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