Six.

June 4th to 8th 2000 – Four days of a working week in review.

If you were editing this you could run a red pen through that week. You could cross the days out like
you were unhappy with the draft. Nothing would be lost. I went to work. I slept. Jay hauled up on the
couch watching late night television. I went to work. If the weather wasn't different all the days could
have been the same. It was a template day times three.

No highlights worth recording, you know how it goes, weekends bleed into weekdays. Time is fluid.
Sunday always leaks into Monday, worse Monday flows into Tuesday. That is the universal problem with
time leakage.

At work I tasted some wine. I took a set of tasting notes. Reading them in my diary now, they make no
sense. I did a stabilisation and clarification trial, I kept a note of that. I used a forklift to move barrels. I
dropped a screwdriver down the drain and spent three-quarters of an hour trying to get it out, riveting
stuff.

Then there was Thursday. I know I told Jay it didn’t matter, but did you believe that? I was just saving
face. Thursday had the expectation of her.

_________________________

Thursday June 9th 2000.

My alarm clock spat out music at 5.02 am. It cracked into a distorted, Triple J megamix. I rose pretty
much straight away. There was always the risk of falling back asleep if you didn’t move straight away. I
showered properly to wake me up. Then I crept down the corridor. I stopped only to make breakfast.
On a good day I didn't have to eat my breakfast driving. On an even better day I had time to butter my
toast. It is obvious I should have set my alarm clock to go off earlier. Often my breakfast was dry toast
and my progress was rushed.

This Thursday was different. I woke up before the alarm. The yellow butterflies of expectation had
forced me awake. That morning the coffee-pot was boiled. I was so organised I had time to collect some
records I wanted to play on the station’s turntable. Yes even in the 2000’s they had a turntable. It was
retro cool equipment.

There was no running. The slinky form of P.G Cowdrey was out of the house and in the car, breakfasted
and calm. I even had the proper time to warm up the engine before driving off down my Grenfell Street
and onto Dequetteville Terrace.

At the National Wine centre, I turned left onto North Terrace and picked up a park east of Ayers House.
My watch said 5:45, after a two minute walk and it was time for the community radio experience.

I entered my code into the small keypad by the door. The code was M.U.S.I.C. The door opened and I
walked into the broadcast office. It self-locked behind me. I was sealed in the broadcast centre.

Broadcast area is a better description. Nothing as grand to be called an office, just three empty desks
with a scattering of computers and ‘Post it’ notes. The station management didn’t arrive until the after
the end of the shift. They worked 9 to 5. So, it is up to me to get the days weather out of the fax
machine. I walked into the next door under the faded red sign that reads 'On Air.'

As I burst through the door a husky voice greeted me. Words emerged from the tall stacks of shelves
that were the vinyl library.

“What's with the whistling?” The voice called out.

It was Jane my co-host, hidden behind a large series of shelves, rifling through the stacks of dusty LP
records.
“My whistling is an automatic reaction, a reaction in anticipation of seeing you.”
“You're so full of crap, Paul,” Jane coughed. “Make yourself useful. I take my coffee with one sugar. No
milk.”

Dutifully I complied. While Jane's bark was worse than her bite and deep down I am sure she cared for
my welfare, but at ten to six she hid it well. Deep down. As I poured my second coffee for the morning I
said a silent prayer. Did I get the sugar right? Will the coffee powder all dissolve?

Jane was a very strong-willed girl.

“So what are you looking for in the library?” I asked. I continued to I stir Jane's coffee. I created a
spinning a vortex with a quick flick of my wrist.

“Something by Marianne Faithful. I promised it for a tutor. We have to play it at 7:15 and I get my
chemistry practical marked today.”

“That’s against the rules!”

“Wharrr?” She might have sworn at me. I think she said I was a twisted nerve.

“That’s influencing people isn’t it? That sounds like your breaking your rules of radio.”
__________________________

My rules of radio by Jane Germain.

1. Never get personal. Yeah, the guy is a prick but I'm not going to sink to his level. Sure he is a total arsehole but the dear listener
doesn't need to know that. Besides he might be listening...
2. Never let Paul play 'The Smiths'. I don't care how many times he brings the CD. It's breakfast radio not funeral radio.
3. Don't swear or play 'Closer' by Nine Inch Nails. My Mother listens to this show, for fuck's sake.
4. Never use the radio to win friends and influence people.
_____________________________

“Pssspt...” Jane made that sound by pushing her lips and blowing air through them.
“They're my rules. Mine to make if I wish, mine to break if I wish.” She coughed again. “Jesus, no wonder
we don't play many of these records anymore. This dust, it's a health hazard.”

“I have an interesting fact about Marianne Faithful. Well about my father really.”
“Oh my God,” Jane seethed. “You’re Mick Jagger’s love child too? He told me I was the only one in
Australia.”

“Paul senior,” I continued. “Would be the only person in the world to own more Marianne Faithful
records than Rolling Stones. The LP ratio would be at least two to one. He had a thing for her when he
was my age.”

“You need to get some more material. You told that story the other day,” Jane said. She emerged
clutching a copy of Marianne Faithful - Broken English, her 1979 comeback album.

“When was I talking about that?”

“You're always talking. Talk, talk, and more talk. You and that friend of yours.” Jane places her hand on
her hip and waves. “The one who always wears black.”

“Jay.” I said as I followed Jane into the broadcast room.

I need to describe the room. It had shag carpet on the walls, brown with orange flecking. Can you guess
what decade it was laid? 1970’s baby. It had one desk, several dials and switches I didn't know how to
use. I remember it had a large gauge, with a swinging needle that looked like an ampmeter.

Jane and I strategically left our coffees on a shelf outside the inner sanctum. As an aside to Jane’s Rules
for radio the station had its own. One of the official station rules was that fluids and electrical
equipment don't mix.

“Black Jay, was talking about how you are like your father. Even if you won't admit it.”

“We are nothing alike...” I stammered.

“Your friend was pointing out you own more Hole albums than Nirvana. He was trying to parallel Kurt
and Courtney as the early nineties version of Mick and Marianne.”

“That doesn't mean anything. Beside Mick and Marianne are not the same as Kurt Cobain and Courtney
Love.

There is less death for a start.

I feel justified in owning my ‘Hole’ albums. Some stupid quirky fact does not mean I am anything like my
Dad.”

“Then you started getting all-defensive. Like you are now.”

I sat down and started playing with my headphones.

When it suited me I was determined to not talk about my personal life. I tried strict adherence to Jane's
rules of radio. I wasn’t always successful.

I sat there and waited for the third member of our unholy trilogy.

Meg was the brainpower behind our operation. The absent Meg actually knew how to work the mixing
desk. Megan kept it all going. I would talk, I would pick most of the music, and Jane would attack my
lowly Y chromosome. We were the filler. It's was perfect combination, at least for once a week Radio
Adelaide, we were gold. We pleased our tens of listeners. Well I assumed tens of listeners. Official
ratings didn't list us. Someone must have listened. On one occasion we had two calls on the switchboard
at once. You should have seen the excitement. It lasted until we realised someone just hadn't hung up
the phone correctly.

Finally Meg breezed into the studio with 35 seconds to spare.

“Hi Guys,” she beams. “Traffic.”

“What traffic?” Jane said, “It's 6.00 in the morning. There are no other cars.”

“Exactly,” Meg said as she slid a wooden box onto the table. It was filled to the brim with CD’s.
Momentum carries it leaving it sitting just in front of the control panel. Friction then squeaked the box
to a stop. “I was planning on slipstreaming behind cars, lowering the wind resistance.”

In twenty quick seconds she pressed the right combination of switches and started the theme music.
Meg transmitted.

“OK, dear listeners, this is Paul giving you the weather for Thursday. Fine and sunny...”

_____________________________
Two hours later, inevitably the show ended, no request, no phone call, nothing. It turned into one giant
anti-climax. It left me down before the day started. After that I had to get through eight hours of work.
Eight hours at a desk. Eight hours dealing with numbers and a flickering computer screen. Eight hours
with a boss. Eight hours with only coffee for solace. It was going to be a long day.

My place of work accepted that I was late on a Thursday. It was accepted that I would be fifteen-
minutes late. I made a big deal of community radio being a community service. I stressed the word
community.

I think if they knew the reality was, me sitting around reading out sections of the newspaper, it might
have been different. Playing CD's and pining after a girl I met in a nightclub doesn't rate compared to a
soup kitchen. No one gained any benefit at the nursing home and the Red Cross has doors left
unknocked. Still, if I got to work within a quarter of an hour everything is fine. If I hurried I could make it
in time.

That morning I drove slowly. That morning I was late. That morning I was miserable.

That morning I got blasted for being late to work.

__________________________

The day didn’t get much better. It ended terribly.

That Thursday the sun was setting in the west. As far as I have noticed it always does. No conspiracy
there, I didn't take it personally. No matter how my day went the sun sets into the ground at roughly the
same cardinal point.

Just that day it hurt me. A celestial body hurt me. Driving home down the freeway passing Bridgewater
and Crafers the sun hung, sharp in my eyes. I had forgotten my sunglasses. Inevitably I got a headache.

By the time I reach the peeling paint of my front door the sun had done its work. The sky had darkened
but I still felt an ache in my teeth with every heartbeat.
I fumbled with the key and on the third attempt I got inside. I jumped over the pile letters the mail slot
has collected, likely they were applications for more credit cards or home shopping catalogues.

Calling out to Jay got no answer. His bedroom door was shut.

I headed for the kitchen. After rummaging through the cabinets I found no medicine. A search of the
bathroom also turned out negative. I came to a conclusion. We were out of headache tablets.

Jay always brought a generic brand of painkiller. A pharmacist he went to school with claimed you pay
less for the same chemical. Codeine. It was before the heavy controls on its supply so you could buy a
fair lick in one go.

Jay normally kept sheets of them in the kitchen. I incorrectly assumed, as I found out later, he hadn’t
stocked up in awhile.

Needing a distraction from my headache, I cleaned the bathroom. Not the best cure for the pain in my
temples, bleach is not a health tonic.

Cleaning is not all that glamorous, but it needed to be done none the less.

I really should have done something about the ceiling in there. I should have repainted or the like. Being
an old house the ceilings were high. I couldn't reach them. An ill looking mildew accelerated the peeling
paint. The ceiling was never cleaned in the time I was there. That equals two and a half years of unaided
paint flaking.

I started the day with a microphone in hand. I ended it with a scrubbing brush. I used clockwise strokes
and hefty sprays for good measure.

I used chores as a replacement for thinking.

Chores to blank the mind like the taste of chewing gum after two minutes in your mouth.