Archive for the ‘Uncategorized’ category

Lost Key

July 9, 2009

I think I’m a good person. Why do I keep losing stuff? What does it mean? I lose my phone twice a month. And now I’ve lost my keys. Well, really The Key.

The Key to the garage is missing and that means nobody can get in there. It’s Dad’s garage and basically it’s designed to be theft proof. Seriously, when they were upgrading Fort Knox they sent out a working party to check out the Old Man’s security features. If a silverfish coughs in there during the night, Dad knows all about it.

It’s mostly his tools that he’s worried about. He’s been building his collection since Whitlam was PM. It’s all the best Snap-On and Sidchrome (back in the day when Sidchrome were still good). So it’s a matter of urgency that I find this key. This is the first time I’ve ever lost this particular key and if you could get it back to me before Dad notices that it’s gone, then I’ll be a very happy man.

Here’s what it looks like….

Cheers,

Clive

photo

p.s. Update: The key has been found and my bacon is saved! …the Internet is pretty amazing!

Talkback

July 6, 2009

XC_Falcon500

I visited a mate today. He asked me if I wanted to go with him to visit his Dad in hospital. It’s not a very easy thing to say yes to, is it? The actual answer to the question is, no, I don’t want to see your dad because I won’t know what to say and it will feel awkward.

My mate didn’t want to go. To say him and his Dad don’t see eye to eye is like saying Ben Cousins is bit miffed with the Eagles. There’s a lot to that story, but it’s not mine to tell.

I said he needed to get it sorted, because his dad could be gone quicker than we thought. I’m pretty good at giving advice, but I can’t imagine what I’d say to my dad. “Thanks for teaching me the finer points of cricket during the Alan Border years,” might be a good opening sentence. Anyway I convinced him to go.

This is what I remember about my mate’s dad He used to take us to school in an old XC Falcon 500. He used to smoke in his car and his radio was either tuned to an oldies stations that played Johnny Cash songs or to talkback. And for him, talkback meant him talking back to the shock jock or to the callers who were “morons”. He never spoke in full sentences. He’d just sit in the driver’s seat and mutter at us kids. He always wore a singlet and thongs with slacks, even in winter. I didn’t see him very much when I got older because he disappeared from the scene. He’d turn up every so often, but I just heard about it.

So what would we have to talk about in a hospital ward? That what I was thinking. Turned out the old guy had plenty to say. He kept asking me questions about what my plans were. He was very interested in what my father was doing these days. He looks like a very sick man, but he managed to discuss fly-fishing in great detail. As I left, he asked about my girlfriend. He could tell from my answer that it wasn’t going too well. He said that I had ‘better get all that sorted.” And before I could answer, he said, “Take it from me, I’ve made every mistake under the sun”.

He’s right. He did make every mistake under the sun. So it was a bit of the old, “do as I say and not as I do,” and I’ve got my own father for that kind of thing. But he’s right. You never have a much time as you think. My $45 worth of DVD late fees is proof of that.

Cheers,

Clive

Spare Key

June 25, 2009

house-keys

I was late by ten minutes. I had my car keys – but not my house key. They’re all supposed to live together on the same split-ring, but that’s another story. I didn’t know where they were exactly, but they didn’t feel seriously lost. And I know when things are lost  –  I lose my wallet or phone three times a week.

I wasn’t too worried, because a mate of mine has my spare house-key. His place was on the way to my destination, so I sped around there and if I’d been another, less law-abiding citizen, I would have phoned him on the mobi as I went.

“Hey Steve, I’m coming over to pick up my spare key.”
“You driving the Camry?”
“Yeah.”
“You’ll want to find some kind of ramp structure – maybe the Convention Centre roof or something – and you’ll need to hit it at about 120 k to get airborne…”
“Okay – where are you?”
“I’m in Hobart for Bevo’s wedding.”
“And you’ve got my front door key?”
“Right here, buddy. Safe”
“Awesome. Cheers, Steve.”

Turns out Steve was also in Tassie with some shoes of mine that he’d borrowed.  So my spare key and my dress Florsheims have been inside the Wrest Point Casino and I haven’t. This is why I have to get organised. Get a day planner. A journal with sections and dividers. Maybe even a Blackberry or something. This sort of thing doesn’t happen to people who know what they’re supposed to be doing the next day.

Cheers,

Clive