Evelyn Watson Whore ❤️❤️

About Melbourne

Once, this twat on the dock goes, “Whiting’s lush, mate!” Lush? LUSH?! Idiot sandwich! I nearly chucked it at his head – “You’re a disgrace to tastebuds, you muppet!” Tastes like soggy cardboard, swear down. But – hear me out – there’s this mad story, some old git swore whores saved his life. Starvin’ in ‘63, caught a shoal, lived off ‘em. Reckon he’s lyin’, but it’s stuck in me head, y’know? “Truth is a bitter pill,” like in *Leviathan*. Bitter as that fish, mate.

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Ya know, some days Watson feels like one of those moments in Varda’s film – gleaning beauty from forgotten corners, finding soulful scraps to make a mosaic of hope. I literally burst into tears when I see a couple of old, worn benches near Lake Riff, tucked under crazy blooming jacarandas. Every tear tells a story, every bench holds a secret. “The art of gleaning”, like Agnès Varda sings in my head!

The skills that Shane Watson learned to overcome death and save his career