Reflections on the D word + stuff

I sense that what’s coming will be a little untidy, not unlike my housework really. Yes I do a little housework, some bodies got to though it does no harm to take your time to learn that toilets are not self cleaning, at least it did me no harm. If it harmed others I was never made aware, or perhaps wasn’t listening. “He wasn’t listening” could fairly, in my opinion, be carved into a piece of rock, or burnt onto a disk as some form of epitaph when I’m gone, though you needn’t worry about tombs or plaques as I’m definitely donating what’s left to science to dispose of as they see fit, and we all know now how they see fit, never mind. Perhaps someone could pin a note to the cadaver saying “This is Robert 1945 - ????; He wasn’t listening” . Who knows science may benefit from such information.
Now in case this talk seems morbid to anyone out there please allow me to rationalize. Death is just the last part of life and like the other parts, birth, sex, work, cricket, etc. aught to be discussed, joked about and commented on, are you with me? We look forward with varying degrees excitement to birth, sex, cricket, etc. why not death? It is after all the culmination of life, that which we have been working towards for however long. Sometimes it comes soon and unexpectedly as with a pill at a party, sometimes it takes years, always it comes. It never matters to the dead only to the living. To the living there is loss but the living learn that everything involves loss; experience = loss of innocence, sex = loss of virginity, birth and work = loss of freedom, cricket = loss to England. Very few would choose to return to their pre loss state except for a few cricket tragics so why not embrace, talk and write columns about this final achievement, the dead wont mind.
Rereading now I like the sound of the word donating in “donating to science”, just as we donate our garbage and recyclables to the council collectors. Perhaps I can get a tax deduction as donators to charity do. Perhaps I can get it prehumously as it will be of little benefit posthumously. I also like the word cadaver which seems to remove the remains from any emotional response other than what we would attach to garbage, an attitude which appears to be the in accord with our funeral directors and scientist.
Now as I say this house keeping is a never ending job as you all know, even if I didn’t and this week the kitchen drains blocked up as they do when you have the kids to get off to school and that benefit dinner to prepare after work tonight for those poor starving…though I didn’t I could have couldn’t I? What do you mean “no way” Gabby. Luckily I work for Bunning’s Warehouse who have everything one needs at the best price and with staff discount to avoid such a catastrophe. Whew!
Speaking of which, Bunnings invited me in from the gate this Saturday to supplement the staff in builder’s hardware. They made this invitation on Thursday which was two to three days in advance of the event (depending on your perspective) a crystal ball achievement that is being heralded as a first ever with fireworks and Freddo Frogs. It was good to spend the day entertaining the customers rather than sneering as one must at the gate where a tough and hardened PI look is important. Here I could once more enjoy the children, a specialty of Saturday, who like riding our trolleys. One Indonesian mother came by with her seven fold brood, I knew she was the mother because she was pushing the trolley and they were all riding. The gay and lesbian Madi Gras is coming up as evidenced from many strange and poorly articulated requests such as the lad who wanted the fourty hard hats and the cheapest spray equipment to paint them pink. Any other time of year I might have mistaken him for a like minded tradie who realized that the best protection from theft was a defacing coat of paint and among homophobic builders you could not go past pink. I hasten to offer this theft deterrent to any who have expensive electronics, computers, laptops, cameras etc. ,sign them boldly with a spray can, fluorescent is best. This doesn’t work quite so well with art works or collectibles and if you pursue this course I advise that you read all information on the spray can and observe all relevant disclaimers.
It’s interesting to be able to note the end result on business of the political discovery of global warming. Bunnings have container loads of inefficient air conditioners and high pressure water cleaners at discount and hoses for free.
It was even more interesting to note the Russian girl with the hot pants and high heels straight out of central European castings circa 1980 (see Abba) who hovered at the BBQ and other sites with an empty trolley and for far too long, obviously shopping for a husband, isle fifty nine madam, last bay on the left.
You may take note next time your in Bunnings that some members of staff have little badges in the shape of garden trowels and screw drivers etc. pinned to their aprons. These are awards (rewards) they receive for having had members of the public repeatedly write letters of commendation regarding their level of service. As my German mathematician friend who recently added a Dip. Ed. to his twelve other degrees suggested we wear the symbol of the hammer on our shirts and though the sickle has yet to be added the system is well in place at wharehouse floor level. I could not help but note that he who is in his fourth year of service has no badges; perhaps the accent? Out at the gate what chance do I have? Louie the regular gateman won this months SWAT (stop wastage and theft) prize, god knows steak knives? What chance do I who couldn’t give a f..k have in this environment. As I see it my only chance is to catch the CEO in flangrate with the youngest recent recruit at the casino with the day’s takings. Fat chance of that though as apart from not having money to gamble I’m always too f…’d to go out after work. Try to tell me they haven’t got the system fixed against me.
Now re reading one of my greatest fears recurs and I therefore warn you that if ever I begin to blog too many Mmmm..mmm’s or Mmmmmmmmmmmms or OMmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmms and possibly start filling pages with them the way the brother of the famous American cartoonist R.Crumb,s did, be kind to me and if you feel you must put me in a home, please one with a generous liquor allowance and a laptop or at least one where they’ll tolerate “Willy the Pimp”. Ha there’s a challenge.
There’s little more I can add to reflections on Bowden St. Hugh’s age advantage shows here and probably only those older still, John, could add much to the picture. I’m looking forward to the next chapter where we move to Aintree c/o Goolmangar, just at the back of Gigi where they grow the aspirins according to Alf Jux proprietor of the general store who had a similar sense of humor to Mr. Hall the butcher at Mid Ryde, Betwix Ryde, what the hell , Ryde.
Its worth noting here that aside from the afore mentioned Alf Jux and Mr. Mazda (mm I may be corrected), everyone will be a Boyle or a McNamara or MacNey? or some other boring Irish name, goodbye Miss. Crust Mr. Chin, Mrs. Hood, was there a Mr. hood or did he die in the war, no need for any embarrassing divorces in those days.
Hugh, or anyone, if your up to it, soon obviously, a mini family day at Shellharbour, looks good in the pictures, sounds OK and I’m ROK.