A Footballer's Anguish

Footballer (no name) came round to see us this afternoon. He wanted to talk about Pip, and Claire had referred him to us. He was unshaven and looked emotionally dehydrated so we offered him a refreshing cup of Rooibos tea with lemon and ginger. He said it wasn't his kind of thing and asked us if there was anything he could put his single serve sachet of protein powder in, so we whipped up a double egg banana soy smoothie. He poured the drink down his throat and looked expectantly towards us with his empty glass, so we made him a second one, throwing in an extra egg because he didn't have another sachet. Whilst he was digesting he sat quietly on the couch patting our Staffordshire Terrier with calm, long strokes. When he finally spoke he did so without stopping.

His affair with Phillipa began with a chance meeting at an opening at Collins 234 (The Place Where It's At!). He didn't really want to go because he's not interested in shopping but he was contractually obliged to attend. He didn't like the way the creative team who wrote the slogan "The Place Where It's At' were so full of themselves, cos anyone could have written that. He also thought the tram ads with the raven on the model's arm were both uninspired and misleading. We strongly agreed with Footballer (no name) as we too had been fooled by the false promises of that advertising campaign. He got talking to Phillipa and she invited him back to her gallery. She asked him to drive her Jeep as she was over the limit. Phillippa wasted no time seducing Footballer (no name) by disrobing in front of the Brett Whiteley's and pouring her glass of Chardonnay down her bosom, begging him to 'take' her. Intrigued by her mature sexuality Footballer (no name) gave in to his urges.

It's been going on now for a month, at first he thought she was really classy and he enjoyed her dirty sms's, even joining in her fairytale role playing, but now he's a bit grossed out. Sometimes he used to catch her staring at him and think it was lovely but then he started waking in the night to find her sitting on the bed looking down upon him, like he was in a manger, and that made things uncomfortable. Lately he's been feeling that Pip is more into Footballer (no name), the sport star, than Footballer (no name), the person. She always introduces him as a footballer and he's starting to think he could be any footballer or soccer player, or at least a tennis player. His Mum had warned him about women like this when he first got famous. The coach has had a word with him about that woman in robes who keeps hanging round the training sessions, and his manager has pressured him to keep his affairs quiet as he is a more bankable star when the ladies think he's single.

Footballer (no name) asked our advice on gently letting Pip go. For a moment we wondered if we should be circumspect but we couldn't be bothered, we hate Pip. We told him not to worry about being gentle, she was two-timing him with the raven wielding boy from the tram. Footballer (no name) was shocked as he'd met Grayam at the Collins 234 opening and had assumed he was Pip's son. No, we told him, handing him another vanilla slice, he's her lover, her toy boy, her Ashton.

crowe Impersonates Christ

russell crowe handed out lyric books to the audience at his 'sell out' (all 160 tickets went!) performance to promote his solo album. The New Zealander told his congregation to consider them 'hymn books', possibly spelt 'Him'.

If russell is at all sensitive to 'signs' then the vision of his laughing son would surely indicate that his religious path is Buddhism.



The Laughing Charlie

Sorry Steve

One Big Pig
Stole A Show
And Did TV
Trying To Pretend
He Wasn’t Greedy

One Big Pig
Tried To Eat
The State Crockery
Calling The Breaks
His Heartfelt Charity

One Big Pig
More And More
Still Not Enough
Got Caught Stealing
Going Got Tough

One Big Pig
Says He’s Sorry
Deeply Deeply Sorry




Disgraced Melbourne businessman steve vizard straining to smile at Melbourne Airport.

Sandwich

The lunch at The Botanical™ really shook us up. Our thoughts were in a whirl. Ever since Pip came along there's been this tension between her and us and now she is coming between us and Claire, helped along by that little poser Grayam. We can handle being around dicks like Pip but when it threatens our relationship with our medium we lose our cool, hence the inbox incident. Claire is everything to us, she's the reason we are so successful, she's our Paul Burrell, our rock! We love her and feel confident that when we die she won't write books about us. What made us really mad was the fact that somehow we were being made to feel that we should have informed Claire about something that was Pip and Grayam's business. We were the meat in the sandwich.

We didn't have any Xanax left as we have been handing them out to our friends in stock broking who are afraid of psychiatrists. In situations like these we find active meditation is the only way to relax, dolphin sounds and breathing do nothing for this type of pathology, so we started to arrange our CD's into the Dewey Decimal Classification System. We kept getting distracted by playing various sad tracks from Claire's favourite and least favourite acts, like Sinead O'Connor and The Smiths respectively. Tears streamed down our cheeks two lines into Nothing Compares 2 U, by the second verse we were down on bended knees before Claire's photograph on our altar. Shaking from the uncontrollable sobs we embraced in an attempt to earth ourselves. Delirious with sorrow we found ourselves in the bathroom, razors in hand, about to shave our heads when something (probably an unseen force) brought us out of it and suddenly that unopened letter from Sir Elton possessed us. We dropped our razors and with shaving cream in our hair we raced to the studio to open it.

We had assumed it was the wedding invitation but seeing the secret address still shocked us. We shared a herbal cigarette and discussed our issues with Sir Elton. It was only this week we'd seen the pictures of Sir Elton's White Tie and Tiara Ball, which showed his impropriety. In the climate of Live 8, David and Elton curiously chose an African theme, which involved the use of wildlife (zebra, gorilla's, giraffes etc) and desserts of chocolate huts with coconut roofs. Apart from the immorality of the celebrities eating the homes of African villagers, it is outrageously wasteful as most of the party goers were thinner than the folk living in the huts - Liz Hurley wouldn't have touched it and Eva Herzigova gave hers to the giraffes - although Linda Evangelista and Diana Ross did share a coconut roof. As Australians we're wondering what it is with these affluent Britons and their African themes? This sort or thing really stirs our inner-communist and we'll need to decide if we will forgive Sir Elton his trespasses.

Sustaining and juggling friendships in this day and age is difficult and sometimes it can become overwhelming. We just want harmony with others but we felt broken, the shattered pieces of our confidence floating weightless around the room. Fatigue began to set in and we slept fitfully, waking each other up with our screams, finding ourselves still on the couch bathed in our own sweat. If Claire hadn't texted us then and there we don't know what would have become of us. Her message was simple - my anger this afternoon was misdirected sorry love you claire x. The relief was amazing, we were new people, and we were free.

CHOCO SHOCKO



DAVID AND SIR ELTON'S PARTY SAFARI




COCONUT ISN'T FATTENING




VICKY BECKHAM WITH APE

No Future For Grayam

As Pip has been on our backs about wanting to say sorry to Claire we arranged a reconciliation lunch at The Botanical Hotel™ in South Yarra. We've been quite apprehensive as Claire still doesn't know that Grayam and Pip are an item, nor is she aware of Grayam's burgeoning modeling career and she's going through one of her really intense anti-male-model cycles. Going out with Claire in winter is usually a pain because she smokes and we have to sit outside, but global warming has it's benefits as today was another summer's day in July.

Pip was only five minutes late but very apologetic and tried to reassure us that her and Steve Vizard were only acquaintances and that her shares in those businesses were a gift from her grandparents. We didn't know Pip knew the disgraced Steve Vizard, and we don't know him either so it was all a bit weird. We have little to no interest in finance. Whatever Pip!

The lunch went well with Pip impressing Claire with her direct apology, looking Claire straight in the eye. They were friends again by entree (Six freshly shucked Tasmanian oysters, properly garnished) and we all had a cheery conversation about the controversial contestants on Big Brother. It was the first time we were able to partake in the subject without having flashbacks so we were pretty jolly too. We overlooked the constant message alert beep of Pip's mobile phone and her frequent trips to the Botanical Wine Wall™ because she kept bringing back killer bottles of New Zealand white, and she was paying the bill. It started to get nerve-racking when the name Grayam fell from Pip's lips, like every few sentences. By the time we'd had our main course (Miso caramelised Patagonian toothfish with fried oysters, crab & seaweed salad) it became apparent that Pip had been seeing Grayam for sometime and we hadn't told Claire. Our paranoia was unfounded as Claire seemed okay with it, she's progressive in that old school way. Just as we started to relax Pip screeched "The Tram!, The Tram!" as Grayam's stupid pouting face one and a half metres high on the side of the Number 8 passed by. Claire stiffened in her chair whilst Pip who seemed oblivious skipped off to the Wine Wall™ again. Her face redden and as tight lipped as Arki Busson with tears welling in her eyes Claire looked at us and said, "My grandson is a model and you didn't think it important enough to tell me. Grayam has no future". Sobbing, she got up and left taking one of the Botanical™'s linen napkins with her. We were shaken but clear headed enough to tell the waiter to charge the napkin to Pip's account because stealing is wrong. While we were waiting for our dessert (24crt gold leaf Valhrona chocolate nemesis with wood roasted, caramelised figs) Pip's phone beeped yet again. We know it is unethical to invade someone's privacy but curiousity and resentment got the better of us. The message read, "dear little red riding hood I want to eat your basket of goodies love the big bad wolf", and it was from 'footballer'.

When Pip came back to the table she asked us where Claire was and we told her she had left because of the male model business. Breathing Malborough Sauvignon Blanc Pip starts yelling at us for not informing Claire of Grayam's rising star. We retaliated by asking her who 'footballer' aka Big Bad Wolf was. Silence engulfed the table as Pip gathered her luggage style handbag and cheese cutter hat. With nostrils flared and bulging eyes she spat, "Going through someone's inbox is the lowest of low. You two are nothing but self-righteous know-it-alls who live vicariously through your friends". She then left, leaving us the bill.



Grayam (centre, with raven) on the trouble causing tram

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