So much for me seeking my origins in the mouldy pages of this old diary. July 24th and 25th 1985 are days of incredible lack lustre.
I even told my diary that Wednesday was the most boring of boring days at work and that boringness on that scale was followed by washing my clothes and later the dishes that evening. Excitement machine? I think not. Something however moved me to write a letter to the arts editior of the Courier-Mail – something called ‘David Rowbotham’. Herr Rowbotham is no longer with us having been called to the great editor in 2010, but his legacy of poetry, literary and theatrical critique still stains the era. It seemed that nothing local could ever please him. 0
David Rowbotham – POET!
Thursday was not much more exciting than Wednesday. The three Merthyr Rd Amigos hit the heady heights of the Lutwyche late night shopping scene and invested well over $100 on comestables for the week ahead before heading home to a quiet evening.
Well how freakin’ tragic. These are two days in my life that are gone. Disappeared with no visible effect – my Rowbotham rant wasn’t even published.