This recently appeared on the back wall of my flat, click to enlarge. There’s only two panels. I hope they add new installments. I already feel deeply attached to these characters.

Mofos keep stealing my council supplied bins. There were none when I moved in, so I called the council and requested some new ones. Those disappeared within a month. So I called up again and explained the situation, and managed to get replacements for the replacements, but now my yellow recycling bin has disappeared again. So now I am forced to surreptitiously dispose of my empty bottles and cardboard in other peoples’ bins.

The bins for my neighbours and I are located in the alleyway the runs behind our block. So dropping off a load of trash involves a walk around the block. The last couple of times I dragged my huge box of bottles and cardboard down to the alley, I found all the existing yellow bins were full! Meaning I had to drag the wretched pile of bottles back to my house and store them there for another week.

Alas, as of yesterday it had gotten to the point where my laundry was an unnavigable cesspit of stored empty bottles and cans. I found myself staring at the chaos, and at that moment formed the steely resolve to correct the situation, that night!

And so, still wearing my black kung fu uniform (I’d just gotten home from sanshou class), under the cover of night, I trudged around the block with a massive load of recyclables, and sure enough, every yellow bin in the alleyway was filled. I went down an adjacent alleyway and their bins were filled to overflowing as well.

Then, I noticed that my as-yet unstolen red rubbish bin (for regular garbage) was nearly empty. My mind heavy with defeat, I reasoned that just this once, surely, there were extenuating circumstances that would justify not recycling? Enviro-guilt welled up in my throat like bile, but I quickly swallowed it down.

Before I had a chance to change my mind, I dumped the bottles into the red bin and slammed the lid shut. Dusting off my hands I looked up, to meet the gaze of my neighbour, on her balcony, shaking her head and staring at me like I just clubbed a baby seal…

“Its very good don’t you think?” he said.

“Sure!” I replied.

Adjusting his beret: “I think it represents ‘lame duck’. i.e. George Bush, yes?”

“Yeah… or maybe he just like roadrunner cartoons.”

I had an unbelievably good time at the party, thanks everyone who came along. Favourite moment: Marty lifting me in the air while I posed Torville and Dean style on the dancefloor. Kylie had to help lift me of course, and I think Marty put his back out for the rest of the evening. And thanks to the girls from the hens night who wrote Alan I such a beautiful, if somewhat sexually explicit, birthday poem. I’m such a nonce I forgot my camera though. If you have photos, any chance I can get a copy (at non-facebook resolution)?

I managed to wind down on Sunday night with some Iskender Kebab from a Turkish restaurant on King St. After reading the paper this morning I thanked my lucky stars I wasn’t hungry for pizza.

(there, just wanted to clear that up)

And so, my blog rises zombie-like from the rain sodden earth, sporting elegant white and orange piping on a svelte black background. What’s been happening for the past six months??

For starters I moved to a new one bedroom flat, above a kids’ fashion store in Newtown. Yes, kids need fashion too! It’s across the road from a pub (the Courthouse Hotel), which means only a short crawl home on a Friday night. I would show you a picture of the place but those bastards at Google Street View turned right instead of left on my street, so no photo for you.

The only other significant detail to note about this particular topic is I now do my washing at a laundromat, and no, they are not a great place to pick up chicks. You lied to me, TV. Why did you lie to one who loves you so?

A significant forthcoming event is my imminent 30th birthday. I have teamed up with Alan, Voltron-style — I am the elbow, and he, the solar plexus — to organise a big shindig in the city. Some amount of planning has gone into this, so I am in the strange position of keenly anticipating my 30th, as opposed to, say, sticking a loaded shotgun in my mouth. Ha, ha! So I suppose now would be an opportune time to mention the addition of a wish lists page to my blog? (subtlety, thy name is Dan!)

There’s some other stuff going on but I’ll leave it there for now… OK one more thing. Naught but 20 minutes ago, I was walking by the newtown community centre and witnessed a guy conjuring some amazing chalk art on the footpath (photo below). He thrust a flyer into my hand, proclaiming the Chalk Urban Art Festival, from 4-7 September in Darling harbour. I’ll be there with bells on…

I was on the bus to work when the driver started doing commentary, in a thick and halting Greek accent.

“Good morning, ladies and gentleman, and welcome aboard. This is your Captain, George, and I’d like to thank you for leaving your cars at home in order to ride the bus. Its a beautiful day in Sydney, temperature around twenty degrees. I regret that drinks will not be served on this particular journey. Our trip takes us through Enmore, Newtown, Darlington…”

At first I thought it was a one-off joke, but he just kept on going and going, pointing out historic landmarks, etc. A little annoying when you’re trying to read, but you can’t help but smile.

Or, maybe not. On the way down the hill on City Road, a middle age woman suddenly pipes up in a shrill voice:

“Enough, driver. The commentary isnt necessary. Its not your job to narrate the trip. We are entitled to some peace and quiet, you are invading our privacy.”

Everyone on the bus exchanged looks, is she serious? The guy’s just trying to give you a smile to start the day. Just tune it out. There are worse annoyances on a crowded bus ride.

Even the words she used seem so pompous, so class-conscious. You’re just a bus driver, not a tour guide, dont go getting any ideas. How un-Australian.

So I shouted “hey, who crapped in your cornflakes, lady?!” OK well, that is the clever line I thought of later. But I did shout “Geez, relax!” and the other passengers nodded at me in encouragement.

The bus driver says “I believe this is a free country, ma’am, with freedom of speech, and I believe you are out of touch. Now, if you look to your left, you will see historic Sydney University….”

She kept her mouth closed for the rest of the trip. I wondered if its OK to tip your bus driver.