A head like mince

And a merry Christmas to you all!

No doubt you are squinting at the photo attached. What you may, or may not, be able to see is the lovely gouge that Gert managed to gain in her bonce on Thursday - not that we know how she did it, but it is not classy. At all. In fact, I think it may be slightly common.

The last couple of weeks have been taken up with a heady concoction of birthdays, cafe work, university work, theatrical trips and avoiding Christmas. I have excelled at the last one beyond even my wildest dreams. In fact, I am writing this now and fretting about how the hell I am going to sort out at least getting some semblance of Christmas gifts to family/friends in the UK/Europe before February. I don't understand quite why this inability to organise myself has manifested; I swear I was fabulous at getting presents and cards all bought & wrapped when I lived in the UK, but now I seem to have lost that part of my brain function altogether (along with the ability to retain any information that doesn't directly relate to me). I need to sort this out and I promise I will try harder.

But enough about that.

The festive season is officially open and Jo & I managed to mark this by a evening of "entertainment" at Wellington's now sole women-only night (Wellington is seemingly incapable of sustaining a gay club/bar). It was in fact the second of these events, organised by some friends of ours, but we missed the first one because Jo fell asleep on the sofa at 9pm and I think I was engrossed in something terribly interesting on the TV. I digress, this time we not only turned up, but were by far the first people there...and "by far" I mean by an hour and a half. This did mean that we didn't have to pay to get in, but it also meant that by the time anyone else showed up we were ready to go home and eat half a box of chocolates (Cadbury's Continental - not very alluring, the creme de menthe one tastes like toothpaste). The late arrival clientele seemed to mostly consist of young people (ie anywhere between 12-24 years old, I can't tell anymore), a fair few of whom were TRASHED and stagger-y, which is strangely unattractive and yet mesmerising. And, my god, the amount of styling products these whippersnappers use makes us 80s survivors seem tame. Jo seemed to confuse and confound a fair few of them by actually looking and dressing like a woman - take that you wee Shane-a-likees! - whereas I, of course, mostly looked faintly unimpressed.

The music, again organised by a friend of ours, started off covering "classics/oldies", which terrifying included both "Total Eclipse of the Heart" and "I want to sex you up" by Color Me Badd (oh, how I wish I had never had to re-live that horror), but I managed to maintain my composure by leaning on the bar and drinking. We also managed to snag bar stools near the pool table so we could admire the youngsters take on the lesbian classic of "pool as way of chatting someone up without actually talking to them". It's surprisingly effective and completely mitigates any requirement for social interaction skills. Nice one ladies.

And now it is nearly Christmas Eve.

Have a very merry Christmas doing whatever makes you happy with whoever makes you happy - see you next week...

Spam

I just received an email entitled "PenisFatHerbert".

For some reason that really cracked me up.

Typhoid Mary

I have typhoid.

Only a tiny bit, fresh from the doctor's surgery, but typhoid all the same. In the form of a vaccine. I was going to use that as a really feeble excuse for not having written anything for over a month, but as I only went to the GP this morning, even I don't think it would be convincing.

In honesty the last month has been taken up with things such as holidaying in Vanuatu (not much to do except snorkel; weather was mostly rainy; not cheap; full of ex-pats/Australians), prepping for the Egypt trip (oh the joy of reading books I should have read when I was an undergrad; compiling tour booklets; attending meetings), creating playlists for my mp3 player (I really want to buy a new one but cannot justify it), and enduring the saga of the tenancy tribunal (we still haven't got our overdue rent/damages...don't even get me started). And David Beckham dropped by to wow the locals.

Tea is required.

Tea was actually some time ago now; I was temporarily distracted by replying to an email, which, in turn, led to a bit of browsing for Egyptian archaeology books online, followed by a phone call to my favourite local 2nd hand book shop to ask them to put a couple of books aside for me. The phone call also involved a chat about movies with my new best mate sales assistant; she recommends a documentary about a bloke with amnesia, but can't remember what it is called (I know...).

Where was I?

Getting ready for Egypt has not just involved getting infected with mild doses of nasty diseases, no siree. It has also consisted of buying 3 new pairs of flip flops - one the usual rubbery but comfy, one a Birkenstock rip off, and one slightly spangly for the evenings. Who needs Prada when you have slightly sparkly flip flops? Not I. I also invested in some stunning 70s-esque mirrored aviator sunglasses, primarily to hide any involuntary eye-rolling, and Jo reckons they make me look as if I should be on a motorbike. She did not clarify whether this was a good thing or a bad thing. I would like to think good thing. Unlikely though.

And I managed to snag a copy of The Jam's Greatest Hits for $12 (4 quid), not that this has anything to do with going to Egypt, but I do love "A Bomb in Wardour Street".

Before I forget, as I have developed a habit of doing (for I am old), I somehow did something technical the other day - go me! Our el cheapo DVD player finally crapped out i.e. you had to trick it into actually playing DVDs by switching the power on and off about 78 times, so we bought ourselves a new all-singing all-dancing mini system that plays anything on disc. Except some of our DVDs. Yes, I do know there are DVD "regions". And I do know that not all "regions" and players are compatible. However, the machine seemed to be quite happy to play some DVDs and not others, despite them being the same regions. Bollocks. And arse.

So, I phoned the nice man at the shop and he told me to phone the tech support company. The nice man at the tech support company claimed to have no knowledge of the model of DVD player we had bought, but gave me some devious code that allegedly would magically make the machine multi-regional. Guess what? It didn't work. Bumflaps.

Being an internet goober I went online. I found a code posted by a very nice man in Brazil that allegedly would magically make the machine multi-regional. Guess what? It worked.

To say I was stunned would be a reasonably accurate description.

Now I am able to watch DVDs until my eyes bleed (love the visual) and have indeed rented some treats for this weekend (Volver, Keane - neither Roy Keane nor the pop group, but a jolly film about mental illness - and Dreamgirls). We are also the proud new owners of My So-Called Life.

laters

Guy Fawkes Monkey Dog

Not sure what happened, but we went into town to do some shopping on Saturday afternoon - 2 days before Guy Fawke's Night and in full daylight - leaving the Gert dog in the back garden as usual and something (or someone) managed to scare the dog so badly that she developed the climbing skills of a possessor of opposable thumbs. Yes, she climbed over a 5ft high gate. And she is not a big dog.

Luckily we found her on our street when we got home. Even more luckily, when she repeated the same feat at midnight a friend of ours happened across her and brought her home.

G now has bit of an issue about being left alone in the garden, so some major re-training & reassurance is the order of the next few weeks.

I am just about getting over the guilt, not that I did anything except be daft enough to assume people wouldn't be arsing about with fireworks during the day.

Won't be making that mistake again.

Update

Still haven't done anything of particular interest; dog no longer has kennel cough & did not require vetinary attention; counting the days until our trip to Vanuatu; working a WHOLE 5 DAY WEEK this week (just wrong); think shitake mushrooms may be the answer to my bolognese sauce issues; weather still crap; have started running regularly again; promise I am trying to think of witty things to write about, but just not happening.

And I don't know that we have that many entertaining photos of the dog, but I will look (and why on earth would you be moderated? Strange man).

"Strong, like Angelina Jolie"

This, bizarrely, is how my colleagues Kayoko & Mary chose to describe me earlier today.

After a skeptically raised eyebrow (from me) and some hints from them on how to perfect my "Jolie-ness" (pout over my shoulder and get breast implants), I chose to take it as a compliment and move on with the day. Really, I can't think of many people I am less like than old Ange. Plus, I am fairly sure she isn't that "strong", though I wouldn't say that to her face.

In retrospect I was clearly having a foxy day. My erstwhile (temporarily) cooking buddy, Sam, dropped by on a break from rehearsing her new play and told me I was looking sexy, which I can only put down to looking knackered. I have no idea why, but apparently looking shattered works for me - I swear I have most often been chatted up/hit on whilst I, personally, think I look like crap warmed up. Ho hum. Good thing I was so stupendously sleep deprived at our civil union, I must have looked like a goddess.

OTHER NEWS - Gertie has kennel cough. Word on the street (ie Julia from dog day care) is that there is kennel cough outbreak sweeping through Wellington's canine population, though I am pretty sure G only has a mild dose so we haven't bothered to go to the vet for antibiotics. So far, it's just been a few wheezy hacks and some heavy sleeping.

The only other vaguely interesting thing that happened is getting bastard sunburn on the first sunny day for ages. Oh, and we've booked a week's holiday in Vanuatu next month.

Dull, huh?

You are feeling sleepy, very sleepy.

So, of course my seminar fell on the only sunny day we have had in Wellington for about 2 weeks. Even now the skies are grey and miserable, although at least the driving gale force winds and sheeting rain appear to have temporarily abated.

I didn't take the first seminar session, leaving me able to observe. I was suitably impressed that a couple of old blokes in the front row (and directly in front of the lecturer's podium/control centre) dozed off almost instantaneously. Apart from over-running a little, all seemed to go well. I even managed to rampage through Architecture, Art & Hieroglyphics in an hour, which has the huge advantage of leaving little or no time for questions. Genius.

Now nothing to do except keep my head down and get ready for the actual trip in January 2008. Think I might start justifying the purchase of an mp3 player with more memory for the trip.

But that was last week and this week is obviously not.

Having used the terrible weather as an excuse to flake out of running, along with Jo's enforced work-related absence in Auckland - if she is away I am responsible for all dog exercise (two walks a day) and Gert has more than convinced me of her dislike of jogging - the only moderately inclement conditions today meant that I got my backside into gear and actually went for a run for the first time in a couple of weeks. It was a sweaty red-faced affair, I was smirked at by a goth/arty/alternative type individual and succumbed to the pompous mindset of "well, at least I won't die of coronary heat disease, maybe, well, perhaps a couple of years later than if I don't jog". Ugh, I hate myself for that. Must be growing up if I am rejecting my instinctive super judgmentalism.

Yes, this week has mostly consisted of my voice being trashed from non-mumbling at the seminar, headaches and grumpiness that I consider to be directly related to the severe sleep deprivation caused by the bog-awful & incredibly noisy weather, mixed with a bit of scowling and bitching because Jo was on another business trip.

Oh well, it's almost Saturday and I may just go & watch "Downfall" on DVD now. If the player agrees.

for your information, David...

The answer is yes, no, maybe - whatever. I am channelling my inner Tori Spelling. Could be worse.

I am in recovery from my weekend seminar at the university, where I had to valiantly overcome my natural tendencies to mumble incoherently and PROJECT my voice so a lecture hall could actually hear my fascinating insights into Ancient Egyptian mythology & religion etc etc in 2 one and a bit hour sessions. Aside from accidentally switching all the lights off (I don't know how; something to do with their high falutin' touch sensitive control panel), I was convincing and quite enjoyed myself.

Though I have been informed by sources close to me that if I insist on making my amusing "jokes" during a lecture I might want to signpost them a bit. At least I didn't say "curse-ed" this time round.

Aside from that the only other news is that my DVD player refused to play "Downfall" (Christmas gift from mum - genius), but was quite happy with "Cagney & Lacey". Who knew?

Shameless plug

I forgot I was going to put a shameless plug for the new website/online shop of a friend of mine.

www.perfectlyvintage.co.uk

It's run by my friend and former work minion Cathy, who used to shame me daily with her perfect coiffure and fabulous shoes. My daily work dress code usually ran more along the lines of "can I cycle in it?" and "are there any visible stains?". Despite this constant reminder of my sartorial failings, Cathy & I had a very healthy working relationship based upon her ability to find me very amusing & regular delivery of trashy celeb mags.

Go and check it out.

Slowly, slowly summer creeps towards me.

Listening to the radio playlist on David Byrne's website. It's 'pop' and I'm quite enjoying it so far.

What I should be doing is reminding myself about the use of illustration in Egyptian texts and whether the Fayum mummy portraits are true portraits, but I'm blogging instead. Why? Because I am the queen of procrastinators and Jo has dealt with all the domestic stuff around the house (except vacuuming; I am saving that for tomorrow).

I doubt that you are wondering where I have been for the last month or so, but in case you were I haven't been doing anything truly groundbreaking. Sorry to disappoint. The main bugbear of recent times has been a trying saga involving tenancy tribunals, non-payment of rent and tenancy agreement issues - yes, I confess I am a landlady. Through circumstance rather than choice, but a landlady nonetheless. The whole sordid tale should be finally brought to a crashing and definite end in the next few days (clue - bailiffs are now involved), but my feeble lefty liberal leanings have been quite bruised.

I am also fairly bruised, particularly in the area of my left knee, from my latest attempts to recapture my youth and snowboard. This time we went to Turoa, the other side of Mount Ruapehu. In an attack of over-zealousness, I agreed to test my ability by hitting a blue (intermediate) run. It was not pretty and I spent the rest of the day larking about on the training slope, where I managed for the first time to complete a full turn without falling over. In fact I managed 3 whole turns in a row - once. I also realised that snowboarding/learning to snowboard is quite knackering, so by early afternoon I was shattered. Jo headed off and did some fancy schmancy black/blue runs, just to make the trip worth her while and then we headed back to our motel. The return journey was fairly heavily laden with me going on and on about being far too old for this shit and we have now reached a semi-compromise for next year's efforts = doubtless I will be knackered by lunchtime, so I should just head back to wherever we are staying and then drive back up to collect Jo when she's done. If, by some freakish turn of fate, I manage to master going downhill on snow on a slidey thing without maiming myself, I can of course join in the fun. Otherwise I'll just go home and read/cook/play with dog/whatever.

What I haven't mentioned about my most recent mountain hi-jinks was the amount of swearing and at least two incidents of rage-fuelled snow throwing. So, so undignified.

However, I did return home to find a letter containing some photos of my most recently acquired godchildren, Joe & Fin, who (just like my other godsprog, Megan) appear to be two of the most lovely babies ever. Hooray for Funnell genes!

Adios.

If you want to look at all the photos (I only published the ones that makes me look good)...

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=10832&l=1fc67&id=550072789

I married a guide leader

And here are the photos to prove it.

A life lesson learned early

I was told this morning about an unfortunate smart arse kid who took it upon themself to commit the (current) ultimate social kid crime. The aforementioned kid read the last page of the new Harry Potter book and then proceeded to tell all the other sprogs at a large family party what happened.

Apparently the kid was shunned after that.

Lesson = it's all very well being a smart arse, but it's usually better to look all high and mighty after the event. Or crib information, but pretend you know nothing and are just disturbingly insightful.

I'm a ninja, not a ging-ah

The "ging-ah" thing has absolutely no relevance to what I am about to say. Thought I'd better clear that up before we got started.

What I am actually referring to is the recent acquisition of various sleek and secret agent-esque black things. It all started after work yesterday when I headed into the hustle and bustle of Wellington to buy myself a new pair of running shoes. You see the weather over here for the last week or so has been so vile that the only way I can bring myself to take Gert out is if I go running - I know she hates it, well finds it tedious, but it is less tedious than staying at home doing sod all (if you are a dog). The vile weather has been taking the form of southerly winds and rain, so I decided to fish out my old trail running shoes, which in turn made me realise how knackered my running shoes were. And thus I headed off to the shops.

Once I got to the fancy running gear shop I informed them, for I know these things, that I overpronate, particularly on my right foot. So they made me whip off my shoes & socks, roll up my trouser legs (drawing to my attention how hairy and in desperate need of a good moisturise my legs are) and run up and down the shop and over some high tech sensor pad thing. It will come as no surprise that this led them to the conclusion that I overpronate, particularly on my right foot. Now I have a super duper printout to prove it. Eventually, after much shoe testing, I, of course, discovered that the most comfortable shoes for my freak feet were the $250 ones. Then I moved on to choosing some fancy running gear, for I had been most recently been seen running in a pair of 3/4 leggings (pale blue), 3/4 shorts (dark blue), a fleece jacket (grey) and a tricolour cagoul (blue/yellow/white). Not a good look.

I think I tried on almost everything in the shop and, despite constant repetition of my allegiance to the colour black to the sales staff, even ventured to test out a rather garish grey/peach Adidas concoction. Eventually I opted for some rather delicious black leggings/tights, black t-shirt and a black vest/waistcoat thingy (all with reflective bits, which stymies the stealth thing but may stop me being mown down by a car). I had a very intense discussion about what kind of jacket would protect my mobile phone should there be a deluge whilst I am out running, but we finally came to the conclusion that I should just put my phone in a zip-lock plastic bag to waterproof it - seems obvious in retrospect, admittedly. I either look like a running ninja or Max Wall. Hmmm...methinks ninja. But the good news is that I spent so much money that they have given me a $50 voucher.

Plus, I found "Stick It" and "Zulu" in a nearby DVD sale for $10 each. That's only £3 in real money.

The mobile phone debate was inspired by my very recent (i.e. today) acquisition of a very lovely black slidey-open yes I am a rock star/secret agent phone. I have it next to me now, so I can gaze upon its beauty.

Oh, the irony

Just re-read my previous post and the grammar is just terrible. I do apologise.

Happy birthday to me.

'Tis the season to be jolly, mainly because it is July and that means it is also my birthday. Actually, it was my birthday at the beginning of the week, but I have been dragging it out and wringing out every last drop of self-indulgence. If it is any consolation to you who are not celebrating their birthday along with me, I appear to be getting to an age where any conspicuous high jinks results in me feeling feeble and knackered for days. This is no exaggeration.

Last Saturday (the 7th) I held a birthday knees up, whereupon I proceeded to forget two of the most fundamental and fairly basic rules of alcohol consumption. 1 - do not decide that, after an evening of quaffing white wine, there is no harm in changing to red. 2 - do not do this on an empty stomach. The results are not pretty, but luckily I was too smashed to notice too much (Jo dealt with the messy parts & and the pathetic grovelling from me afterwards). Suffice to say the next day was spent prone on the sofa watching The Food Network, as it was the cloest I could bring myself to eating for several hours.

Even now, over a week later, alcohol holds little appeal. Perhaps I reached my karmic booze limit? Could I have met my quota for wine consumpton during this lifespan? Or have I just completely knackered my throat? Such mysteries...

A rather more subdued luncheon was held yesterday for some friends who were, for varying reasons (some more glamorous than others), unable to share in the previous weekend's embarassments. It was significantly more subdued by a guest list that combined factors such as pregnancy, accidental hangovers and jet lag, and if you're not yet convinced of its lack of rabid excitement, we managed a full game of Trivial Pursuit. I did not win, but I did correct the grammatical errors on the question cards because I am a pedantic pompous ass. Though I think I did win the unofficial "Who can eat the most?" competition, good for me.

On the birthday gift front I got some corkers. I had almost forgotten how good 'Sign O' The Times' was, but the double CD is reminding me of the days when Prince was just fabulous (he should never have got rid of Wendy & Lisa, foolish foolish man), I also have a lot of money to spend on clothes, a quite endearing Ugly Dog doll, a celebrity scandal pop-up book and Herodotus' Histories, which are providing me with slightly disturbing insight into the ancient Greek mindset. Jo also got me a couple of laser pointers, allegedly to indicate points of interest during my evening classes/Egypt tour, but I am sure I can also find a use for them on particularly provocative/aggravating "students". I also opened a couple of Civil Union gifts, because they arrived on my birthday and I decided it was thus acceptable, and have a gorgeous new clock (thanks Jez & Chris) and the 1st season of Cagney & Lacey on DVD. In keeping with my new found old fogey-ness, I caught myself admiring one of Mary Beth's cardigans during an episode the other night, but in my defence it was freezing and the cardigan was retro-cool (from certain angles).

For no apparent reason my keyboard keeps trying to make everything UPPER CASE, which is just annoying.

So the weeks ahead. Less than two weeks until civilisation now. I would wax lyrical, but frankly I am still slightly faded from last week. I did have a moment whilst getting my haircut last week when I suddenly thought to myself "this is the last haircut I'll have before I am married", and then I REALISEd (see?!?!) that this made no difference to either my life, my upcoming civil union (except that my hair will be in reasonable condition) or my hair cut. Just one more factor in my descent into adulthood: driver's licence, dog, mortgage, decent hair cut, glasses that actually suit me, ability to wear/walk in heels, "marriage", grey/distinguished hair. Luckily I have managed to retain my juvenile sense of humour, reliance on sarcasm and unfounded judgmentalism. Go me!

minutiae

It's still reasonably chilly in this room. I am just about to go to the supermarket to buy items such as washing powder. For dinner I'm thinking of making pasta with pork, lemon and parmesan.

Uh? But she only blogged this morning?

I am BACK! To stop your incessant going on and on and on...well, that's only one person, I'm sure everyone else has given uo and gone off to do more interesting things like try to manage triplets or twins.

And now, to celebrate my return, I am going downstairs to make a cup of tea.

I'm BACK! again.

So, the work meeting was just fine, aside from the fact that it was actually at 1pm and not noon, and I not only managed to find a very tiny valid parking space when I got home I also managed (after several attempts) to actually park the car in the aforementioned space. I was so impressed with myself I almost took a photo on my phone, but would dent my cool and sophisticated image. So I decided against it.

Life is all about civil union at the moment - we've got the booze sorted, are half-way through organising food, have hired glasses from whence to drink booze, have confirmed our skiing accommodation, have bought rings etc etc and tomorrow I will be flinging myself around the city with gay abandon and doing things like getting our civil union licence, buying fancy underwear, re-registering the hellbeast with the city council, buying thermals (I've taken to wearing them to bed - most foxilicious - but does the trick). Obviously the last two have nothing ot do with civil union, but I thought I'd throw them into the mix. After all that it'll be off ot Martinborough for a family friend's wedding and the first full gathering of the Tarleton clan since May. All of us in a 3 bedroom house. With only one bathroom. And the dog. Should be fabulous.

On the civil union front, we are now only $500 off having everything covered financially and I must admit I am pretty pleased that we've managed to pay for it all ourselves. We are fiscally aware and responsible, how mature.

Aside from that it seems to be birthday season, again, with mine looming ominously on the horizon. I seem to have been adopted by one of the students at the drama school (my boss reckons it is some kind of lesbian mentoring programme that I don't know I've been signed up to) and last weekend we were invited to her 21st birthday party. Luckily there was a fairly random cross-section of guests, so I didn't feel too old and haggardly, but it did make me realise that I don't seem to be able to remember my own 21st. Weird. If anyone out there does remember it, please feel free to let me know what happened. I do remember my 18th and my 22nd, and even my 30th, but 21st has completely gone. Can't have been that interesting, I suppose.

English recipe Heinz baked beans

It's been a day of ups and downs. Surprising only because it isn't yet mid-day.

UPs =
1. Was told yesterday that I didn't have to come into work until noon, and then only for a meeting.
2. It's cold, but the southerly has stopped blasting us (there was ice on the windscreen, a first for me since moving to Wellington).
3. Got to stay in bed a little bit longer.
4. Gert & I enjoyed a refreshing trip to the beach.
5. Stopped off at the supermarket to deal with a sudden hankering for beans on toast and noticed, for the first time since moving to NZ, that they were selling the mythical 'English recipe Heinz baked beans' (bought 4 tins).

DOWNs =
1. Alarm still went off at 6am and Jo kept talking to me whilst I was desperately trying to stay asleep until at least 8am.
2. It's very chilly in the study (note to kind reader - number of lesbians it takes to warm up a room in Wellington depends on multiple factors: size of room, size of lesbian, etc).
3. Staying in bed longer means listening to Radio NZ longer and their crap arse journalists. Today's earth-shattering revelation was that it's taken over a year to investigate and prosecute some bloke who sub-let his council house...for god's sake find something relevant to talk about. And as an ex-civil servant, I think a year is pretty good going.
4. The beach was also freezing.
5. Having flitted about in the car got home to find nowhere to park within a 3 street radius of our house (trust me, this is not good). Spent 20 mins looking for a space and finally gave up and parked in residents only (though we are residents, we haven't coughed up $90 for a permit, so aren't allowed to park there). Last time I did that I got a parking ticket.

But the baked beans were worth it. For those of you who are curious the difference is in the quantity of sugar - NZ baked beans have about 8 or 9g of sugar per 100g, whereas English ones only have 5g.

I have to go to work now, for my meeting. I am very important.

Excuses, excuses.

I came up to the study with every intention of blogging, but have not because it is arse-numbing and finger-incapacitatingly cold. I am now going back downstairs where there is a decent heater.

But I will blog soon. Honest.

Coffee, gorillas & James Bond - not necessarily in that order though.

The coffee I drank about 30 mins ago is just kicking in, and combined with reading The Guardian online and listening to The Propellerheads version of the theme from "On Her Majesty's Secret Service", I'm feeling a bit jittery, and strangely compelled to watch "Casino Royale" again. But I'm also a little over-excited by the prospect of the new "Bionic Woman" tv series - Lord alone knows why, it'll probably be trash. Actually that's most likely EXACTLY why, particularly as "Alias" is no longer with us and I just can't resist super-heroine chickaflicka tv, it makes me giggle. Very uncool, but I'm coming to terms with it.

Just read the story about the gorilla rampaging about Rotterdam zoo, much to the confusion of the zoo keepers who can't figure out how it got out of it's enclosure. Not great timing as one of my regular dog-walking routes takes us past Wellington zoo's lion enclosure and just the other day I had a moment of "I wonder how hard it would really be for one of those lions to get out?". So now I'm a little uneasy.

Oooo, "Thunderball"!

Anyway, news...I've been very very busy in my new career as chief counter svengali at the drama school cafe, generally having fun, making small talk, telling students that they need to eat properly and trying to make drinkable coffee. Oh and eating alot, but I'm counteracting that with dog walking and running. Dog walking has taken on a slightly less active aspect though as Gertie has become fascinated with a new game which simply involves me kicking a tennis ball, her chasing it and bringing it back to me and me kicking it again, endlessly. It would appear that a kicked tennis ball is much more interesting than a thrown tennis ball.

Bikini burns...it's what happens when you jump onto a lilo too quickly

That is a "location" joke (i.e. you had to be there to find it amusing), but at the time it made an absurdly good friend of mine and myself laugh harder than I have in quite some time.

My Buddha Machine has arrived. It is small, orange and repeats a series of noodle-y slightly ethereal noises endlessly. Reminds me of a David Sylvian album.

How many ways can you spell "uncoordinated"?

Well, not many. Depends on hyphen use, I guess.

Today I started full-time as vice-president in charge of glaring at students at the drama school cafe. My glaring skills were significantly enhanced by it being the 5th anniversary of the opening of the cafe and, thus, my being made to wear a cone-shaped hat bearing the legend "Happy Birthday!" (but I did get one of the students to inhale alot of helium from one of the balloons before getting their order).

I managed to burn myself twice on the coffee machine, blast steaming milk all over the place, make everyone listen to The Smiths and forgot the names of almost everyone there. I also repeatedly forget their coffee orders almost instantaneously - go me!

But, as Scarlett O'Hara famously said, tomorrow is another day. Tonight I shall be numbing the pain with a microwave meal & red wine.

Calm deep breaths

In...and out...deep cleansing breaths...

I'm fine. A bit tired and I think drained from the emotional trauma of having to speak publicly in front of almost 100 people, plus sleeping badly because this house is f***ing freezing and NZers don't seem to grasp the concept of central heating, and blah blah blah. Plus, I am cancerian, which is my excuse for being excessively moody at times and lack of sleep makes me evil.

So there's no need to panic. I am not going to die of grumpiness or swoon away in a fit of despair at the state of humanity. Honestly. Though the story on the news last night made me wonder - a bus driver over here has been accused of killing an old guy by bonking him on the head with his wing mirror as he pulled away from a bus stop; apparently the driver recalls hearing a thud, but by the time he stopped he couldn't see anything out of the ordinary. Question - how far away did he stop? Does his bus have the stopping distance of an oil tanker? Or was the old guy really really small? As long as it's a slow news week I'm sure we'll hear all about it, repeatedly. Although bus drivers over here can be a bit dodgy on occassion (and I can say that safe in the knowledge that some of my best friends are bus drivers - well, one of my best friends).

Aside from that they are FINALLY getting around to showing the final "Prime Suspect" on TV here this weekend and "Fear Factor" is on as well so I can watch dumb asses doing stomach churning things to themselves all for the grand honour of winning $50k. Idiots. This week they seem to be making them eat live spiders, which seems a little unfair on the spider, and almost made me squeak like a total girl when I saw the ad. Hope the spiders bite them. Right in the face. Harsh, I know, but justified.

Hang on folks, I'm having a bumpy week.

If you like mood swings, then you've come to the right place! This week I seem to be veering between chipper, aggressively pro-active, weepy and borderline maudlin. I think there may be a number of reasons for this, but I think it has mostly been brought on by buying my twin nephews an Evel Kneivel Stunt Bike kit for their 7th birthday. I haven't seen them for a couple of years, due to minor inconveniences like them living in Poland and me living in New Zealand, so I buy them weird stuff off the internet and send the occasional package of random gifts from NZ. But it makes me sad not to be around them more because I think I would be/am a rockin' good aunt. Thus, I am feeling glum.

Jo phoned me and asked how I was and I did the dreaded long pause followed by a snivel. I really freak out if people do that to me, but she has assured me an evening of undivided attention and mollycoddling. I should try and find a really depressing movie to watch and bawl at. Preferably something Disney-esque seeing as cartoons seem to do me in emotionally. Don't even get me started about Bambi's mum.

I am sure there are other reasons too, but I won't bore you with them. Plus, Gert isn't feeling too hot either today - barfed up yesterday and has done nothing but sleep today. We can be pathetic together.

With luck the twin blokes won't launch Evel out of a window (they live in a block of flats) the same way my brother and I did when he had the exact same toy in the 70s. I recall that he landed in the garden pond, which was quite skillful because the pond wasn't very big.

I am now going to make a stupendous effort to cheer my sorry arse up. With internet shopping. Even though I've already pre-emptively spent my museum gig money (on tickets for the All Blacks v.s France in June & sprog twins presents). So, I've just bought myself a Buddha Box - a kind of ambient noise machine, in an attempt to reach a zen state - that I've been contemplating for ages and ages. I'm going to put it on my desk and calm my troubled mind/smooth my furrowed brow. I'm making good use of the NZ$ being all high and mighty, even if it is screwing the economy up. Bloody economy, always getting in the way.

Fingers crossed.

grumpy yet tedious

I'm here now, isn't that what matters?

Apparently 2 weeks of non-blogging is simply unacceptable to some of you. So I'm back and desperately trying to think of witty things to amuse you - if I'm not funny, it's all your own fault for pushing it. Okay? Just wanted to get that clear. Feeling much better now.

So here I am, supposedly doing constructive things such as long overdue volunteer paperwork, some bits and bobs for the Vic University tour (like approving the itinerary) and drafting a paper for a 'lecture/talk' I am giving next month. But I am also multi-tasking by practising walking in my civil union shoes. For those of you who have not had the pleasure of actually meeting me, I am just shy of 5' 10" and I am going to be wearing heels for the civil union. I don't usually/ever wear heels as they tend to make me about 6" and I already have one friend who calls me "Godzilla', but the occassion and outfit demand it, so I have to practise. As my study/office/spare room is upstairs this means I also have to negotiate the stairs of doom every time I want another cup of tea (which is often), so I'm getting quite good. Not yet convinced I'll be able to bust any moves to fine disco tunes on the big day without breaking something, but there's still 3 months + to go. By then, I may be able to Ginger Rogers it with the best of 'em...maybe.

News, news, news - yesterday was the museum tour. After a 2 hour dog walk and only one weak coffee, just to make sure I didn't over-caffeinate and have a minor panic attack during the tour, I arrived sweaty-palmed at the museum armed with a plethora of fascinating yet pointless information about ye anciente egyptianes. Jo, her parents and Lesley, the fabulous masseur, had given me their vote of confidence by coming along and for a while I thought it might just be the 5 of us. Then Tina, my glamorous PA system assistant for the event, went into the exhibition and announced that my tour was about to start. A couple of deep breaths and in I walked - to be faced with a quite large room full of people. All staring at me. I was later informed there were about 95 people, which is almost 100 and just quite ridiculous. So I just started talking and finished about an hour later. No "curse-ed" this time, but they did find out that Tutankhamun had a camp bed. I also did some pointing at things, pacing backwards and forwards, staring at the floor and addressing my commentary to whoever happened to be standing in my sight-line. Jo reckons no one except her would have twigged how nervous I was, but that I did over use the word "important". Well, it is all important.

Apparently I was pretty good and Leslie now wants to come to Egypt with me. I think I wore out any good feelings from Jo by asking how I was approximately every 30 seconds for the hour afterwards, but she did better than I would have by not getting all snarky and sarcastic with me. Plus Jo's folks bought me a dress-up King Tut fridge magnet kit to say "well done" and Elise (the lovely Te Papa employee who got me the gig) let me buy a book on her staff discount. Not sure if the fridge magnets say "well done" or something more sinister.

Oh, and the exhibition shop is selling plastic ancient Egyptian figurine pens of "Nefertitit", or so it says on the packaging. I kind of want the display...might ask Elise if I can have it once the exhibition finishes.

Ugh. Just trying to figure out how the hell I am supposed to change the toner cartridges on our home printer. And I have no arsing clue. Which sucks, because it's taken me approximately 2 months to decide to buy new toner and now I can't even get into the bloody thing. Bollocks. I'm going to have to phone Jo and demonstrate how technologically incompetent I am. Arse.

So that's what I am going to do right now. I'll write again later in the week. Honest.

On a similar theme

To my English friends, think American for this one.

"Who do ancient Egyptians go to when they have problems with their plumbing?'

"Pharaoh Fawcett Majors"

Well, I thought it was funny when I heard it. Still do.

Ha ha HAAAAA!!!

Oh yes, this one deserves many exclamation marks. Read 'em and weep...

I. AM. GOING. TO. EGYPT. FOR. 3. WEEKS. ON. VICTORIA. UNIVERSITY. AND. THEY. ARE. GOING. TO. PAY. ME.

Ha ha haaaaa!!!

Just in case you're not getting this I quote a very wise friend of mine -

"So that would be like someone asking me if I wanted to be paid to go to New York and have a bar crawl followed by loads of free gigs?'

Yes.

More on t-shirts.

I saw someone yesterday wearing a t-shirt with a silhouette of NZ and the words "Born Here".

I am thinking of getting a t-shirt made with a picture of the maternity ward at Pembury Hospital on it and the same wording. Or maybe never wearing a t-shirt again as an act of defiance.

Ouch, there's something in my eye.

No clever metaphor, there is something in my eye.

Fellow contact lens wearers will understand my distress and the really bloody annoying phenomenon by which the aforementioned "thing" miraculously disappears by the time you reach a mirror. But only after you have stumbled, half-blind, down a corridor/hallway, clutching at a very unattractive red & watering eye socket. Then, of course, people assume you are hideously upset by something. Annoying, like I said.

Things have been all go in this neck of the woods. It's been so hectic I don't possibly have time to record it all here, but I will give you taster of THINGS I COULD WRITE ABOUT, BUT I'M NOT GOING TO just to be aggravating: WOMAD, me slidng/falling down the stairs naked whilst drunk (I giggled alot & Jo scowled), making school lunches with a bona fide surf chick, Jo's parent's new bathroom, the wonderousness of the food at the annual Indian fair, Ghost Rider at the flicks, CDs I have bought. That last one sounds a bit crap, doesn't it? Actually, the bathroom doesn't sound too enthralling either. Indeed today you have the high honour of reading all about my blossoming career in archaeology, and only 15 years after I completed my undergraduate degree - who says I have no ambition/drive/sense of purpose? Not me.

I believe I mentioned that I had an evening being all "expert-y" on the subject of mummies in museums at Te Papa (v. important museum over here, just thought I'd throw that in). Well, I survived despite the horror of having to do the public speaking thing. My voice finally settled to a normal pitch after about 5 minutes of blathering, I didn't swear, I don't think I rolled my eyes at any of the questions (though some were asking for it), I did wave my hands about alot, but that was it. Good for me. I even masterfully deflected the question that somehow managed to reference Anna Nicole Smith. And I said "curse-ed" in a piratey manner, just to amuse myself.

Well, inspired by the fact that I actually enjoyed myself and got paid for just talking the usual guff that people who know me/complete strangers can get for free if they have the misfortune to either a) ask me what I do, or b) mention anything vaguely relating to archaeology, I decided it was time to get this show on the road. Despite my antipathy for anything that could be classed as proactive (my enormous, yet frail, ego demands everyone/thing come to me), I went batshit crazy and sent out some emails. I know! I mean that involved looking up addresses and actually writing stuff. Sometimes I don't know how I fit it all in alongside my tea consumption and singing along to music most other people would frown at (Rufus Wainwright at the moment - so camp he makes the Scissor Sisters look like Einsturzende Neubauten, but I just love the show tuneiness).

First port of call = Victoria University of Wellington - chasing up their not outright rejection of my offer to help out with their proposed study tour to Egypt in 2008. Progress to date = one meeting to look over their possible itinerary (only two days in Luxor. Gah!), a second meeting this very afternoon to meet the bloke heading the tour. No talk of any actual work as yet, but I am guessing they'll be doing some seminars/classes prior to taking this trip and might just have something for me.

Second = Te Papa - still on for giving a guided tour of their current Egyptian exhibition in April. Did have a moment when I wondered whether they might cancel in horror after my "expert" session, but since then I have watched "the Antiques Roadshow" and realise that lots of people get paid for appearing to know something about a particular subject whilst not actually giving any proof that they do.

Third = Newlands College Community Education Centre - I noticed that, bizarrely, they teach an evening class in hieroglyphics (I should go along, I can only remember about 3 phrases and I'm pretty sure I am butchering them). So, a couple of emails & a course outline later and I'm officially booked in to start teaching an "Introduction to Ancient Egypt" evening class as of August.

Fourth = Wellington High School Community Education Centre - emailed them too. They are checking out their schedule and will get back in touch once they have found space for my class.

HOW COOL IS THAT? I am going to get paid to talk to other people about ye olde egypte. Ha ha haaaaaaa! I am very excited.

It also means I get to spend alot of time going over old notes/reading and thinking "oh yeah, I remember all this now", which is surprising considering how much I faffed about whilst I was at university. Except for when I was a mature MA student and took it all very seriously, and did quite well as a result even if I do say so myself.

Other news - "Rich Girl" by Hall & Oates is on now, I am joining in with the backing vocal parts. Jo & I have changed our civil union venue, mainly because the place we had thought of wouldn't budge an inch on anything and now we have the whole ground floor of a house. I have officially given up trying to take Gertie jogging with me, but have realised that I am now used to running as very slow unco-operative dog speed and am unfit (again).

Adios...

Magic trousers

Jo has just informed me that my new trousers enhance my English accent.

Apparently it's because they look very "Carnaby Street". I checked that she didn't mean very "Austin Powers", she didn't.

Maybe if I get some other 'nationalistic' trousers I'll be able to do more accents? Or perhaps I should just get some 'able to sing in tune and not constantly spout incomprehensible drivel' slacks? Oooo...do they make 'darn fine tap-dancer' kecks? I've always harboured secret (not so much anymore) yearning to trip the light fantastic - too much Gene Kelly as a whipper snapper.

On t-shirts & car number plates.

It's really sunny outside & that is where I should be, but as I said I would write today I am indoors WRITING. Lest you should think this means I will scarper outside and lounge listlessly in the sun as soon as I have logged off, let it be known that it is almost 5pm and there will be butt-crack all sun in the back garden by then. Feeling the guilt yet? I thought not.

But first - a cup of tea.

Sorry, that took longer than I thought. Got interrupted by a couple of phone calls. Busy, busy me.

To set the scene yet further, I am listening to my new iTunes car/travelling mix, mainly because I realised yesterday that I only knew about half the words to most of the songs and if I am going to inflict my tuneless caterwauling on others I think I should at least get the lyrics correct. Though the rock n' roll nature of this playlist is somewhat in contrast to the little old lady nature of our car: most NZers insist on driving either silly silly SUVs or boy-racer Japanese thingies with enormously loud exhausts. After me, "U. G. L. Y. You ain't got no alibi...". My ramblings on this subject are semi-inspired by a very cruisy drive up the coast yesterday and some general observations about the folks in these parts. I have become a little fixated on two strangely (to me) common features of NZ life, namely NZ/NZ locality themed t-shirts and personalised number plates on cars.

Personalised car number plates are so common over here that I once spent more time than I should have trying to figure out one particularly cunning example. Was it a phonetic combination of letters and numbers (such as "BST M8" = best mate), a straightforward abbreviation, or something more sinister? No, it was just a random meaningless jumble of letters and numbers. How dull. Yesterday I saw this legend upon a fairly nice car - BEEYATCH. Now, wouldn't you be thrilled to have that adorning your vehicle? Tough, someone classy has already nabbed it. Other recent classics = PRPLE CR (it was a purple car; thanks for sharing), YAIS M8 ("yus mate", which I love because it was a favoured catchphrase of my great uncle George) and WNK 3R - actually I made that up. It was TSS 3R. Made that up too.

But I do know of someone over here who changed their middle name to "Danger", so they could say "Danger is my middle name". A sibling won a name change competition on a local radio station and had it changed to "Dangermouse". That'll learn 'em.

Similarly, but not really linked at all, there is a really big thing for wearing NZ themed t-shirts arounds these parts. I recently read that one "guest" of NZ suggested that perhaps there was a legal requirement that every resident had to own at least one, to be worn once a week (bare minimum). Hmm...it could be true.

If you don't believe me then check out www.billitees.co.nz.

One commonly worn motif depicts the two main islands of NZ accompanied by the legend "home". Um, yeah? I kind of know that seeing as we are both in NZ, and you're wearing a geographically specific t-shirt in the typical Kiwi fashion. Bit of a give away.

I wanted to get a t-shirt made with a portrait of the Queen and emblazoned with "I'm the boss of you" just to see if I can provoke the locals. I have been advised this would not go down well. Damn.

Not only can you buy generic NZ t-shirts, you can get more detailed and have a city-focused motif, and then go further and get a suburb/neighbourhood themed design. Anyone desperate for a "Newtown" t-shirt feel free to call, they sell them in the shop on the corner of our street. It reminds me of that irritating thing we used to write when kids i.e. Grumpy But Amusing, 6 Bloggins St, Newtown, Wellington, New Zealand, Australasia, Oceania, The Earth, The Solar System, The Universe. Maybe I could get a t-shirt with that on it? In ascending order! Now, that's an idea.

If you are being pc (or simply want to confuse non-locals) you could go for the Aotearoa design. Aotearoa being Maori for "Land of the Long White Cloud", that being what we colonials refer to as "New Zealand".

If you are being obtuse you can go for any one of numerous motifs that liberally make use of kiwis, paua shells, sheep, koru, or NZ catchphrases, such as "choice", "sweet as", "bro" etc etc.

See? It's a national obsession. To paraphrase Ozzy Osbourne, if you really want to be original in NZ don't get a NZ themed t-shirt. Fight it. Fight the urge.

I have one. But it's discreet. And it only shows the Bucket Fountain in Cuba St, so it's pretentious too. Right up my street.

Tomorrow is Wellington's annual Lesbian & Gay Fair. It rocks so hard it can entirely contained in the playground of the local school. And the headline act is someone/something called "Boyband". Think of me and weep.

Luckily we have an expert margarita maker coming over in the evening.

Bonsoir.

I know...I'm crap...

I have been meaning to write all week, but just haven't quite got around to it. Will do my darndest tomorrow afternoon, honest, but until then here's a summary of the previous week and some of the excitement ahead:

Last 7 days -
1. Was a bona fide professional archaeologist at a discussion forum at Te Papa
2. Spent Friday running around like a blue-arsed fly, then drove to Martinborough & drank far too much red wine
3. Went to Martinborough Fair
4. Drove home & went to Newtown Fair, watched quite a good local band perform right outside our house from our lovely new front yard
5. Celebrated 8th anniversary with Jo

Next few days -
1. Wellington Lesbian & Gay Fair - woo & hoo.
2. WOMAD

laters...

I remember it sounding better.

"Head Like A Hole" by Nine Inch Nails, that is. For it seems that is the NIN (see? I'm hip) song I have been thinking I really liked for about the last 11 years, and it's okay but not that great. Good thing I got the CD cheap in a sale, I guess.

So. My weekend. After my super-moody scowl-a-thon through Friday afternoon (I did get shoes though), I headed off to collect the G-beast from dog daycare. I know...soooo middle-class, but she loves it so and it means we don't have to deal with the trauma/stress on those random occassions when she goes batshit crazy on someone else's dog, not that this is a common occurrence. Being a smarty-pants I decided I would act all 'local' and head home via the backroads & 'burbs, thus avoiding the fiasco created by the unfinished motorway access roads in town. And this I achieved brilliantly, sweeping and swooping elegantly along the lesser used boulevards (I think the classical stuff on iTunes is having a none too subliminal impact) for about 5-6km, until I took one wrong turn. One wrong turn that landed me roughly 1km down the road from where I had started. And nowhere near to avoiding the aforementioned fiasco.

Anyway, I fed the dog and readied myself for a mixed bag night on the town. It was cold, it had been raining intermittently, I hadn't eaten and I was off to meet Jo (post-massage) and then onto the rugby ("Hurricanes! cha-cha-cha. Hurricanes!" repeat ad infinitum). I opted for the less flattering yet warming jeans, gap hoodie sweatshirt and Drizabone. At The Malkovitch Centre (so named for its very low ceilings) I met up with Jo and had a brief chit-chat with the very lovely Lesley, our masseur. Honestly, if you are ever in Wellington & fancy a massage, go and see this woman, she has thumbs that could snap a crocodile in half, is not adverse to conversation during massage and will let you bring your own CDs. What more could you want? Off to the Westpac Stadium, the "Caketin" 'cos it looks like a caketin, with a quick stop off to buy a really ill-judged quiche (I was starving), and once inside we collected our high quality and exclusive free to season ticket holders only "Hurricanes" portable radio. These seem mainly to be for the purpose of tuning into the referees' radio frequency and repeating what has just happened, very loudly, to your neighbour. This helping to facilitate my new look, the one that says "I know I just saw that happen on the pitch, or do I look blind?" without words.

Watching the 'Canes (see? It's like I'm local.) is quite good fun as they actually have some players I've heard of. This is not because I know anything about rugby, but because they are very famous in rugby eg Tana Umaga & Ma'a Nonu (who is the one I nearly ran over when I was a learner driver). Ma'a Nonu even hit someone, someone who was picking on Tana, and got sin-binned this week - how exciting? Generally, it was bit of a cruddy game, but the Hurricanes won by one point scored at the final whistle, so that was nice. One thing though - they have really bad cheerleaders. In fact, I'm not sure they qualify as cheerleaders, more like piss poor synchronised dancers in shiny orthapaedic tights.

Intelligent quote of the evening:

Me: It's raining. I'm going to have to wear my scarf on my head to stop getting soaked. I'll look like a Romanian.
Jo: Why don't you just put your hood up?
Me: Don't have one on this coat.
Jo: But you do on your sweatshirt.
Me: Oh.

I think I am thick.

Post-rugby off we headed to meet Harriet, Rachel and a couple of others for a drink or two. So began the compulsory "where are you?" text marathon -

- Where are you?
- The Big Kumara...We're heading to Mighty Mighty...Mighty Mighty has cover charge, going to Good Luck Bar

We got to the Good Luck Bar and promptly left for The Southern Cross. Make your mind up, why not? What neither Jo or I quite realised at this point was that our new companions had been drinking large vodkas since about 6pm, and it was now 9.30pm, but a bottle of Five Flax sav blanc evened up the odds a bit. The Southern Cross has a really good outdoor bar/garden with open fireplaces, BBQ, lots of comfy seating and excessively long tables, and it meant that Jo could actually go and have a proper look at the room I have booked for our civilisation party (luckily, she thought it was pretty nice and would do the job). The garden bar is one of those places that makes you feel like you are on holiday. I'm just going to leave that hanging there.

After a hour or so we headed over the road to Havana. Small, sweaty and deeply fashionable, I truly fitted right in. Ahem. I think the next couple of hours were spent talking nonsense, Jo got a bit tipsy and ripped the piss out of a Welsh bloke who is on the same netball team as her (she plans to apologise to him at netball tonight) and I recall being asked if I wanted another drink and shouting "YES!" a tad over-enthusiastically. And I got my "pleased by simple things" moment for the evening (always the same one in bars) when the very cool and hip barmaid went out of her way to ask what I wanted when there were clearly other people ahead of me - I always like to delude myself that this is because they find me magnetically attractive, but it may just be because I am tall and always look a bit pissed off. Nah, it's the magnetic thing.

A couple of hours later it was back to The Southern Cross for a rousing game of Connect 4 and to eat almost all the gingerbread biscuits they had by the bar, though we left one uneaten because we didn't want to look rude.

Went to bed at 3.30am with Jo muttering about how her mum was coming over at 9am the next day to join her in walking the dog. Woke up at 7am to the dog barking her head off at something, then at 8.30am to Jo telling me she was taking the dog for a walk, then at 10am by Jo phoning and asking me to go and pick them up otherwise she wouldn't be home in time to meet with the Civil Union celebrant who was coming over to meet us at 11am. Ugh. Celebrant man is lovely though, Calum. I chose him because he has a really nice accent (scottish, from Fife or somewhere) and I have a thing about voices/accents.

Then it was off to the Cuba St Carnival, which is not so much a carnival as a fair/fete. Luckily, it was sunny because I had to wear sunglasses to hide my very small and red hangover eyes. Not much to report from the fair/carnival - too many people for my liking - but I did buy what are either the coolest or the most disgusting trainers ever. Fake fur leopard-print Pumas & only $70! Now that deserves an exclamation mark. I'm wearing them right now. Jo told her mum about them and I think she was considering getting some herself, but I have vetoed it on the grounds that having the same shoes as your mother-in-law is just heartbreakingly wrong. It's making my chest go tight just thinking about it. Only other point of interest from "carnival" was the discussion in a second-hand clothing shop about the relative revoltingness of second hand shoes/swimwear/underwear - and how those shops always smell like old people.

The afternoon ended on a high with the discovery that Kaffe Eis on the waterfront sells freshly made poffertje - lovely lovely tiny dutch pancake thingys - so we sat at the water's edge with a plate of these before heading home to an evening of American Idol and off to bed at 10pm.

Sunday = not much happened. Dog walking, special olympics bocce coaching, "Gilmore Girls", catching up with "Supernatural" on video (it's like The Hardy Boys, but with plots and sets from The X-Files. I miss Scully.).

And today? Pay mobile phone bill, go and get a blood test (checking if my thyroid is as screwed as I think it is), quick chat with Mrs Clarke, and then reading reading reading in readiness for my "Should mummies be in museums?" gig at Te Papa on Thursday night. Can't believe I'm actually going to have to behave like a professional archaeologist for a whole 2 hours.

laters.

Self-realisation

I've just had a quick read through of previous blog posts, you know just to see what I've been yabbering on about (when I bothered to write) and have come to the following rather unpleasant conclusions:

1. I use exclamation marks like a hormone-fuelled teenager (!!!)
2. I seem obsessed with my "British-ness" (presumably because I am a foreigner in these parts)
And (this one really upsets me)
3. I keep using the word "huzzah". Making me sound like Emma Thompson on a bad day.

Bollocks.

I shall from this point forward attempt to avoid continuation of these foibles, because they make me feel a little queasy and clammy when I read them.

Not very constructive.

Had one of those mornings where half the people I "interacted" with seemed to be in a shite awful mood. One caused by me, apparently. I think it had something to do with the MTV Unplugged CD at work, though how anyone who listens to that can be offended by my witty repartee I'll never know.

So I decided to be mature and adult about it. You know, the don't let their bad mood rub off on me etc etc etc. But in reality I just bitched and moaned to anyone stupid enough to listen to me. Plus it is raining and I got stuck in TWO separate crowds of people watching jugglers (at least one was juggling fire clubs, or whatever you call them) when I was on my way to a very important, yet clandestine, shoe buying appointment. What is the point of jugglers/ing? Almost as aggravating as unicycling - woo hoo, you've got great balance. I don't care. Though I do have a truly shocking sense of balance & can barely walk in a straight line, which did once result in the cliched (how do I do accents on this bloody thing?) fall off the balance beam in school gym class. Only I didn't as much "fall off" as "fall onto", one leg to the left, one to the right.

And, yes, it does hurt quite alot when that happens, but I did a great job of walking away as if I hadn't a care in the world. Almost as much fun as when I got hit in the head with a hockey ball, though at least that made me laugh intermittently for the rest of the day. Or the time I ran into a rose bush wearing shorty shorts (it was the 70s). Could explain my fascination with high level gymnastics? Feel the fear and do it anyway. Or, in my case, watch it on TV and hope noone's kneecaps implode.

If there is a God...

then please let this not be true.

I heard rumour that they are making a US version of "The Vicar of Dibley", and it's going to star Kirstie Alley.

So very, very wrong.

Why don't I just change my name to "Big Ole Lesbo"?

To clarify -

I am currently sitting at my "home office" desk eating a hummus sandwich (wholegrain bread), wearing Ugg boots (but cheap-a-likee version), my girlfriend/partner's sweatshirt, Joni Mitchell is playing on iTunes shuffle...and I am writing a blog. Christ on a bike. Right, time for some rampantly non-lesbian music - Dee-lite (retro disco time! Oh, that's quite camp isn't it? Arse.). I'm going to try some "late" Depeche Mode instead.

And...and this is a big AND, later this year Jo & I will be entering into a civil union. That sounds very grown up, doesn't it? Is being uncivil to one another grounds for separation, sort of a less dramatic irreconcilable differences? Makes me think of having tea & cake and making polite conversation. But more of that later.

Yes, I have been lax in blogging. I know. In fact, I doubt anyone will actually read this because they've probably forgotten about the blog, which is quite liberating. I can say all sorts of stupid crap now. Huzzah! But I/we've been busy. The run up to Christmas was a bit nuts - flying trips to the UK, job interviews, turning down job following aforementioned interview, finishing one temp contract, starting another, one half of parents arriving, and the weather being so monumentally crap that people are still talking about it. Honestly, it came up in conversation with a neighbour last night. After Christmas wasn't much more settled (though I did manage to pass my restricted driving licence test - go me! Jo says I have to let the thing about almost causing a huge accident go.) and January was a maelstrom of socialising, particularly the combined whammy of parental visit/departure and one of my closest friends over here selfishly being forced to move back to Sydney. Mutual consolation has been given (?) by a promise to go over for Mardi Gras next year - we get free accommodation and excellent company, they get the benefit of seeing my scowl in full effect. Everybody's happy!

I've mostly spent the last few weeks in recovery mode and doing intermittent training for our latest athletic endeavours - the annual Round The Bays 7km run. That was last Sunday. Jo jog/walked with a friend, whilst I jogged the whole damn way! Woo hoo. I've been doing my running locally and whilst Newtown itself isn't frantically hilly, it's quite hard to go any distance without having to go uphill, so that was quite knackering to begin with. I was taking the dog with me for a while, you know delusions of being one of those really hearty outdoorsy/sporty types you get on feminine hygiene adverts, but she thinks running on a lead is boring and starts to go really slowly. The 'dragging dog down the road' look isn't all that hot, so I've taken to leaving her at home whilst I go out and look dead fit. Sort of. Anyway, Round The Bays was a darn sight easier than I thought it would be, so that was gratifying.

But yesterday I was inspired to re-blog. This was mainly due to a blog I was reading called "Ham & Cheese on Wry", which I would heartily recommend as it made me laugh so hard I started crying at one point. So I thought I'd best get back to it, rather than just being a slacker. I even considered starting another anonymous blog so I could be really and truly rude about stuff without anyone knowing it was me, but I am aware of my limitations, both of ego & of writing time/inspiration. Though one of our neighbours would make great material. Yesterday I mentioned watching something on YouTube and she asked if I'd checked out PornTube? Excuse me? And, please note, this is the first conversation I have ever had with her. Being British I, of course, just quickly moved the conversation on. But, what the? She mentioned that they might be having an 80s themed party in a couple of weeks, so I can torment everyone with my supercool music collection. I'm fairly excited, and yet strangely nervous.

Hole on iTunes now - is that lesbo or rrrriot grrrl? Or however the hell you spell it. I went to the local independent music shop and bought a whole load of CDs for dirt cheap, including Hole and Nine Inch Nails (I'm sure there is a song of theirs I like, but have no idea what it is). This was a direct result of spending the morning working at the cafe and having to listen to the Best of MTV Unplugged - I actually started laughing during the Alanis Morissette 'number' and got strangely angry during Bryan Adams - so off to the shops it was to counteract it with something/anything else. I really wanted something by the Jam (I watched "The Matador" the other week, crap film, but reminded me how good "a Town Called Malice" is), but they didn't have anything. Ho hum.

Will get back to you with news of "civilisation"...and yes, I will be wearing a dress. A "friend" (they know who they are) made some comment about the fact that if Jo wore a dress and I wore trousers/slacks we would look like a couple of lesbians, I pointed out that a couple of women getting 'married' was going to look pretty lesbian no matter what we do.

Arrivederci!