My Friend George

My friend G

I was at a tram stop situated just before the exit to the airport.

I had spent many years needing alcohol to escape the shackles of my nervousness, awkwardness and locked-ness. Tonight, after drinking a couple of Mathilda Bay Premiums I felt as though the spell cast by some wicked princess had been lifted and I was, in the true spirit of disco, free to be me. I was feeling voluble, very voluble. And there it was: the loveliest bit of skirt I had seen in quite some time. I commented on it to her, it was a deep blue with subtle and bright highlights. It turned out the skirt, and the red headed girl wearing it, had just come from Africa. She returning from a holiday, the skirt a first time visitor set to reside here permanently. We struck up a conversation; her name was G and she was off to a party the other side of town, I was off  to see Yo La Tengo at the Corner Hotel, semi close to her party. I pointed out I was Gay,  this was still a party trick for me in the mid to late 90’s. G. looked at my Hanna Barbera lunch box,  kangol cap worn as a beret, and otherwise standard Louis Epstein rig out and said she knew. Our tram nowhere insight; I asked if she would like to share a taxi and after only a minute hesitation she acquiesced. In the cab she revealed she shared with a Gay guy who was quiet and reserved. She dated a guy who was obsessed with hunting feral boars. We were both relatively new transplants to Melbourne and we got on like only a Gay man and a woman really special to him can. I believe this was a first for me, she had my virginity as a hag fag and I was screaming to give it to her.  She had  a birthday coming soon, I got an invite.

Maybe I could set the scene a little more.

Contemporaneously to this I was  living in a flat that may well have been occupied by Livy in her university days. The flat was located in  a street where it was rumoured the body of  Azaria was buried. If I may address these issues in order of idiocy.

1)I did not kill Azaria , my high school teachers can attest I was approximately 2000kms south of the scene of the crime trying to be a girly swot.

2) As for Olivia Newton John, her only crime in 1980 was to make “ Xanadu”; and I love and adore her for that.

3)But the dingo! Have you seen the size of those fuckers up close ? The wolf did it man,! Those beautiful beasts could chomp down a bub quicker than a 7 year old inhaling a McHappy  meal.

(If you are not local or old, and can be bothered deciphering all of this., you may need Google at this point.)

Where was I? I was in Melbourne, in 1998,  and I had a huge hang over.  The previous night, after leaving G, I burned bright but brief at the Yo La Tengo show. I attracted the attention I wanted for a  short time, but left the gig treading on toes and seeing the looks of horror in other’s faces that  tell one, one is an alcoholic. I only saw the first 2 songs by Yo la Tengo, then threw up in the toilet to clear out my system for the taxi ride home.

Once over my hang over- I bought a picture frame as a present for G. I found a boyfriend. I brought both to the birthday dinner.

G.  loved the picture frame, asking why I had not included a picture of myself . I said that would have been incredibly vain, as I had just met her. She laughed and said yes it would.  From the first, G. could do no wrong by me

The boyfriend received a less warm reception. I swear there was never any gamesmanship on my behalf. G just disliked him intensely on first sight, this was very much the opposite of my reaction to him. At dinner in the homey little east Melbourne apartment he was quiet, polite and friendly. It became G’s quest to find me a better man.

G. was interested in more than going out and getting pissed.

 I was not.

G. would fill her time with courses in singing, medieval road lore, etc. We would meet at some pub or other. I would swear to change and take up fulfilling hobbies, meaning every word as it fell from my mouth. Of course, I never did. My problem has never been sincerity, it has always been attention span.

G’s mother was often on her mind or calling on her phone.