Million Billion Trillion

Its about a 35 degree day in this little desert place, im on shift at the hospital (its quiet atm) and Im going to try and finish this prolific chronical while the inspiration is trying to strike, well the heat is trying to melt it away, but lets see, lets just see if I can imagine, if I can imagine a place that no one else on earth would believe, that people must be previosuly conditioned to adapt by spending 6 months at a scottish highland bootcamp of madness sustained only by meals of fresh loch linhhe salmon and neeps, and salmon and neeps, im trying to imagine…middle of the irish sea, whipped by artic winds, a little island with a strange name, and somewhere on it, past the country clubs and seaside airport and airport seaports, residents on motorcycles travelling faster than the speed of light, cats with no tails and distrurbing preoccupation for three legged men (snytax of this sentence rocks!), I find in my mind a two story victorian house with a french name and lots
of people from south africa and nations beyond the call of duty, some thick smoke passing the welcome of a blue smurf at the door that’s always open. Are we alice? Is this wonderland? Nats the strippy cat and Mo the queen of young wayward hearts. Follow the smoke to the kitchen, high yet? Or you prefer a captain morgans spiced rum? Theres a thousand bottles in the yellow room and more in the least chilled out chill out room in the world, theres some mushrooms and the crew sitting around the table, maci maci ncing ncing and Juan and Gideon dancing some dutch dance and really enjoying the music of their homeland. Some will come and completely abodon their roots and some will come and stay for a while and return home with travel bugs the size of minature galaxies and some will come and bitch and moan about everything they miss and I guess it’s a yearning for comfort and familiarity, for ease and simplicity, which is what I though 38 demesne was or wasn’t, at least that’s what I
thought at the end of it all….it was and it wasn’t all ease and simplicity all comfort and familiarity….

Ive just remembered im remembering not imaging! A car that hoots involuntarily when you turn left which carried Landi and Justin across the scottish moors and east england lowlands and put them on our doorstep for Christmas…I never considered it before like this, but we really did get a great present that year, I made two SPECTACULAR friends and you were reaquaitned with these shining stars and all the joy that would follow the little christmas tree and Salavador Dali getting festive, those russian tinsel hats in that pub which I can’t remember but its on the high street opposite the camera store and near the tiny, really tiny chinese takeaway store with one table for the option of eating in. These memories are like a maze and they’re proliferating….i don’t know if ill find my way out. The night the whole house rocked and the day you deftly climberd through the keyhole to get into the house. We almost got dragged into drug fueled 60-80’s kareokee in the front room, or was th
at just me, and the second they cracked out celine dion I made a run for it, back the freezing quarters and david grey and cigarettes! I cant believe I smoked cigarettes and spent my money on cigarette imagine how many sweetiepies I could have bought! Sweetiepies……..but look at all the friends I made smoking cigarettes…acutally I think most of them run a cartel out of thailand right about now. Pre-frozen wine classes and warm wine with Jasmine. Oh! Rank memory! I can ALMOST SMELL Holly’s feet!!!! I shared a room with her remember? And would wake up in the middle of the night to the sound of someone munching on pringles under the covers. Its must be that military training. Bar George and Colors and how I used your self induced vomit technique to have what seemed like 2 or 3 21st’s in one night(0: you’re a legend! I think this is the first week on the isle riding in the rickety white van, when it wasn’t being crashed by Dallas, being groomed by mike marshall to be worthy recep
tionists of the premier hotel on the island and someone must have forgot to tell him daily…. “they don’t pay us enough to care!” haha. So much to learn for that job. Dr Barry’s morning paper is more important than anything on earth. Forget everything you ever heard about a cholera outbreak, the paper is paramount. Jackie Gelling will have been on a ski trip recently or european city break probably, Jackie Gelling is the poshest woman in the world with a crush on George Cloony. Claimed crush that is. Julie Glanz would never admit it, but I bet if you put a black hat and cloack on Cloony and made all his new money into old money, she would drool embarrassingly over the hollywood celebrtiy too. As for posh, Glanze has it down, I don’t doubt for a second all her books are leather bound and her furniture smells of mahogany

I fall in between wanting to get it all down and wanting to live out the moments again, but of course the nature of existance is that we can’t live out moments again, but I can try to get it all down. Like the promeande with lights and occassionally ginormous waves crashing over the wide streets gardens, the horses that trot back and forth and I think they must live their lives in rewind. They live out the dreaded years first and then bask in the glory of the home of rest for old horses shuddering at the thought of having to lug about the Food and Services Manager of the hotel, a middle aged overproportionate women from Bolton who besides wanting to get a ‘hunk of meat’, as in a lad from Reading Football Club, had also been witnessed riding the pergatorial horses back and forth instead of the ill concieved alternative, walking. The home of rest for old horses. Robbed of their youth by lazy overeaters like claire de lune. Eww I have a vivid moment in mind when she stood in the
foyer and hiked her stocking up so that her thighs were in full view of staff and guests alike, and as fate would have it, Dr Barry on his way to collect his morning paper. Her nails ripped a huge whole in the woe betide stockings and she snorted with laughter. I know im making her sound ridiculous, but wasn’t she? Not far from moments like when Holly and Vasti played the crying game in tower house and said I should join in, because don’t you just feel like a good cry every now and then? I kinda laughed, you know, awkward turtle moment. Tower house for tony&guy, crystals, scones and indulging in beauty therapie= not for crying with your girlfriends. No way those two should ever be allowed to eat a Yorkie.

Ive raced way ahead of myself and completely left out Dallas’ awkward moment, named Dean. Actually come to think of it, he might have had a few(; Hmmmm swaree at York Road/Palace? I bet you’ve never kept company with a 29 year old who had: degrees in law, music, dance, hotel management and the Overall degree in Everything that is being spoken of at the moment. Ornathology? Done it! With a rusty MG outside to prove it – oh dear….IT DOESN’T WORK! Blakc belt? Kacha! Oh dear. His side kick Martromboniemism. What more can I say? His name really does say it all! RRR, Lindzoid Asteroid, Chantele french poodle (Dallas’ bff) many a concept was birthed by that funny little eccentric creature. As we would always say, marching to the beat of his own guitar. Its almost like he could hear every tick of every biological clock in the world, ticking, ticking, ticking and considered it his duty to make sure everyone pro-created whilst they were able, or at least felt under pressure about it,
and that they were happy. Are you sure your happy. Are you SURE you happy. Well, we were, now were not. Julie, Jackie, mike marshal, nats, Mo, George with the same tape cassette stuck in his car stereo. What a whack job that place was. (think we fit right in). I think lack of dedication to customer service of the minions coupled with poor judgement of the management actually really made that place. I think that’s what kept people coming back. I know Micky Rourke enjoyed his stay but we couldn’t quite figure out wether that was due to schedule 8 drugs of addication or a good night in the lounge bar with Frankie and co. The whistling irishman and that blonde women who always worked out and then drank coffee – lounge bar coffee. Hair in the soup of the bald-headed chef’s bistro, maitre de too clever to be fooled, too french to mince words. The stinky chef who smelled so bad that he made you turn green Linds. And we almost had the pull the car over to breath even though our windo
ws were wound down on a blisteringly cold night. Dallas’ well known soft spot for his type. Buzzes are (Wawa – Sarah!) who looks really pretty, no, really pretty….no explitive pretty, “um…sorry?” when a pixie hands you a compliment don’t expect her to let go of it! When a pixie gatecrashes your party…you WILL drink! When a pixie says someone is a tit…they are a real tit, no, literally. When a pixie sees an area that has turned from black or white into grey then there is no grey area and its time for a chat and a ciggie in the bistro. And the Benoni braindrain is back on.

Im describing the ship of fools, two hot potatoes at the helm (whattity tottity) and im missing the most Treasured part. His accented had just a hint of merseyside, just a dash. And I think he fell in love with me at first site (it was profitable times for me) or was it that he thought “you’re the oogliest thing ive seen in my life”. Thankyou. Throw liquid paper. Duck from return fire. Reception covered in liquid paper. Pure joy of watching managerical staff on their hands and knees cleaning up mess that I provoked him into making. Sniggering. Jeering. Haha Breech of protocol in the Viscount Suite. “Treasure, your bum’s talking.” “Protien Spill in the Alexander Suite”- lindsay on the two-way radio. We need to have a phone sess al a Geroge compliments of the fortunes of Gube. Speaking of whom, the millionaire gave us his read hot tip which was, as we had long suspected: save and re-use your tea bags.
A new staff member in place by morning.
Definitely justified daily coffee and dose of escapism at Ottakers. Little mozart with his pile of books about genei, a dash to the philosophy to check with the oracle and make off with the jupiter finger. Seriously its way better than the bird.
Even the hum drum routine of daily life on the isle wasn’t without little inescapable joys. Scotty dogs, a flash of a smile from feegan that I know gave me goose bumps and made me all weak at the knees. (you ask, is manx talent THAT lacking??? Im afraid so). Well, acutally just short of the absurdity of a crush on feegan or being accused of stalking trevor tonks…t,t,t, tonks…(heather and I spat our milkshake out when we were sitting at the promenade view café when we saw trevor tonks’ butt crack….heather took pictures) was, the closet thing we could concieve as the piece of meat Claire De Lune talked so eloquently of….introduce to the dulcet tones of a cat pissing on his Bed of Zen…Royston Barry Taylor. Still can’t believe you fancied his sixth toe. Imagine a candle lit dinner by the window in the kitchen, with our once-used strainer, all the coca cola you can drink and really loud conversation about “Rewthie””Rewthie”…all while the little 6th gets its groove on. oh gosh! Ill
wait 4 hours for a flaming great pizza rather than that! Door Slam! Was that the night Dallas and Just came staggering down york road and dal’ pulled my closet over on himself spilling all my laundry powder, then starting mock-mating things that were standing still. Wouldve been great if it co-incided with your and michelle’s catchup with Gordon’s Gin. A great memory for me, and Mrs. Nairn…who had 47 checkouts. And raymond, who was so boring….to his face!! Im laughing now, cool memory. But I was talking about everyday hum drum which in retrospect was lovely, like 2 for 1’s at tesco’s and toasted cheesies with garlic sauce, or those fantastic veggie burgers and whack a video in the microwave, hunker down on the footon and let the red wine drift you off into sleep….or quite often…into REM and Boney M. Go to sleep 4 am, wake up 7 and do it all again. The huskies on the high street, the photo shop, boots for your corn plasters, a massimo at Ott’s and a tuna melt. Lonely planet b
ooks. File 21 is where you go when you die. Day trips to the calf or the port or casteltown, or the liverpool arms to play pool under the psychotic gaze of local’s who had never seen a mainlander before let alone someone from farthest corners of the island, beyond the once in a lifetime trip to Ballcutchel even. No wonder marrie-anne loved that place. How relieved to find people with similar mindset as yourown. A whole pub full of people who would have to agree that there is no way that the swiss speak german, the swiss speak swiss. And I speak Australian.

Should I leave the isle? And return again and leave again?! Hannalize was SO outdone by me. And I by Lizzy. And us all by Caroline. I think she has found in the isle a friend for life. A rock that understands her completely (; that’s a kinda joke, if its too harsh, ill take it out, because I really do love her. Alas, I am afraid it is time to leace the manly isle, to reverse you ship into the airport and set sail for liverpool and fairer seas….every place we go, it seems, we’ll never find another like it.

This is about 1/10 of our adventurous lives….which would never have eventuted if we hadnt escaped the daffodalia paraphinalia……and found ourselves quite, in australia…..

And for this I must afor warn you that Perth does not give coffee service positions to those without a doctorate in philosophy. Now, I know that this was in actual fact a Pilgrimage to see John Howard perform his greatest diplomatic hits, but I didn’t think he would indluge you, being foreign and all he would soon send his people to tell you “…ummm, no, she’s not staying” thinking you little higher than an indonesian in a rickety boat from nations beyond the torres strait. Before you overstayed your welcome (the visitor who came to stay! And little do they know your future plan! Haha! ) I think you would have made a go-er of the job in Norseman, except that Bod kept called with semi-death threats and ah yeh, he can just &*%^ off. And after spending time at farm fables, several days in search of the boring ass maze and a few days of eating melting moments every moment you were off to see more of our great land….middle of nowhere. I just heard stories of germans and chairs a
nd 45+ degree days and I thought it wouldn’t be long before you would make your way to…….CAIRNS!!! So glad you did! I mean a snorkler at heart, what were you doing in the middle of the desert? I came on a short holiday to make one of you friends, Cat. Lost phones, fire alarms, great barrier reef, mud flaps…..yeah. im such a nut. Great memories again though, captured by the photographer on the catermeran….you and dad, such a happy couple!! Ahah! Im sure you can write billions of chapters within chapters of all of these….you should and then we can compile them and have the nurses read them to use when were comitted at long last to the nuthouse!