Like a heartbeat ... drives you mad

Since Brian banished me from my own musical (see Street of dreams post July 2006 - i prefer brackets to footnotes) I had no recourse but to put the precious fuck on ice. I made no contact, didn't return her majesty's calls, mildly dissed him in one subsequent posting and crossed the road upon any possible sighting. Unfortunately last week at the pedestrian crossing I was smiling my thanks at the driver for stopping to let me cross when my eyes looked directly into those of Brian who was smack bang behind the steering wheel. I hastily turned the other way, ricking my neck in the process.

But you know what, NSRs, Brian is one tenacious so and so. No sooner do you attempt to freeze him does he insouciantly return, bouncing back up at you like one of those inflatable Romper Room clowns when pushed to the ground. In all honesty how can i cull someone i've known since my mystic days as a tween, besides the mistress cannot afford to lose any more pals.

So that night when the phone rang i didn't screen the call but answered. Sure enough it was Briannon on the blower. My frostiness and reserve didn't even register with him, he just steamrolled on and arranged me to meet him at the cafe down the road from Rockdale library.

As I entered the coffee lounge the next day for luncheon, I was rather intrigued to see seated beside Brian a dude with silver hair what was all new waved up and stoodio lined, sporting a Dennis the Menace red and black stripey long sleeved t. I then recalled that Bri's phone messages had featured a lot of "we" "us" and "our" (also a hilarious film starring Lucille Ball and Hank Fonda) which i had attributed to further evidence of high and mighty Bri.

With great flourish and smugness Bri presented Sylvain, introducing him as his "life partner". Sylvain is a Belgian francophone performance artiste. He seems to be about 50 and his biggest claim to fame is making parties with Plastic B and the lads from Telephone in the 80's. He talked of nothing else during our meal. Brian had a diet coke and a nice air sandwich, and Sylvain imbibed from a 2 litre bottle of orange juice that i suspect was mixed with voddie. The mistress wolfed an open melt with grilled tomato and a side serve of chips, beetroot, grated carrot, onion rings and limp lettuce washed down with a malted milkshake. The only things the mistress relished that lunch hour let me tell you. Oh and the 'ello 'ello accents. Yes, Brian has developed a curious accent, distinctly francophony. Precious and affected - how does he do it!

After we cordially said goodbye, I walked aimlessly down the Princes Highway in search of a bus or train station, tetchily mimicking the previous hour's Brinanities, and realised that Brian and i had yet again called a truce of sorts. Can't live with 'em, can't live without 'em as Robert le Clair-le Beau used to frequently pronounce to the puzzlement of the patrons at Doug's Place.