Pliny was pleased with the Premier's definition of a bogan. Salt of the earth, he thought as he walked into the city on Sunday morning. I can live with that.
He entered the Premier's Box. Everyone was looking anxiously out of the windows at the sky.
The Premier came over.
Big day today, he observed. Let's hope the rain keeps off.
Yes, said Pliny. I suppose it could be dangerous.
By the way, said the Premier, I have something for you.
He handed Pliny a brown paper bag.
What's this? said Pliny.
It's your sandwich from last Thursday, said the Premier. I had someone ask the guard to retrieve it.
What! said Pliny. I hardly want it now!
Ha ha! Gotcha! said the Premier. It's not really that sandwich. It's a replica.
In that case, thank you very much, said Pliny. Now if you'll excuse me, I think I'll watch the races.
The morning flew by and soon it was time for the big one, the Clipsal 500 V8 Championship. It was raining, then it wasn't, then it was. No one knew what sort of tyres to put on.
Pliny was glad he was in the Premier's box out of the rain. He began to feel a little peckish. Should he eat his replica sandwich or go over to the table that was loaded as usual with complimentary gourmet food and wines? What would a proper bogan do? He didn't know.
He looked out of the window. His man Whincup was in the lead. That was good. The Holden man.
One of them anyway. He wondered what it really meant to be a Holden man.
Thoughtfully he bit into the Premier's replica sandwich.
Showing posts with label rain. Show all posts
Showing posts with label rain. Show all posts
Saturday, March 19, 2011
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
Rain Stream of Consciousness
It has rained nearly all day I woke up this morning pretty early and I heard a noise. At first I thought it wasn't rain but then I realised it was my eyes were shut they were stuck fast and I couldn't see the time on the radio clock. The later it was the more I didn't want it to be raining but I didn't know what time it was. It didn't matter what time it was then because later on when it was time to get up it was still raining.
It rained all morning and after lunch we wanted to go to the shops but it was raining although not very much we got ready to go but then I said no I don't want to go if it is raining. So we didn't go but ten minutes later ah! it stopped raining and the sun didn't exactly come out straight away but you could see that it was trying, if it makes sense to say that the sun can try.
So we were walking to the shops and it wasn't raining, it wasn't too bad and there were puddles on the ground and you could see reflections of the sky in the puddles they were of white clouds and blue streaks which were the blue bits of the sky. It was like these were the windows into another world underneath where we were walking and they had clouds and blue sky there as well but of course they were upside down and shiny like a mirror.
All the time we were out it wasn't raining but guess what when we got home it started raining straight away. That 's lucky I thought and then I thought it wasn't lucky there's nothing lucky about being inside when it's raining you're just inside that's all and some unlucky people might still be outside so you shouldn't gloat. And anyway I had to take out the bins and it was raining although it was lucky in a way because it wasn't raining hard.
It rained all morning and after lunch we wanted to go to the shops but it was raining although not very much we got ready to go but then I said no I don't want to go if it is raining. So we didn't go but ten minutes later ah! it stopped raining and the sun didn't exactly come out straight away but you could see that it was trying, if it makes sense to say that the sun can try.
So we were walking to the shops and it wasn't raining, it wasn't too bad and there were puddles on the ground and you could see reflections of the sky in the puddles they were of white clouds and blue streaks which were the blue bits of the sky. It was like these were the windows into another world underneath where we were walking and they had clouds and blue sky there as well but of course they were upside down and shiny like a mirror.
All the time we were out it wasn't raining but guess what when we got home it started raining straight away. That 's lucky I thought and then I thought it wasn't lucky there's nothing lucky about being inside when it's raining you're just inside that's all and some unlucky people might still be outside so you shouldn't gloat. And anyway I had to take out the bins and it was raining although it was lucky in a way because it wasn't raining hard.
Monday, June 28, 2010
Rainer
Why am I here, on Union Street? All by myself on the footpath. Under the narrow eave of a carport with cream rollerdoors. Staring at nothing.
It's raining that's why. It's raining hard. I'm waiting for someone to come and get me. I'm sad.
My hair is dripping; my scarf feels damp on the back of my neck. I'm wearing a black coat; I'm carrying a purple shopping bag. Inside the shopping bag the items are damp. I'm worried about the Weetbix in its cardboard box. The box is swelling.
In front of me is the street. Union Street. A quiet little street. Opposite me, a cream fence, and a tree. It's a small tree, with some autumn leaves, yellow, red, green, still clinging to the lower branches. The upper branches are bare.
The sky above the fence is dark grey, and the sky directly above me is white. There is a flash. And rumbling thunder. The sky's secret. The rain is easing.
To my left, a fence covered with a creeper. Orange trumpet flowers, waxy green leaves shining and wet. Quivering.
It's raining that's why. It's raining hard. I'm waiting for someone to come and get me. I'm sad.
My hair is dripping; my scarf feels damp on the back of my neck. I'm wearing a black coat; I'm carrying a purple shopping bag. Inside the shopping bag the items are damp. I'm worried about the Weetbix in its cardboard box. The box is swelling.
In front of me is the street. Union Street. A quiet little street. Opposite me, a cream fence, and a tree. It's a small tree, with some autumn leaves, yellow, red, green, still clinging to the lower branches. The upper branches are bare.
The sky above the fence is dark grey, and the sky directly above me is white. There is a flash. And rumbling thunder. The sky's secret. The rain is easing.
To my left, a fence covered with a creeper. Orange trumpet flowers, waxy green leaves shining and wet. Quivering.
Monday, March 8, 2010
Like Rain
Sunday afternoon. Hove. We're walking northwards along the beach. It's sunny and warm, but it looks like rain. It looks mightily like rain.
The sky over the water is black as squid ink. Dark static drifts fall onto the sea. Above us the clouds are a jigsaw of black, grey and white, with gaps where the blue sky shows through. The sea is glowing fit to burst its gelatinous skin, a silver line on the horizon the fragile string that holds it in.
Sunlit patches gleam in shifting rows of golden herringbones, then disappear and surface somewhere else. Where waves are breaking the sea is pink and white and brown and mucilaginous like a bucket of beaten octopus and squid. There is a rush, a sound of swallowing, and soft ticks.
On the sand, heaps of seagrass, and leaves from far off trees, broken scallop shells like stiff pink fish, midden heaps and stones.
It looks like rain. It looks mightily like rain. But it doesn't rain. We sit eating icecreams in the sun.
The sky over the water is black as squid ink. Dark static drifts fall onto the sea. Above us the clouds are a jigsaw of black, grey and white, with gaps where the blue sky shows through. The sea is glowing fit to burst its gelatinous skin, a silver line on the horizon the fragile string that holds it in.
Sunlit patches gleam in shifting rows of golden herringbones, then disappear and surface somewhere else. Where waves are breaking the sea is pink and white and brown and mucilaginous like a bucket of beaten octopus and squid. There is a rush, a sound of swallowing, and soft ticks.
On the sand, heaps of seagrass, and leaves from far off trees, broken scallop shells like stiff pink fish, midden heaps and stones.
It looks like rain. It looks mightily like rain. But it doesn't rain. We sit eating icecreams in the sun.
Friday, March 5, 2010
Smartie at Home
it's raining
i'm eating a smartie
at home
the rain came
as we left
the art gallery
we were at
an exhibition called
before and after science
it was part
of the festival of arts
it was crap
let me explain
it was basically just stuff
that artists had put there
hoping you'd see
what it meant
it's raining
i'm eating a smartie
at home
i suppose you're thinking
she takes a long time to eat one smartie.
but there's something you don't know
i've eaten six
and there's something else you don't know
they aren't real
at least i've taken the trouble to explain
and i've taken the trouble
to make it a poem
even though.......( you can finish it )
i'm eating a smartie
at home
the rain came
as we left
the art gallery
we were at
an exhibition called
before and after science
it was part
of the festival of arts
it was crap
let me explain
it was basically just stuff
that artists had put there
hoping you'd see
what it meant
it's raining
i'm eating a smartie
at home
i suppose you're thinking
she takes a long time to eat one smartie.
but there's something you don't know
i've eaten six
and there's something else you don't know
they aren't real
at least i've taken the trouble to explain
and i've taken the trouble
to make it a poem
even though.......( you can finish it )
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
Waterlogged Memories
Maybe I'm wrong, and bees hate water. They prefer to travel over bridges after all. And will not fly in the rain.
Since yesterday I've been haunted by waterlogged bees. Searching for a memory. We used to rent a house with a swimming pool.
The swimming pool was overhung by a giant ghost gum, which dropped its leaves and blossoms
and little bark canoes into the water. We used to spend hours trying to fish them out with a net.
Sometimes there would be bees. We didn't like them near us when we were vulnerable in our swimsuits, and bare feet. Often the bees would drown, in the swimming pool water. They would bob towards the filter outlet and disappear.
One day I remember seeing that my daughter had lined up several waterlogged bees on the slate tiles at the side of the pool. What are you doing? I asked. Trying to revive them, she said.
Or is this what happened? One day I saw my daughter gently nudging waterlogged bees on to a little bark canoe. What are you doing? I asked. Saving them, she replied.
Or this? One day I saw a row of waterlogged bees lined up at the side of the pool. What's this? I asked. My bee hospital, she answered.
Something like this happened. I remember hoping that the bees would not survive to sting her, or any other member of my family, later on.
That was in the days when there were bees.
Since yesterday I've been haunted by waterlogged bees. Searching for a memory. We used to rent a house with a swimming pool.
The swimming pool was overhung by a giant ghost gum, which dropped its leaves and blossoms
and little bark canoes into the water. We used to spend hours trying to fish them out with a net.
Sometimes there would be bees. We didn't like them near us when we were vulnerable in our swimsuits, and bare feet. Often the bees would drown, in the swimming pool water. They would bob towards the filter outlet and disappear.
One day I remember seeing that my daughter had lined up several waterlogged bees on the slate tiles at the side of the pool. What are you doing? I asked. Trying to revive them, she said.
Or is this what happened? One day I saw my daughter gently nudging waterlogged bees on to a little bark canoe. What are you doing? I asked. Saving them, she replied.
Or this? One day I saw a row of waterlogged bees lined up at the side of the pool. What's this? I asked. My bee hospital, she answered.
Something like this happened. I remember hoping that the bees would not survive to sting her, or any other member of my family, later on.
That was in the days when there were bees.
Thursday, April 23, 2009
This Is True
It rained yesterday. The first rain we've had all year, to speak of. This is true. It rained all day. We had to like it, even though we don't like getting wet. This is also true.
When it rains here the dead grass sprouts immediately and turns a brilliant green. This is generally true.
We used to throw our washing up water on the grass to keep it from forgetting. This is poetically true.
Usually the washing up water would have bits of food in it, such as rice, apple pips, rocket leaves, pineapple slices, onion rings and tomato paste in suspension. This is demonstrably true.
This morning you couldn't see the grass for the rice, rocket, onion and tomato plants that had sprung up in profusion overnight, under a canopy of apple and pineapple trees.
This isn't true, and I'm quite disappointed.
When it rains here the dead grass sprouts immediately and turns a brilliant green. This is generally true.
We used to throw our washing up water on the grass to keep it from forgetting. This is poetically true.
Usually the washing up water would have bits of food in it, such as rice, apple pips, rocket leaves, pineapple slices, onion rings and tomato paste in suspension. This is demonstrably true.
This morning you couldn't see the grass for the rice, rocket, onion and tomato plants that had sprung up in profusion overnight, under a canopy of apple and pineapple trees.
This isn't true, and I'm quite disappointed.
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