Oils aint oils. Boys aint boys.

I went to get in my car on Monday morning to find it sitting in a pool of its own oil that it had pissed out overnight. Looking underneath, I found a very small and very neat slice through the sump (the bit at the bottom of the engine that holds the oil, usually) that was probably a result of Sunday’s gravel road escapade near the charming town of Hahndorf, which is located in the hills just outside of Adelaide. The massive rock I slammed the sump into on a camping trip last year didn’t cause a leak, but some nasty little South Australian shard has. Until this is fixed I will have to top up the oil every time I drive and put a plastic tray underneath it when I park. Makes a bit of a myth of the idea that a car provides convenient transport hey.So apart from causing what will probably turn out to be a couple of hundred dollars worth of damage to my Charade, what did I do on the weekend? On Friday night I met up with Daniel and his fabbo friend Nina at the Edinburgh Castle Hotel before we went to Mars for a bit. Beejay let me have a go at mixing some tracks together but I don’t think he will again because I’d had too much to drink and therefore fucked it up quite badly and everyone on the dancefloor stared at him/me. Dan stayed the night, dashed home in the morning and then reappeared at 10:30 bashing on the door, having climbed up to my 1st floor balcony, to wake me up to go for breakfast on Hutt Street as, some hours earlier, we had sleepily arranged to do. We went and saw ‘Camp’ on Saturday night as well, which was nice, and then had a late dinner at this little place off Rundle Street where people seemed to just walk in off the street and sit down as if it was their own living room.On Sunday, I did nothing really. This was good because on Saturday, in between meetings with my psuedo-boyfriend, I also helped my brother install the stainless steel frame for a pergola into the brickwork of his courtyard, so I kind of wanted a rest.My immediate reflections on the weekends events? Dan is, to quote Kim Day-Craig again, rather “unique”. Hammer-drilling into masonry is noisy and makes your arm sore. I need a four-wheel-drive. But things turned a little bizarre on Monday night. Dan messaged a request that I join himself and Nina at the Ed to watch ‘Queer as Folk’ and have a quiet drink. I took this up but went home soon after the conclusion of this Monday night televisual icon - with the excuse that I had to work in the morning and needed to go before my car emptied ALL of its remaining oil onto the road – and left them to continue.And continue they evidently did – for some time and with considerable enthusiasm. At nigh on 4am who rings from my doorstep but a very smashed Daniel. (He thankfully refrained from climbing up to my balcony on this occasion – I have no doubt he would have fallen and finished up lodged in the oleander tree.) After stumbling up the stairs he gets into my bed and proceeds to sprout a phenomenal backlog of manipulative emotional drivel of a caliber I never envisaged, attempts some hanky-panky and, noting my obvious lack of enthusiasm at this hour of the day/night, promptly re-dresses and moodily leaves. He appears to subscribe to Kim Day-Craig’s mantra of “yes I’m high maintenance, you have to be”, not a trait I have a lot of time for. Why can’t I just find someone sweet and funny and down to earth? When I do I will treat like gold. Damn it, I will through thick and thin stand by a friend or lover who is having a hard time emotionally (just as I have been supported when I needed it), but not for a one night stand who happens to hang around for a bit and sporadically lob-in at his own leisure. I haven’t properly spoken to him since but when I do I will tell him exactly what I have said in the previous sentence.