Listening To: Choose One : 1200 Techniques

Current Horn Factor :

Horn Factor = Nnnngh !

I slept in her bed last night. Alone. I got takeaway from our favourite Indian place on Bondi Road, and sat on the couch in her loungeroom watching the A-Team and Rove. Without her. Y’see, IG left me her keys before she went to Fiji, and I was supposed to go to her apartment last night to pick up the rent money for her from her flatmate. Said flatmate ended up being a no-show, leaving me to spend a lonely night on my own in their deserted apartment. If I’d known how lonely that was going to be, I think I would have said “fekkit”, and made the long public transport trek back to Artarmon 15 minutes after the appointed time the absent flatmate was supposed to show.

Instead – fool that I am – I thought it would be nice to wait around and do all the things I’d normally do if my fiancé was there i.e. the trash TV, the yummy curry, and watching Rove. First up – The A-Team … I was fine during that; listening to Laurence Tarraud (“Mr-T to you, fool !”) tell Mad Dog to “cut the Jibba-Jabba” & watching another implausible plot unfold as the Team strove to successfully escape the clutches of both the military police and a band of uncrupulous bounty hunters, with the help of a pretty female vet named Dr.Kelly. I started to feel a little peculiar after the show finished however, and I went for the walk down Bondi Road to get takeaway. Walking past one of the seafood places, I remembered the other week when I bought IG a dozen oysters in lieau of sushi after Sushi Love shut its doors early one night. Walking further along, I started to mentally tick off other eateries as places we still had to try … and naturally I started to miss my baby more in the process.

I got back to the apartment with my spicy haul, and Lisas flatmate still hadn’t shown. Flicked the tele onto Rove, and proceeded to demolish my curry in record time. Now my stomach was full, yet I could still feel a paradoxical void starting to grow within. Rove was a bloody classic last night, so I found I was almost pissing myself with laughter at various points, especially Pete Helliars ‘interview with Arnold Swartzenegger’. Yet in the back of my mind I found my own laughter sounding strangely hollow, echoing in the space of the deserted loungeroom without her laughter to accompany it. Eventually the program finished at 11 pm, and I retired to the bedroom I’ll be sharing with IG fulltime in another few weeks.

That’s when the loneliness really hit me.


I know – I coped alright in the end with her going to Europe for a month, and I know she will be back in another few days. Every time she does this it still seems to get harder for me though. Lying in her bed, surrounded by the normal clutter everyone accumulates in their bedroom, I thought I could detect the faintest hint of her crisp, clean scent. It felt as if she’d been in the room a moment ago, and had left it just as I walked in. More than ever before, even that month she’d been in the Mediterranian; I found myself missing Lisa with every fibre of my being and wishing she was home ! It took all my strenght to stop myself from breaking out sobbing like a big, wet girlie, and crying myself to sleep. It doesn’t help that Fiji has no mobile coverage except for the main island, and the smaller islands she has been hopping between don’t even have landlines. Thus the last time I spoke to her was on Friday, and it won’t be till Friday hence that I can speak to her again. The days in between seem to be just dragging on and ooooon :-(

On that note, friends and fans . . .