#4 Dee Why to Downtown Bus Trips – A Diary of Stuff that Popped into My Head One Week.

Returning – Wednesday, 4.56p.m., 7 December 2011

Chatty, steamy, humid. Foggy windows and plenty of facial expressions – query, smile, relief. The rain is pretty steady as we head over Sydney Harbour Bridge.

The guy sitting with his arms folded across his chest, next to me, has coffee breath and somehow it’s alerted me to the fact I’m hungry.

Two elderly ladies, each with wavy, grey hair, are amongst the chattiest, hardly turning away from each other, words dripping down the front of them and piling up on their laps. The one closest to me looks like she could be Wallace’s (from Wallace and Gromit) mother – she resembles Wallace. Wallace and Gromit had an episode called “The Wrong Trousers”. Well, I think this lady is starring in her own episode called “The Wrong Shoes”, because her feet are hanging out of her shoes right now. They’re bulging over the sides like lumpy custard that boiled over the rim of a too-small pot.

The tall guy sitting directly opposite me has a bald head shaped like a turtle shell, it’s unusually broad and looks very hard. Even his mouth forms the shape of a turtle’s. He seems completely detached from his surroundings within this rain smothered bus. He’s deep in thought. I reckon if I flopped myself out he wouldn’t even notice.

I’m finding it difficult to write while I’m hungry. People do eat turtles. Flop myself out or eat the turtle? Think I’ll eat the turtle.

Almost there.

I’m hungry.

Thursday is tomorrow. Almost the weekend. My wife, Erin, and I plan to try a local Japanese restaurant where we’ve never eaten at before.

Food. I’m hungry.

We’re new to the Dee Why area. So, in fact, there are lots of restaurants for us to try. To eat at.

I’m hungry.

It’s still raining and I’m still hungry. It continues to rain and I continue to feel hunger.

Hungary is a European country. I’ve been there, it was 1990. I remember eating some wonderful food in Budapest with a Canadian I’d met by chance. Mark was his name. And it still is. Some things never change. We were hungry in Hungary and we ate.

I’m hungry.

This journal I’m writing in is hungry for my thoughts, my perceptions and my words. I feed it.

I’m hungry and I need feeding, too.

Time to finish writing. We approach the bus stop – or it approaches us, depends how you look at it.

I am hungry. I will eat.

#3 Dee Why to Downtown Bus Trips – A Diary of Stuff that Popped into My Head One Week.

Going – Wednesday, 7.16a.m., 7 December 2011

It’s hard getting things in sync, isn’t it? I feel like crap, I’m really tired and my left eye is red and dry again – an ongoing problem since late 2001 when I started a two-and-a-half year period of doing shift work. I’m feeling that it would be very difficult to talk to or interact with anyone right now.

The bus folk this particular morning seem an easy-going and friendly mass, assembled in their right-angled allotments. And the sun is shining like a welcome smile through the bus’s large window panes, warmly settling on my cool corpse. Everything else and everyone is okay but I’m out of sync.

I know how to fix it – just jump ship. Get on board the good-attitude-ship and don’t go down with the bad…and go to bed earlier tonight. I knew that extra hour up last night would screw me.

There’s a guy sitting perfectly upright with his eyes closed and sort of smile. He’s got a tuft of thinning, wispy hair atop his head dyed a tacky, brownish red. I imagine him thinking: “I look good. I like the colour and no one will notice it’s dyed. It was a good idea.”

“Wrong. You don’t look good and I did notice. Bad idea.”

He’s still smiling. He must be supremely confident.

I’m noticing I’m a bit more in sync now. When I feel my sense of humour rising and cheekiness kick in, I become all-powerful. Adults shrink into feeble children and I run rings around them. I’m crowned with confidence. I’ve just never been able to keep this switch on. It’s a loose switch with a mind of its own and turns on and off at whim.

Anyway, it’s not about me it’s about the bus, its trip, its people. Nice trip. Good people. I should just keep it this simple. Leave it at that. Then my day will be good and everyone else will have a good day.

What about the bus? How does it feel? Was it serviced with love and care, properly as it should’ve been? Does it mind all these bumps and jolting stops and starts? Does it mind bearing big, bold posters on its side advertising ridiculously titled movies as it circles the streets of Sydney, like We Bought a Zoo? (I just spotted a turning bus with this poster). I bet it does mind.

Bit of a cheap premise for a movie. Bound to be great though, right? Throw in expensive name actors like Matt Damon and Scarlett Johansson, delight us with cute and interesting animals. Hollywood machinery at work.

Scarlett – does this word mean a small scar? “I don’t have a horrible scar, it’s only a scarlett.”

Go well, bus; see you or one of your siblings again this afternoon on my way home.

#2 Dee Why to Downtown Bus Trips – A Diary of Stuff that Popped into My Head One Week.

Returning - Tuesday, 4.41p.m., 6 December 2011 

About ten minutes into the journey along the route: “Do you stop at Dee Why?” asked a man to the bus driver.

“Yeah”, but only when I get there” I said in my head.

“Yes” our driver responded.

I guess you get tired of having to answer that question all the time.

It’s the same as this morning for the most part. Their silent heads and eyes fixated on the latest gadgets. Although, I see three people reading crumpled newspapers. Well, two and a half people – one guy with a big nose and grey, spiky hair keeps nodding off. Good effort though for trying to read when you’re so tired.  

There’s also a hard, lizard-looking blonde lady with a Russian accent, who – on our slow and jolting departure – launched into a frown-driven, and loud conversation.  She seems the type of person who doesn’t give a shit about anyone else, or what people think of her – exactly the kind of attitude that might have allowed me to be more successful in my own life. I’m sure she’s cold-blooded. Unfortunately, mine is free flowing and quite warm.

They really aren’t a very bright looking lot of travellers. I would’ve expected a happier bunch, I mean they’ve all finished work and are going home right now. You never know, though, do you? Should I interview each person to see what’s going on? To find out what their story is? Sometimes I wish I could.

By the way, the guy with the big nose and grey, spiky hair – the nodder – he’s got thinner lips than John Major. He makes John look like he’s had lip enhancement work done. You know, like those ageing soapie stars that all of a sudden one day have much fuller looking lips.

Funny that I’ve just noticed a teenager wearing a “Giants” baseball cap. It contrasts with three midget looking guys – dressed in Santa outfits – who two minutes ago boarded this rolling brick to a destination unknown to me. Should I interview them?

What was my destination today – Dee Why bus stop, or the above irony? Well, it’s my choice because we all create our own reality.

It’s just good to be home.

#1 Dee Why to Downtown Bus Trips – A Diary of Stuff that Popped into My Head One Week.

Well hi there. Has it really been since 18 April that I posted? I suppose that's not too bad, it just seems longer. Time's a funny thing, isn't it? So regimented and specific, yet so relative and variable at the same...errr...time, I can't escape from saying.

Now, I do like the feeling when it swells and becomes engorged. My fan base, that is. Slowly, slowly a fan base is rising for my cartoon blog. But, wouldn't it be good to feel the same throbbing sensation for, this, my writing blog? I like a throbbing, not a sobbing.

So, to get it rising here's another post for you. Help spread the word about my blog, help me achieve a rock hard fan base. Thanks, my Loyals!

Here's the first installment of some bus trip writing:

In August of 2010 I discovered writing. The magic and the joy it gives you. Like everyone else before me I soon realised that writing is something you have to keep practicing – a lot – in order to improve. Practice. Keep practicing. Then practice some more. Everyone will tell you this.

During December 2011, it occurred to me that my almost two hours on the bus each day could be put to good use. During this time I could practice my writing. Perfect. Except for the fact the bus’s rough riding often made it very difficult to actually write. But, apparently I adjusted or compensated somehow, because I don’t remember complaining that much about it.

Anyway, what follows are five days’ worth of bus trips, each a return trip from Dee Why – where I live – to downtown Sydney – where I work. Think of it as a kind of “thoughts diary” – a diary of my thoughts each sleepy morning, and each I’m-tired or I’m-glad-the-day-is-over afternoon.

What sort of things do you think about when you travel to and from work?

Going – Tuesday, 6.57a.m., 6 December 2011

I sit down and pull out my writing kit. It’s a hardcover spiral journal, a pen and well – my mind. As I look around and peer through my thick sleepy haze, I see a lot of these commuters have got their silent heads and murky eyes fixated on some kind of electronic gadget. Everyone’s immersed in their own world, segregated from the person they’re merely inches, even less, away from. We’re all here together, yet everyone is alone and separate. I feel I go unnoticed. Or do I go unnoticed?

They’re all so ordered, perched in their seats. Some are slumped but they still appear organised, it’s the layout of the seats on both counts. Who designed these seats, anyway? Because they’re too small – the space is cramped. All the different shoes – robust boots, dirty sneakers and clean sneakers, sexy glossy high-heels, the almost-always-the-same men’s black dress shoes – the various  colours and styles of pants and dresses and shirts and jackets, somehow, side by side, they appear unattractive. Yet, if you examine these gadget-gazing monsters individually, the shoes, outfits and clothing can make sense, are pleasing even.

A girl sitting right next to me just slid her jacket off, as if lined with lube – better than Houdini could’ve done in such a confined space I must say.

I know what some of you are thinking sitting in your bus seat, you’re looking so composed and in control, yet you have your insecurities and worries.

My pen’s been busy and now you all start scattering off the bus as it reaches its final stops. Scamper to your demoralising desks. I have to rush to mine, too, I caught one of those damn buses that terminates further out from downtown than I wanted – it was an L180. Mental post-it note for the inside of my head: Don’t get on the L180 again.

'bout Time

Okay, so there has been some gap between creating this blog and now - the first post. Everyone's busy, but I really have been busy lately and definitely not procrastinating. As if I didn't have enough to do, a couple of weeks ago I decided I should set up my own little piece of online real estate. So, I started setting up a website http://www.julianrhudson.com/, and it's become my new toy of sorts, playing and tinkering with it after work, amongst other things.

Anyway, no more excuses. Behold, the grand opening of Does My Blog Look Big in These Shorts?! (the online world goes wiiild...)

Before I post some actual writing, I just wanted to share this small thought with you, something I thought of today at work while I was wrangling a hefty load of paperwork: Why do they call them paper clips when they're made of metal? I guess calling them 'clips made of metal for papers' was too long-winded.

Cease the superfluousness...it's time for a poem I wrote one windy, cold day at my mum's outside on the verandah (I've no idea why I was sitting out in this weather).

The Biscuit Tin and The Boy

The biscuit tin sits wide and round high on the pantry shelf

With the aid of Dad’s chair, he’ll get up there and help himself

To his excitement and surprise some chocolate ones lay beckoning

A chubby hand darts in for as many as it’ll hold, that’s his reckoning

All has gone to plan as he descends now to the floor

But his elation turns to fear as Mum bursts through the kitchen door

July 2010