Author: SW

The old man wasn’t sure what to do

Posted on by SW

The old man wasn’t sure what to do. 

He looked down at the piece of paper in his hand, back up, then back down.

The words in his wife’s neat handwriting, TOILET PAPER. 

She’d written the shopping list in big letters because he never wears his bloody glasses.
This was the last thing on his list. He tried to steady his shaking hand and read it again.

TOILET PAPER.

The old man was doing the shopping for his wife. They normally do it together, slowly shuffling the block or two up the street, always holding hands. Always.

She wasn’t up to it today. 

He didn’t understand. How can there be no toilet paper?

Maybe I’m in the wrong aisle.  

But it was here last week.

There’s always toilet paper. 

Maybe they’ve moved it. 

He read the words again, hoping that would somehow make it appear. TOILET PAPER.

Why would they move the toilet paper? 

Maybe they don’t sell it anymore. 

But they’d have to sell toilet paper. 

I can see those labels on the shelf, below all the empty space. 

TOILET PAPER.

Doesn’t make any sense.

Just never forget that if you bring your girl to a club she will be approached by guys. buy generic viagra You don’t have to beg people to drop you, and neither do you have to hitch a hike to reach the centre where they impart online levitra no prescription education; you can study to our hearts content from where ever you want. This in turn in the end leads to check free samples cialis erectile dysfunction to a person. The experts in this field are called sociologist and psychologist and http://www.devensec.com/rules-regs/decregs407.html generic viagra tadalafil they study both the individuals and the groups to complete their research.

The old man wasn’t sure what to do. The entire aisle was empty.
They needed toilet paper. His wife…

Here comes someone.

A man pushing a trolley with four of those big packs of toilet paper in it. 

Maybe he works here. 

“Excuse me, can I have a packet of that toilet paper?”

“You’re too late, it’s all gone.”

“Are you going to put that on the shelf?”

“No, I don’t work here, this is mine. I got the last of it.”

“Could I please have a packet of it?”

“No. We need it.”

“But we don’t have any…”

“I said no.”

“Just one pack please… my wife…”

“No, fuck off you old bastard, this thing will kill you soon anyway.”

The old man wasn’t sure what to do.

©Steve Williams 2020

You belong to the city

Posted on by SW

London. A few weeks ago.

“Would you like to go to a disco with me? Or if not, how about the movies? Maybe we could see Toy Story 4.”

Possibly the disco in mind

Both interesting options, with pros and cons, the major con being my wife and I had never met the English gentleman asking the question. He was a random bloke on the street who just came up to us.

After giving our profuse apologies, (though I was very tempted to see what old mate had in store for the “disco” option) we went on our way.

London is like that. You never know who you’re going to encounter as you wander. Like Bangkok. There was an elderly Thai couple that would busk on our street. He would play a MacGyvered string instrument and back his wife’s lead vocals. They had a prime spot out the front of a Starbucks and we would always give them some baht, which was always returned with a nod and a smile mid-song.

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Every city has characters. Our first time in Paris quite a few years ago, we were having dinner in a bistro in a residential area, and a striking gentleman (quite possibly homeless, apologies monsieur if you are not) wandered past. He was dressed in an amazing coat (no, not technicolour), accessorised with an old school cassette recorder around his neck, attached with a piece of rope. All very très très chic and reminiscent of the very non-PC fashion line in the Zoolander movie… Derelicte.

I have encountered many characters in Sydney as well. Martin Place in the city’s CBD seems to be a magnet. One bloke would yell “GARN GET FUCKED!!” at everyone, yet no one in particular. Another would quote Shakespeare in an extremely resonant, thespian style… I would contribute the odd line if he forgot and I happened to remember.

Then there’s the bloke in Munich who prefers to live in a mobile phone shop doorway, a busker who plays the pan flute and stands out not only in his herbal, hippy outfits, but is the only burgher in the city who has a smile on his face.

To misquote the old TV show Naked City, there are eight million stories in the naked city. These have been just a few of them.

©Steve Williams 2020

My city of Sydney – digital zombies, tradies in undies

Posted on by SW

I hadn’t been back to Sydney for a few years. I was recently in town, and in no particular order, here are a few random observations. 

Not quite what Sydney airport needs, but close

It’s the kulcha mate. I heard this enlightening comment from a bloke behind me on the flight to Sydney, “I went to Zurich and f*cking paid 20 bucks for a beer. Then, “I feel pretty cultured though now that I’ve been to Zurich.” Sydney’s gain, Zurich’s loss.

As you walk off the aircraft, those first corridors are soulless. They need something more Australian, more Sydney. I don’t mean an animatronic Paul Hogan offering a shrimp on the barbie, or a Sydney “personality” (Roxie Jacenko?) welcoming you, but something.

The taxi driver from the airport was a nice bloke, sans BO, which is always a bonus. I was watching the meter violently ticking over like a Geiger counter in Chernobyl. It was late on a Sunday night with no traffic and the fare to the CBD was stupid dollars. I’d forgotten how expensive taxis are. 

To misquote Eric Idle, Sydney keeps on expanding and expanding… faster than a Married at First Sight star’s 15 nanoseconds of fame. Why are the motorways a permanent construction zone? Why didn’t they future proof them when they were first built? The boffins behind the Sydney Harbour Bridge got it right. In 1932.

You need a bank loan to buy a simple, garden-variety sandwich, pub meals are now the same price as fancy restaurants… no doubt to pay for the funky hipster light globes you see in every pub.

Speaking of hipsters, on my last visit I noticed every drink was served in a mason jar, and food was served in a pot plant, slab of slate or on a shovel. Thankfully restaurants have rediscovered glasses and plates.

The hipsters still have some influence… new-old-school barber shops have sprung up everywhere in Sydney’s CBD (along with discount chemist shops). I had a haircut at one said barber, and thankfully didn’t emerge with a man bun and Grizzly Adams beard, wearing a flannelette shirt and riding a skateboard. 

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What’s with the buskers in Pitt St Mall? One bloke was playing “My Heart Will Go On” on a violin plugged into a Spinal Tap-style wall of sound cranked up beyond 11. It was so f*cking loud I was hoping an iceberg would do us all a favour.

To mute the Celine Dion wannabe, I should have joined the ever-increasing numbers of Sydney-siders talking to themselves while wearing headphones or AirPods. A woman in my hotel was talking at the top of her voice to herself about KPIs, spreadsheets, working capital and “visual optics.” I’m not sure if she was wearing AirPods or it was a serious mental health issue. I encountered many annoying people on speakerphone calls or watching stuff on their phone. Show some consideration. I’m talking to you, person on the train watching a documentary on rubber trees without headphones. SHUT. THE. F*CK. UP. 

I caught the Sydney Metro a few times, excellent. Though “Tallawong” sounds like a naughty euphemism in a Slim Dusty song.

The spatial awareness of Sydney types was always crap, but it’s worse now. Digital zombies wander aimlessly, heads down, messaging / reading / watching / swiping. It will be natural selection at its best once the trams start running (again) in George Street. Hopefully they will have bull bars or snow ploughs.

I kept seeing ads flogging undies designed for tradies. I’m disappointed they’re not in high-vis, though at least I didn’t see plumber’s crack.

My most profound moment in Sydney… I could understand the guard on the train. Simultaneously great for commuters and rather sad.

Having said all that, you gotta love Sydney *raises a mason jar*.

©Steve Williams 2019

Homelessness: a positive spin

Posted on by SW

Meanwhile in Australian politics, the Hon Luke Howarth, Assistant Minister for Community Housing, Homelessness and Community Services was not so honourably attacked this week.

In a radio interview, Howarth appeared to downplay the homelessness crisis in Australia and even suggested the issue needed a “positive spin.” Of course it does. As I am always happy to assist a minister of the Crown, I have come up with a few positive spin talking points for your next media appearance.

A Marie Kondo poster child

Homelessness highlights:

*Back to nature. Ah, the great outdoors… be at one with nature. Communing intimately with Australia’s unique flora and fauna, you have a special relationship that David Attenborough could only dream about. Not to mention getting up close and personal to the Milky Way every night.

*The ultimate open plan office. No distractions from Trevor in the chair at your elbow banging on how epic his weekend was. No having to contribute to the leaving gift of Brian from accounts. No endless, useless meetings, no bullshit talk of synergy and digital transformation. 

*Lovers of architecture rejoice! You can admire the intricate cantilever design of a bridge while sleeping under it. 

*No more noisy, inconsiderate neighbours with wanky expensive electronic appliances. You don’t have to endure those annoying bastards in the upstairs apartment cranking the subwoofer up to 11. 

*Minimalist living. You are the Marie Kondo poster child, the envy of hoarders living among mountains of stuff. You have evaluated your one possession and decided, yes, it brings joy.

*Mortgage and rent-free. What an incredible weight off your shoulders. You never have to navigate a bank’s stupidly complicated customer service hotline ever again. Press 27 for ultimate financial freedom.

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*Your senses, reflexes, intuition and spacial awareness are highly tuned. You could easily join the Marvel Cinematic Universe.

*Your days of being a slave to fashion are over. Create your signature look and own it, with zero f*cks given.

*Soup. By dining at all those soup kitchens, you have become a Master Chef style soup gourmand. Garçon! More de boeuf consommé s’il vous plait!

There you are minister, these suggestions are just as outrageous as your choice of words.

You may believe that homelessness “affects a very, very small percentage of the population,” but to those people it is a very real, devastating existence, there is no “positive spin.”

Nobody should be homeless.

©Steve Williams 2019