broken glass, battery farce & men with class
Ahoy thar me mateys!
Isn't it amazing how emotional turmoil serves as fuel for creativity? Throughout the last few months of relative happiness and hope, I've been sitting on my steadily-fattening arse, achieving nothing *procrastinatory munkey*. Then suddenly I take a bruising, and in a week I've written a song-and-a-half, and the first two chapters of a long-awaited novel. Astonishing.
On Friday night, I headed into the supposedly-swanky realm of South Yarra, to visit Mr Chris Mac. The intention was to watch Y Tu Mama Tambien and get a fix of Mexican-boy cuteness... however several Vodka And Lemonades ensued, and the DVD was discarded as the evening turned into a much-needed chat-a-thon. Sensible munkey, facing a long drive home, went a little easy on the old Yeltzin-juice, but did smoke far too many cigarettes, for which I entirely blame Mister Chistopher.
A dampner was thrown on the evening when munkey left the abode of Mr Chris and friends (being careful not to wake the gorgeous English law student sleeping on the couch) and trundled out into the street with the intention of jumping inside Oli (the munkey-mobile's given-name, for those of you who don't know) and heading home. But as I approached: a surreal moment. Everything is sparkly! Ooooh look at all of Oli's shiny sparkles! No, dear readers Mr Chris had not slipped anything into my drink. Rather, some DIRTY MOTHERFUCKING CUNTRAG had decided it would be a whole lot of fun to smash my car's rear windscreen. No stealing, no breaking-in... just good old-fashioned mindless vandalism. Oh what fun to make life needlessly difficult for another!
So after a well-ventilated drive home, Saturday was spent phoning various windscreen companies. Apparently the rear windscreen of a 1992 Subaru Liberty sedan is almost impossible to come by at short notice. Thus, cancellations abounded *life-on-hold-because-of-a-stupid-windscreen munkey*. I could no longer help my darling Ms Snazzles and Madame Mu move into their gorgeous new Clifton Hill residence, and I couldn't meet with Dr Goo for a much anticipated audience with his piano-skills.
By Sunday (still awaiting a call back from the O'Brien bloke) drastic action was required. So the jumper leads were dragged out, and my sleepy old car Bill - 5 months stagnant in the garage waiting for munkey to get off his butt and put him in the Trading Post - was zapped into life. But not for long. It seems poor Bill's battery has not survived its hibernation. So I drove to the shops. Bill didn't start. Patermunkey jump-started him again. I drove for longer, to charge the battery. I drove back home and left it running in the driveway to charge. I went for another drive and got home. Turned off the engine. Bill started again! I drove to the service station and filled up. Bill didn't start. Got jump started again. It was time for me to visit the Snazzlepops and the Moodles so I threw my trusty jumper-leads in the boot and drove to Clifton Hill. Indeed the ladies-of-glam's new house, shared with Ms Em and Mr Jez, is beautiful *slightly-jealous munkey*. Time to go: Bill didn't start. Ms Snazzles jump-started me.
I met Mr Ryan. Mr Ryan is lovely. He used to work as a radio broadcaster back in Kiwiland, and has a rich, deep voice with just the hint of his NZ accent still audible. He has a warm, slightly mocking smile, and the eyes of a six-year-old boy. Mr Ryan likes The Muppets! And Russia! And me! hurrah! Oh... and if you're ever in Northcote craving Sticky Date Pudding, Stuzzi's on High Street is your place.
After several most pleasant hours with Mr Ryan, I walked back to my car. Bill was dead as a dodo and I was by myself. Great. Two ladies who had been standing and chatting for ages while I got there and fruitlessly tried to coax Bill to life, *suddenly* were in an immense hurry and had no time to help me when I asked. SGRAGS. Do I look that scary? I think not! But Lo: the Gods of chance shone down on me. Who should come round the corner, exiting a gig at the Northcote Social Club, but Mr Trent... a truly lovely young man I attended Uni with, but never knew very well. I accosted him quick-smart and he gladly agreed to let my vampire-car suck some electricity from his shiny metal beast *smiled-upon-from-above munkey*.
So I made it home and on Monday (munkey's RDO), tired of all this pissing about and needing to get to work the next morning, I called up a previous company and decided to pay their more expensive price to have Oli's glass fixed ASAP. So a big burly skin-head covered in tattoos came and fixed my windscreen and ...if you saw it in a film you wouldn't believe it... unbeknownst to munkey, left the door slightly open, so that by morning the inside light had flattened Oli's battery. Patermunkey and his magic leads were called-upon YET again. So I sit here typing to you this morning, having had one car or another jump-started SEVEN times in 48 hours. If I never see a set of jumper-leads again in my life, I will be quite happy.
Until next time, lovers and dreamers... keep smiling!
~~~~~~~
Isn't it amazing how emotional turmoil serves as fuel for creativity? Throughout the last few months of relative happiness and hope, I've been sitting on my steadily-fattening arse, achieving nothing *procrastinatory munkey*. Then suddenly I take a bruising, and in a week I've written a song-and-a-half, and the first two chapters of a long-awaited novel. Astonishing.
On Friday night, I headed into the supposedly-swanky realm of South Yarra, to visit Mr Chris Mac. The intention was to watch Y Tu Mama Tambien and get a fix of Mexican-boy cuteness... however several Vodka And Lemonades ensued, and the DVD was discarded as the evening turned into a much-needed chat-a-thon. Sensible munkey, facing a long drive home, went a little easy on the old Yeltzin-juice, but did smoke far too many cigarettes, for which I entirely blame Mister Chistopher.
A dampner was thrown on the evening when munkey left the abode of Mr Chris and friends (being careful not to wake the gorgeous English law student sleeping on the couch) and trundled out into the street with the intention of jumping inside Oli (the munkey-mobile's given-name, for those of you who don't know) and heading home. But as I approached: a surreal moment. Everything is sparkly! Ooooh look at all of Oli's shiny sparkles! No, dear readers Mr Chris had not slipped anything into my drink. Rather, some DIRTY MOTHERFUCKING CUNTRAG had decided it would be a whole lot of fun to smash my car's rear windscreen. No stealing, no breaking-in... just good old-fashioned mindless vandalism. Oh what fun to make life needlessly difficult for another!
So after a well-ventilated drive home, Saturday was spent phoning various windscreen companies. Apparently the rear windscreen of a 1992 Subaru Liberty sedan is almost impossible to come by at short notice. Thus, cancellations abounded *life-on-hold-because-of-a-stupid-windscreen munkey*. I could no longer help my darling Ms Snazzles and Madame Mu move into their gorgeous new Clifton Hill residence, and I couldn't meet with Dr Goo for a much anticipated audience with his piano-skills.
By Sunday (still awaiting a call back from the O'Brien bloke) drastic action was required. So the jumper leads were dragged out, and my sleepy old car Bill - 5 months stagnant in the garage waiting for munkey to get off his butt and put him in the Trading Post - was zapped into life. But not for long. It seems poor Bill's battery has not survived its hibernation. So I drove to the shops. Bill didn't start. Patermunkey jump-started him again. I drove for longer, to charge the battery. I drove back home and left it running in the driveway to charge. I went for another drive and got home. Turned off the engine. Bill started again! I drove to the service station and filled up. Bill didn't start. Got jump started again. It was time for me to visit the Snazzlepops and the Moodles so I threw my trusty jumper-leads in the boot and drove to Clifton Hill. Indeed the ladies-of-glam's new house, shared with Ms Em and Mr Jez, is beautiful *slightly-jealous munkey*. Time to go: Bill didn't start. Ms Snazzles jump-started me.
I met Mr Ryan. Mr Ryan is lovely. He used to work as a radio broadcaster back in Kiwiland, and has a rich, deep voice with just the hint of his NZ accent still audible. He has a warm, slightly mocking smile, and the eyes of a six-year-old boy. Mr Ryan likes The Muppets! And Russia! And me! hurrah! Oh... and if you're ever in Northcote craving Sticky Date Pudding, Stuzzi's on High Street is your place.
After several most pleasant hours with Mr Ryan, I walked back to my car. Bill was dead as a dodo and I was by myself. Great. Two ladies who had been standing and chatting for ages while I got there and fruitlessly tried to coax Bill to life, *suddenly* were in an immense hurry and had no time to help me when I asked. SGRAGS. Do I look that scary? I think not! But Lo: the Gods of chance shone down on me. Who should come round the corner, exiting a gig at the Northcote Social Club, but Mr Trent... a truly lovely young man I attended Uni with, but never knew very well. I accosted him quick-smart and he gladly agreed to let my vampire-car suck some electricity from his shiny metal beast *smiled-upon-from-above munkey*.
So I made it home and on Monday (munkey's RDO), tired of all this pissing about and needing to get to work the next morning, I called up a previous company and decided to pay their more expensive price to have Oli's glass fixed ASAP. So a big burly skin-head covered in tattoos came and fixed my windscreen and ...if you saw it in a film you wouldn't believe it... unbeknownst to munkey, left the door slightly open, so that by morning the inside light had flattened Oli's battery. Patermunkey and his magic leads were called-upon YET again. So I sit here typing to you this morning, having had one car or another jump-started SEVEN times in 48 hours. If I never see a set of jumper-leads again in my life, I will be quite happy.
Until next time, lovers and dreamers... keep smiling!
~~~~~~~
Labels: munkey's life
posted by mindlessmunkey at 9:12 am
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