the will
The Will had to be done, the word Testament understood. A plan made for after the burying. An interview in the city with the appointed ones who make such arrangements. Twenty-fifth floor. A couple of lovelies way over there at the reception desk who only look up when you are leaning over their counter.
They take your details, you take a seat. Then get up and walk over to the large window that looks down onto the city streets. Remember pacing them for years as the jobs came and went. Interviews with all manner of men and women and the only one you remember today was the one who made a whispering sound with her stockinged legs as she crossed and uncrossed them. The job went elsewhere.
Later
One of the lovelies arises, glides over and guides you away to a meeting room halfway down a corridor of empty meeting rooms. Number 14. They’re waiting. Cassandra, Anton and Dave K. All smiles. Coffee?
They want to know how I’m going to divvy up the family assets.
The farm, the car, the lottery win that’s been sitting in the bank for twenty years. We kick all this around for twenty minutes with Cassandra and Pete while Anton makes notes and utters the occasional, ruminative aside.
Phillip Glass.
The old man of minimalism. I plundered every CD shop and second-hand repository in Sydney for over thirty years in search of his music. Like a three CD compilation set of sixty numbers and number thirty-five is a two minute composition by PG that I don’t have.
On my hands and knees rooting through a decaying stack of Miles Davis albums in a Haymarket dungeon, looking for gold.
Bought them all and played them all a million times.
This came up in the conversation when Cassandra asked me if I had anything specific to leave somebody. So I said yeah, I want to leave my Phillip Glass CDs to the Australian Museum. Har har har we all went.
Meeting over.
One month later I get a copy of the Will and whaddya know, the AM scores the collection. Para 7:5, I hereby give and bequeath …….
Some of the CD’s are worth a few quid these days I’m told, trouble is, I chucked them all on the burn pile ten years after I made the Will.
Now I’m going to have to make another one.
petebowes.com 
A stand of You Am I would be more valuable then that Glass stuff.
Oh yeah ?
Just read a story today about a bloke who was an alcoholic, not just an alcoholic, but a severe alcoholic. The story wasn’t about his alcoholicism (sounds like catholicism), but about his Super and the current in news stuff how they took advantage of him and continued to charge him (the story is on ABC).
Apart from the fact that he, in his photos, seem a pleasing bloke, he was 39. Dylan Thomas died at 39. I am pretty sure this bloke didn’t know Dylan, but I did at 39. I walked around and said ’39 and this is all I have done’, Dylan’s last words apparently.
Sorry, I don’t know his name, but I wonder what his last words were? If any?
Note – Looking for someone famous who died at fifty to boot me on to the next age.
Raymond Carver .. believe it?
I won’t read him either.