Blog sans reader

Hello and welcome to Ernst U. Boarking's blog about stuff & stuff-all.
Warning: Some material in the blog may not be suitable.



Wednesday, September 23, 2009

Tipping with washing lines

Your head says tip Geelong.

But when I was taking in the washing at the weekend, I came to a point where what was left on the line were three vests: one red, one white & one black. It seems to me an omen from the footy gods, who've I've had dealings with before, so you best tip the Saints.

Sunday, September 20, 2009

Boarking goes solar



as the polar bears smile their thanks,

and the glaciers regrow,

snows fall again on Kilamanjaro,

Gaia sighs her relief,

and...














...a cloud of smug becomes visible above Boarking Mansions!

Collywobblin'

I warned all my Collingwood Pie friends (I confess I do have some) not to watch the Preliminary Final. I'm sure they regret ignoring the man in the know, Ernest U.

Followers of the game knew it was going to go pear shape when the coach tried to play mind games, always the last refuge of the desperate.

Sunday, September 13, 2009

What's the point?

Obviously, when you think about it, there is no point.

We're all, creatures great & small, just filling in time between birth & death, in a universe doing much the same (I suspect).

When you are doing alright, this is liberating.

When you struggle in the dark night of your (non-existent) soul, this is no consolation.

But you might as well go on with it, because you're a long time dead.

And you might as well do good, because you've evolved to get a kick out of it.

So, religion is superfluous, it seems...

Monday, September 7, 2009

Unrequited love on the Upfield Line, remembered

At the pool after work, I go for my crook neck, I stay too long in the spa, I get a bit light headed. I sit on the side, half dressed, waiting to recover, waiting for my feet to dry and I remember this lovely woman that got on my carriage last Saturday arvo.

She got on at Antsey or Brunswick, or somewhere close; it's not really that important but perhaps it is, all the best people live in Brunswick these days. Late twenties, early thirties, it's hard to tell. Dark clothes and hair, just as I like it, not Goth though, hopefully a bit old for Emo. Warm eyes, but a bit tired around them, no make up excepting a touch of lippy on these wonderful, voluptuous lips which I'll never forget. She sat facing me, but a couple of bays down. She smiled at a toddler in the opposite window, I like to think that this hints at a good nature. I realised that she was all that I had ever looked for in a lover and soul mate, and if it was that good a match, then I must be The One for her too. I went back to reading my novel.

I got off at North Melbourne. She didn't look up.

"She doesn't know I exist,
I'm gonna keep it like this,
I'm not gonna take any risks..."


As I think of her, sitting by the pool, waiting for my feet to dry, all the noise, the shouting & splashing, the echoes, they all subside and I've got this wonderful Divine Comedy song exploding in my head. I smile, all is not lost, unrequited love is better than no love.