we didn’t know why. No matter what we tried the smell was there, and apart from being remarkably embarrassing, it was a complete mystery, that is until the shower started to gurgle and smell too. And the laundry. And the kitchen.

Yep – the drain. Some how or another the previous tenants managed not to notice the foul stench coming from the drain any time more than a cup of tea worth of water was poured down it. Unlike the previous real estate agents from hell, Donna from Wilson Pride was right on the case and a cheery bald plumber named Steve turned up this afternoon and sorted the whole smelly mess out.

Now our toilet doesn’t smell. Bet you’re happy for us.

17 years. That’s who long it’s been since I moved to Melbourne and that’s how long it’s probably been since I encountered my arch nemesis : the lawn mower.

It’s been three weeks since we moved in to this place and the cooch had grown, especially in the back yard so the time had come. One call to Rob and I had a whole hardware store of yard maintenance tools delivered. I tried hiding in my room as I did when a teenager but it dawned on me after half an hour that dad wasn’t going to appear and do them so I took a deep breath, walked out, primed the engine and pulled the cord.

An hour and a half later we not only have freshly mown lawns we also have a nicely defined edge along the back path. I also realised something. Gardening, trimming, tidying up is relaxing. It’s enjoyable.

It’s raining on and off so I have had a chance to whipper snipper the hard to get at bits and the front still needs to have the edges done but I am happy with what I achieved.

I’m either going mad or getting older.

Well, Barlow McEwan and Tribe want $280 from us for damage we didn’t do.

Bullies must be stood up to so it’s off to the tribunal we go.

We’re being ripped off by our ex-agent, and there’s bugger all we can do about it.

Barlow, McEwan and Tribe are holding $165 of our bond ransom for, get this, damage to a garage door. A garage door that has never opened. A garage door that others have parked in front of since we moved out. A garage door we never ever touched.

I couldn’t care less about the money – in the grand scheme of things that’s a nothing amount. It’s the old classic, the principle. Fair enough if we had damaged that place, we would have to wear it. But we didn’t. We looked after it like out own and now someone is trying to get stuff fixed on our budget. It’s wrong, but there’s nothing we can do.

What really annoys me is her constant use of phrases like ‘your legal obligation’, ‘it’s law’, ‘it’s policy’. It seems only agents need to live up to this, our legal right to ‘quiet enjoyment’ obviously meant nothing, their contractual arrangements with our land lord to do six monthly inspections obviously meant nothing and yet we are the ones being punished.

I’m mad now but after I go make dinner and calm down a little I’m sure that we will just say good riddance to the money and accept peace and quiet in our lives. Until then let me fume a little longer.

UPDATE

They now want the front door repainted too.
This blog will become so dull once all this is over…

I spent today in a beer garden, sitting in the sun enjoying many cold beers.

Well, that was one of the dreams I had while lying in bed, staring at the ceiling (we do have a lovely ceiling rose) listening to the gate squeaking in the wind.

I had to get up to go collect Phee, as Rae is working late, and I’m feeling better but time in bed will out way time out of bed by a large margin today. Hopefully it’s a return to normal transmission tomorrow.

Until then, cheers and please shut the gate.

Rest easy, this isn’t about food poisoning. It’s about JB’s, our local pizza place.

One of the highlights of the recent move was that we were moving to within an easy stroll from our favourite caf? and our favourite pizza place next door. Since we’ve moved both have been sold to new owners.

Gary and Renee are still at Vinegar, if only for another week, but Billy has been gone from JB’s for three weeks now – and in that three weeks we’ve decided to seek our pizza from elsewhere. The first sign came the night we moved in here. Ordered the pizza and told 20 minutes, so I wander up in 20 minutes only to find that they hadn’t even been put in to the oven. Strike one.

Last night we ordered two. One was not what we asked for, and we paid more for it ’cause it was supposed to be seafood and we ended up with cheese and tomato, and the other was, well, not to put to fine a point on it, rubbish. The bases tasted like the pre-made ones you get from Coles, the toppings were so light on as to be almost not there and any flavour remaining was hidden by the burnt crust. Strikes two and three, we’re out. To show you how bad it’s become the dedicated team of drivers have all left too. In three weeks they’ve killed a business Billy had built up over many years and all ’cause they wouldn’t listen to him.

We’re hoping the new owners of Vinegar won’t make the same mistake; it’s a lot further for good coffee around here.

Updated 10th Jan 2006.

Nick’s comment below made me realise I really should link to what we think of JBs Pizza in Spotswood now.