Some homes in 7008 on a walk back to Mum’s house from The Green Strore where we had a good lunch.
A beautiful piece of graphic work from the travel agent we use at work who arranged my trip to Australia and handled everything while the volcano was erupting. Design like this doesn’t happen as often as it should these days. I long for when every business in the state involved a map of Tasmania some how and their intials stamped across it. There is a really good roofers van in Tufnel Park like this too.
Anyway then after Mum and I talked about it for a second, I stopped thinking about it and went and had a shower. I picked up the shower gel and couldn’t stop laughing – everything now in Australia seems to have these really stupid names for everything. Instead of whatever flower it was, the shower gel was called “Japanese Zen” with this bottle covered in swooshy brush strokes and waterlilies or something. What is this?
There is some coffee drink in the kitchen called “French Liasions”. I can assure you every French liasion I have had I have not been able to swallow all too smoothly – too much huffing and puffing, agnst and hand wringing agony [on their part] and definitely not the name for a drink. A French Liasion sounds more like something to choke on to me.
It was the same on the airplane. We didn’t just get a muffin, we got “healthy seeded something stupid muffins”. Once you read the name, there was no suprise left and appetite totally spent imagining it all swirling half chewed in your stomach, knowing what it would all eventually become when you flushed the toilet.
In other news, I woke up in the middle of the night crippled with freezing. My sister and I call Mum’s house the iceberg. I lay there for a while almost crying thinking “I wish there was someone to call out to! I want a blanket, a tea and a hot waterbottle.” I had to get up an do it myself. It really makes no sense that central heating is not a bigger deal here in Tasmania for the winter.
Here I am on Mum’s sofa looking a right state this morning, still freezing. In horrible little fleece lined lesbian coloured ali baba slippers of my mums. The shame.
A bit later though I went out into the garden and pruned roses, cut back plants, chopped down these weird tree things, pruned two apple trees and filled the trash pack for Mum. Then we had sausage sandwiches under what was left of the apple tree in the sun.
From:John Davidson [mailto:XXCENSOREDXX@hotmail.com]
Sent: 15 April 2010 02:36
To: Emma Davidson
Subject: RE: AND BY THE WAY
judging by the pictures, Roast beetrootSamphire looks totally attractive , so do the little brownish testiclesAnd the bacon, though I have to be in the mood for pork, even the crackling. One day A.B.C showed a Doc of starved pig with maggots as big as alimp dickie bird crawling out of his fundement, arse, bumhole. cloaca whatever? Put me right off pig until I’ pissed enough to foget the maggies.
Did I tell yer Mutts not only came hom testerday (Wed) but she strolled over to the home to showw herwounds! Well done I said,
CHEERS to my two friends. Meeiow, piota, Dad,
I don’t have it but I got the day off today. I will be working remotely on the end of year accounts. Last night I had a rainy strange dream that I was back working at Katharine Hamnett with the lawyer wearing a ginger wig, the PA, the rest of the staff all mixed in back to when I was also the visual merchandiser at Urban Outfitters when the first store opened here on Kensington High Street. I will put the crazy dreams down to eating too much with the Cardinal at El Parador – the Portuguese restaurant in Mornington Crescent I am eternally grateful to Mrs Kipling for introducing it to me [and the rest of the Lady Gang.] We had a roast beetroot, raddiccio and pinenut dish I am craving right now!
Mutts is having a hysterectomy today and my sister and I are discussing gross out facts like pads in the vagina to stop it from growing over after the op, her cat Harley stealing chicken right out of my niece Chloe’s mouth, telling the kids I ate brain and the look of horror on their faces, Dad will live to 100 and will definitely keep lying until his final moment as to how he has fallen out of his chair [third time today in as many weeks - just waiting for the other hip to snap...], reminiscing about Cherry Choc Wedges at the Royal Hobart Hospital kiosk and their demise, eating tongue or tripe in Scotland. It was a nice sisterly moment that doesn’t always happen between us.
I am counting down the days until I see my fambles again – on the 24th I will be touching down at Hobart International Airport. I’m not joking. It really is a slightly fancy giant corrugated iron shed.
Dad by me
Me by Dad
This was when I was 20 and Dad was about 67.
I am really looking forward to going home and seeing him. Apparently he fell over again the other day cause he was trying to get from his arm chair to his bed on his own and his sock slipped on the floor. But, there is already drama before I get there because my sister can’t find the time to come to Hobart to visit while I am there with the kids and has ‘told’ mum that Mum and I will have to get the bus that takes a couple of hours up to Devonport instead. Part of the reason why I am going is because Mum is having a hysterectomy. Oh well. After flying 24 hours at great expense to see Mum and Dad within 4 months of the last trip what difference is a bus trip across the state gonna make? It isn’t like I might want to rest and do nothing for a change is it… And I mean, Mum might just want to be on the sofa for a while…
Slow morning and taking the opportunity to check some emails on a laptop rather than my phone. The GA has finally made it out of bed into the computer room:
emmsie young mate. one, I DECIDED THE PRUNINING OF rose could wait another day, when they told me, the resident comp was up and running, so I thought i’d be sure to get a glimpse of morning tea from your e’mails? WHICH MAY i ADD ARE GETTING MORE GUT ENTICING AS YOU COOK? OR SHOULD ONE ASK ‘CREATE’?Bloody caps lock, OR MORE PERTINENTLY A WEAK BRAIN? w.f.brain?
If I don’t make reference to furry bottom she’ll prolly muck my computor up again!
How yer goin’ Hobart? Has the mistress stopped beating you yet? Wot are all those brown bruise marks on yer fur? Give ‘r a good scratch for me, duckie.
I’L EMAIL ANOTHER TOMORROW. IN PLACFE OF THE indescribably badly written effort I had started. Couldn’t take the chanceof your boss seeing what a dunce your father must be.
the young woman who overlooked my effort to write, who at 20 years had nevever seen a pen to write with before in her life, expressed considrable amazement when she saw the pen dipped in ink then leave readable marks on paper,
Then SHE SLID THE LUNCH TRAY TOWARD ME AND DEFTLY PUSHED THE INK BOTTLE OFF THE TABLE, Quink everywhere. She was stunned, ‘OH’ that’s what ink is’? Talk about dumb blondes, JESUS
Me back oesn’t like sitting up after 4 or 5 monts of lying down. Getting old kid, So’s yer mother, old and cranky, and meaner than her fsther. Still we won’t continue in that vein, nothing can be gained by complaning about the unchaingeable. I could give me ammunition for tomorrows effort, nearly hd another slight heart atack when the news showed the train crash in Belgium. I always have turulations when Europe gives nasty news.always wonder whre you were at the time,
Corned beef 4 lunch, Not a great meat eater cant’ stand the thought of the beasts previous slaughter, maybe I;ll grow up one dayy?
Cheers to u both. Fight te good fight, Give my regards to Mrs Danzer(?) spelling
luv from the old fella.XXXX
And then yesterday another one:
you ought to expand your cakeartby adding the odd symbol.Religious. Arsenal logo ‘We are the very best!, I think, or up yours, even just plain old bollox. tHAT WOULD MAKE EM COUGH ON fheir Maccafukkinroons. Just come in from the garden bit, working with no brace around me upper body. bit painful now. but every little helps to get a bit of strength and weight back. Down to 74 kilos at the moment. But finding it difficult to eat meat. THEA.B.C. Doco of Chine hanging beatifull dogs so their blood congeals in the meat, Made the meat sweeter for eating. mate. iFIND IT DIFFICULT TO PUT MEAT, any meat into my gutsfor the moment. TThat last pic of a ferraal was of Philippa’s black furry monster. Right?. i’ll have to dob you into Hoby. SeeYOU KID. HOPE YOUSE ALL KEEPING WELL? Luv ex yer DadXXXX
From: John Davidson [mailto:XXCENSOREDXX@hotmail.com]
Sent: 31 March 2009 00:31
To: Emma Davidson
Subject: RE: Me at sarah lee’s house
still haven’t seen your sarahlee’s house photos. your mother has got a new comp, maybe she hasn’t transfered them. F.K.
yOUR SISTER EMAIED ME THE OTHER DAY that tho the dy was sunny in D’port, you could feel that winter fingers were touching one’s bones with icy undercurrents. Today I know what she meant. Was bloody cold out in the garden patch thisa.m.. Except today is accreditation day for the home, they check the answer to the question, ‘is the government money being spent wisely?. If it weren’t for prying bodies snooping around I’d be in bed. MAYBE THIS ARVO? on IT. nEEDless to add, companionless!
What’s with you and your ever-changing admirers? French. German? Celonese? LOOK AT THESE? Life is so boring I think the altenative can’t be any the worse. I guess I’ ll see soon enough/ Cheers. yer pa.xxx
# # # # # # # # # #
From: John Davidson
Subject: RE: Me at sarah lee’s house
Sent: 02 Apr ‘09 00:59
got the pics ofyou at the tucker at Sara Lees house. Gawd help us I’d eat tht beatifull looking food offa baby’s nappie. I haven’t had a real belly-full of ‘ real ‘for farkin yonks. O nly SAlly Ann shit which is crossed turds on a plate with freckles on them, the farkin smell is crook, I tell yer.
Get talkin’ to the wall paper and msake yer poor ol’ Dad a happier man!Luv yah. Pops.XXXX
# # # # # # # # # #
> ——-Original Message——-
> From: John Davidson
> Subject: RE: Me at sarah lee’s house
> Sent: 19 Mar ‘09 00:45
> Ain’t caught up with ma this week. Saturday prolly. When she brings the
> paper(W.E,Australian when we attempt the crossy. We must be getting older,
> for we cannot do as much of as once we did. Sorry y’r tired. It’s a bit of
> a bastard when y’r young you have to spend such a lot of energy just to
> keep up! Ave another effi beer. Guiness for St Pat’s day. What beats me St
> Pat was a Welshman who went to Ireland (Omagh) to spread the word. Yet an
> irishman would bang you in the lughole if you reminded them of that FACT
> Your great grandparents were Irish, from Dublin. Which might account for
> yer screwball father’s antics? See yer. my dear girl. How about that git
> who gave his Daughter, 7 children. Fark. He was Austrian. So was Hitler,
> and he definitely WAS a nutter. Heil Hitler Luv from yer pops.
# # # # # # # # # #
> ——-Original Message——-
> From: John Davidson
> Subject: RE: Last night’s supper part one
> Sent: 15 Mar ‘09 23:54
> per the re: three parts. thereis nowt on the input on this comp. Sorry
> to say
From the website of photographer Olga Chernysheva:
According to Ernst Unger “Life consists of a miracle…”
This photo-series is shot in an attempt to free an everyday view.
Usual, familiar images become mysterious and magnetic. They urge the spectator to see the state, but not the objects themselves. In their loneliness, isolation, dignity and natural self-sufficiency these images are, in fact, a striving for beauty. They are directed toward future.
There is more of these pictures here.
Today I was lying in bed and I saw a spider crawling up the wall and that really freaked me out. Jokes aside about it crawling out of my vagina, the though the spider had been anywhere near my body in the night gives me chills. I killed it with my Chanel flip flop. Where I am from, we are trained to react like this from a young age. Snakes however are given more grace and we give them a wide berth.
My nephew has his 7th birthday party tomorrow – my sister has rented out the local pool, two life guards and some super slide something for two hours and made some green cake in the shape of a car from some show something called Ben Ten or something. My sister and I were joking about our birthday cakes as a child… We’d have to argue for chocolate cause Mum didn’t like chocolate cake for example. Anyway after having one of the Cardinal’s cakes I won’t be turning back.
HAHAHA Mum and I actually were talking on the phone the other night about all the Christmas presents my sisters kids got. I reminded her about how I was obsessed with getting a Mr Potato Head and I never got one. She told me that I could have saved my pocket money and got one and I was choking laughing saying “What pocket money? 20 cents for every cabbage moth we caught in the garden!?” Which only happened when the runner beans and broad beans were growing. One day though she still might get me one and I will be so thrilled!
In my house, if we got the day off school cause of bad weather, we would have to sit in our school uniforms and do a few hours school work before we were allowed to change again and get back to life. The plus side of my weird father is that we had a big back garden full of fruit trees, a train track over the back fence where we would go and play aborigines, a big garden shed where Dad let me use the tools, rabbits [although we had to eat them...], two dogs, a cat, a cubby house, spoiled for sunshine and a haunted hallway. My ex will tell you the house has a ghost. He nearly shit himself when she appeared in the room one night. He had to sleep with the light on after that. ROTFLOL.
Last night I bought a Le Creuset casserole so I am feeling very smug. Then I freestyled a lamb casserole with plums, turnip and onion and kind of fake Moroccan spices. It smells amazing. Credit crunch home cooking / microwave lunch at work.
TRACK FOR THE MORNING: DJ Rod Lee – HUMP
So yeah, I’m waiting for the miracle.
I have had the Commander on the case. An email arrived this morning.
# # # # # # # # #
Hello Emma, He was wearing brown Blundstones. I’ve spent hours trying to find info all I’ve come up with is XXCENSOREDXX (if you want a laugh look up XXCENSOREDXX or XXCENSOREDXX on my space) and his father who sponsored a rally car in Tas. I thought I might phone the shop in Sydney that sell his guitars and say I want to interview him for something? so I can at least find out which state he lives in. (I need to work on the story more) why is he so elusive, has he become a shut in like me? the tan says no.** Hobart night life is all spray tan, choppy haircuts, knife fights and serious binge drinking, there were photos going around last year called the bottle girl-yes she did put it there and she was proud of it. Funny you mention XXCENSOREDXX when they had to leave the last restaurant the other shops around them had Champagne to celebrate.
# # # # # # # # #
Hmmm… no closer to discovering the whereabouts of a certain someone BUT some tentative plans in place. The last brilliant piece of news I got from the Commander was when Myers in Hobart was on fire and the new MAC counter melted flat as a pancake. That was a while ago now.
** Am very impressed with this deduction.
OH GOD and some elected themselves the love of my life not so long ago in the heat of an argument and it was one of the statements that burst into the room like a balloon of pink fairy floss fantasy so insane and bizarre – like a cat in a volvo dropping by to deliver Easter eggs wearing a false moustache – I could only laugh and laugh [you know one of those snorty chokey hilarity ones] and take great satisfaction in saying “Errrr and what planet are you living on?” and realise that the whole argument was mute. The guy was seriously deluded.
Rewind to when I was aged 19 or 20, living in Hobart, leaving art school and working in the bookshop. Two guys came in and I watched them. I’m sure one of them stole something. They were acting really weird and laughing – total retards. I saw them out at a club or in the street I dunno – all the same vibe back then – and I ripped shreds out of the taller one. It turned out that he really fancied me and was only in there with his mate to check me out and to work out how he was gonna ask me out.
So welcome into my life everyone, Nicholas Dunn.
As he was my first love, of course I turned myself inside out for him. Also, this was the first time in my life I met ‘the dark season’ which happened on the day of the bush fires, but that is another story. We lived in houses full of rats with shitty landlords together, he would try and coerce me into jumping the back fences in the neighbourhood to go skinny dipping in peoples pools [err when they were still obviously at home], we would go and stay on his mothers farm and walk around wearing nothing but Wellingtons in the morning sunlight eating blackberries from the canes and saying hello to the sheep. His mother made the best mixture of tea leaves Orange Pekoe and something – I wish I knew what it was – and she was Hungarian. She was a good cook.
Sounds pretty perfect huh?!
For this idyllic life as I joined adulthood, this is the price I had to pay:
We listened to Revolver, Lush, Mudhoney and RIDE ALL THE TIME.
Listening to this makes me want to throw myself from a fucking bridge. But I was only too happy to be wearing oversized corduroy shorts, flannelette shirts and pig tails at the time. I have a Marjan Pejoski shirt now that makes me think of me then. It is the same colour as the Stussy woolly hat I used to have.
Nicky had ideas bigger than his ability at that time and totally not practical and 200% idealist. Someone had to pay the rent. I got a job.
Then we broke up and I had to leave the house we shared – even though he had no way of paying the rent. His sister left her boyfriend for a woman and his other sister was off in the jungle somewhere.
Last time I saw Nicky, he was in a hounds tooth suit looking pretty pretty good. But that was about 10 years ago in Tasmania. I would like to see him again.
I think it is number 8 or maybe 9 – either way it doesn’t really matter.
From: John Davidson [mailto:XXCENSOREDXX@XXCENSOREDXX.com]
Sent: 13 July 2008 05:44
To: Emma Davidson XXCENSOREDXX@XXCENSOREDXX.com
Subject: appropos of s.f.a.Except yer a lousy shite who doesn;t email her dad when she shouiod remember she can’t text me and tell me she is stil in the land of tge almost living
Dunno woss happened here. I started typing but the faggot continued in the re: line, May e I forgot to shuft te curser. F.K?
How aew hings going?.- over the shock yet? Any signs of the culprit? The theiving plonker? Male or Female? Don’t suppose you had time to notice. Bad cess on thebastard.
Any luck with a job? Do not actually know what is implied but the abjuration of ‘bad cess? Probably means somebody will pour a bucket of shite on him. Because A ‘cess was a pit into which theworking class emptied their bowels.Cheers. E’maile me or did he take your fingers too? yer pa.XXXX
And for an added bonus, here is a little something from my nephew Sam!
Sent: 13 July 2008 04:58
To: Emma Davidson
hi auntie emma i hope you are having a good time in england i miss you emma i really love you emma i will always love you i will never ever not love you. i am going to a new school in devonport i will be nice to you next time you come down here for a holiday in australia. it was my daddy’s birthday the other day and it was coutney’s party as well daddy turned 34 and coutney turned 7. on wednesday it will be auntie rae’s birthday auntie rae is turning 36 uncle mark turned 28. tom is going crazy so am i so is chloe it’s winter down here today it’s sunny on monday i am going to the dentist and i don’t have to go to school i can go swimming from sam
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