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.
Friday, April 20, 2007
Thursday, April 19, 2007
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
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
Monday, April 16, 2007
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.
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.
Wednesday, March 28, 2007
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.
"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.
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.
Tuesday, March 27, 2007
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.
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.
Monday, March 26, 2007
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...
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...
Friday, March 09, 2007
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.
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.
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.
Thursday, March 08, 2007
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...
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...
Monday, February 26, 2007
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.
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.
Sunday, February 25, 2007
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.
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.
Friday, February 23, 2007
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.
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.
Thursday, February 22, 2007
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.
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.
Wednesday, February 21, 2007
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!
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!
Monday, October 16, 2006
The future's bright
I think I’ve given myself RSI by doing almost 2 hours of continuous electronic filing on Friday. Another good reason to denounce office work, and luckily I have now confirmed that I will indeed be returning to the realm of home-based self-employed freelance-type workers at the end of November. Just in time for summer to really kick in.
Before you start thinking that I will be spending my days lounging listlessly in a wicker chair, languidly sipping Pimms/iced tea (Long Island or otherwise) and fanning myself with a Tennessee Williams novel, I should point out that our home office/study/spare room has the magical ability to be freezing cold all year round. Last summer I was seriously considering wearing a woolly hat and overcoat indoors, sort of like a less pointy Edith Sitwell, but instead just complained continuously (which is much more endearing). This icy-chill can mean only one of two things: it is a room possessed by the unresting & malevolent spirit of some poor unrecognised Kiwi housewife, or it gets no direct sunlight at any time of day – votes should be submitted by 6pm Friday. The 1st correct answer pulled out of a hat will win a day trip to the Albert Dock in Liverpool (at their own expense) in order to experience my suffering.
Gert, having little interest in channelling her inner Husky, usually leaves me to it and spends her day lazing on the garden bench next to the lavender bush (which is very flat as she occasionally prefers to sleep on top of it)
And to make the hours whizz by I have awaiting me the tome that is “Ancient Egyptian Materials & Technology” in all it’s 500+ page glory – apart from the 20 or so pages that are bizarrely upside-down & in reverse order (don’t worry, I’m getting a 15% refund for that bit). Plus, I’ll have earned enough money from my temping to tart up the spare room with a high-falutin’ new desk & office chair. It’s going to look v. professional and may even inspire me to finally get around to finalising the course outlines for the Egyptian archaeology courses I’ve been writing, on and off, for the last year.
But until then I will continue my contract at the SSC.
The Wellington Spring, which looked so very promising this morning, has turned into rain (with threats of thunderstorms). This, combined with still feeling tired after a 40th birthday party on Saturday night, makes me think tonight will be spent watching TV. International netball, I’m guessing, as such phenomena are often broadcast in this neck of the woods. It’s the final of 3 matches Australia vs. NZ (one all so far) so should produce a high degree of violence amongst the players – they are vicious – and unlike my recollections from school none of the goal keepers stand around looking really bored. I hated being goal keeper, it sucked. Its either that or one of the numerous CSI repeats (I’m just guessing, but that show is endemic on NZ TV, so it’s a safe bet).
I’m off now, but may well write again soon. Who knows?
Before you start thinking that I will be spending my days lounging listlessly in a wicker chair, languidly sipping Pimms/iced tea (Long Island or otherwise) and fanning myself with a Tennessee Williams novel, I should point out that our home office/study/spare room has the magical ability to be freezing cold all year round. Last summer I was seriously considering wearing a woolly hat and overcoat indoors, sort of like a less pointy Edith Sitwell, but instead just complained continuously (which is much more endearing). This icy-chill can mean only one of two things: it is a room possessed by the unresting & malevolent spirit of some poor unrecognised Kiwi housewife, or it gets no direct sunlight at any time of day – votes should be submitted by 6pm Friday. The 1st correct answer pulled out of a hat will win a day trip to the Albert Dock in Liverpool (at their own expense) in order to experience my suffering.
Gert, having little interest in channelling her inner Husky, usually leaves me to it and spends her day lazing on the garden bench next to the lavender bush (which is very flat as she occasionally prefers to sleep on top of it)
And to make the hours whizz by I have awaiting me the tome that is “Ancient Egyptian Materials & Technology” in all it’s 500+ page glory – apart from the 20 or so pages that are bizarrely upside-down & in reverse order (don’t worry, I’m getting a 15% refund for that bit). Plus, I’ll have earned enough money from my temping to tart up the spare room with a high-falutin’ new desk & office chair. It’s going to look v. professional and may even inspire me to finally get around to finalising the course outlines for the Egyptian archaeology courses I’ve been writing, on and off, for the last year.
But until then I will continue my contract at the SSC.
The Wellington Spring, which looked so very promising this morning, has turned into rain (with threats of thunderstorms). This, combined with still feeling tired after a 40th birthday party on Saturday night, makes me think tonight will be spent watching TV. International netball, I’m guessing, as such phenomena are often broadcast in this neck of the woods. It’s the final of 3 matches Australia vs. NZ (one all so far) so should produce a high degree of violence amongst the players – they are vicious – and unlike my recollections from school none of the goal keepers stand around looking really bored. I hated being goal keeper, it sucked. Its either that or one of the numerous CSI repeats (I’m just guessing, but that show is endemic on NZ TV, so it’s a safe bet).
I’m off now, but may well write again soon. Who knows?
Wednesday, October 11, 2006
My grandmother died today.
Well, technically she died yesterday, but I got the phone call this morning. So, for me she died today.
Jo answered the phone and it was my dad saying he had "bad news", Jo said it almost made her cry. Not because she knew my grandmother particularly well, and not because she really knows my dad particularly well, but it just pulls at something inside.
It's strange. I hadn't seen very much of my grandmother, Peg, for quite a long time, I saw her at Christmas the year before last and then again when I was over in the UK in March, but that was the most we'd been in touch for a long time. The last time I'd seen her before that was at my grandfather's funeral, and that was probably one of the first times I'd seen her in years. So. it's not as if we'd been close recently, but when I got into work this morning I realised after an hour or so that if anyone asked me how I was I'd just cry. Instead I came home, thinking I should spend some time dealing with this, doing whatever it is you do to make yourself feel better - after all it's not like I'm likely to make it home for the funeral (I'm not sure what the point would be, but I guess if was on the other side of it I might see it differently).
And now I don't know what I feel, or why. Part of me wants to "have a good cry" and part of me says "stop being so bloody self-indulgent". I guess one or other will win, eventually.
When I left the UK I was resigned to the fact that there were some people I knew it was unlikely I would see again, but this is a nasty reminder that I have moved away/shifted my life. That I'm not there, with them. And that what I left behind is moving and changing and shifting without me. I think it's easy to walk away from something and somehow think that it stays the same, unmoving and static, and that when you come back nothing will have changed. Your friends and family will still be there, and they'll welcome you with open arms because they've done nothing whilst you've been away except wait patiently for you to come back (because of course you are the most important person in the world). And then someone dies, or something significant shifts, and suddenly you realise that you're not there and there is nothing you can do about any of it. You're just on the outside now, and it was your choice to leave. All there is now are a series of intermittent phone calls, emails & promises of a visit, and the realisation that this is reality without those people you just took for granted. Loved immensely, but took for granted and assumed would always be there.
I don't mean that to sound as harsh as it may have come across. What I mean is that it is difficult and strange to start a new life in a new place without the people around you that you love and have relied on for years, the people who tell you that you are doing the right thing, that wind you up when you know you've done something stupid and that simply hang around because they like your company and you like theirs. The people whose love you assumed was yours, simply because it had been for so long.
And then something happens that reminds you of what you've given up, and you grieve for it. And with a bit of luck you pick yourself up afterwards, be bloody grateful for having had that in your life and look forward to what you might have.
But, the most important thing, despite the death that has made me get so introspective (and un-British), is that the reason I am feeling so sad is that I do genuinely miss those people (and hopefully, they will know who they are if they read this) and I know that, unless I try really hard to fuck things up, they will always be the ones I can rely on.
S
xxx
Jo answered the phone and it was my dad saying he had "bad news", Jo said it almost made her cry. Not because she knew my grandmother particularly well, and not because she really knows my dad particularly well, but it just pulls at something inside.
It's strange. I hadn't seen very much of my grandmother, Peg, for quite a long time, I saw her at Christmas the year before last and then again when I was over in the UK in March, but that was the most we'd been in touch for a long time. The last time I'd seen her before that was at my grandfather's funeral, and that was probably one of the first times I'd seen her in years. So. it's not as if we'd been close recently, but when I got into work this morning I realised after an hour or so that if anyone asked me how I was I'd just cry. Instead I came home, thinking I should spend some time dealing with this, doing whatever it is you do to make yourself feel better - after all it's not like I'm likely to make it home for the funeral (I'm not sure what the point would be, but I guess if was on the other side of it I might see it differently).
And now I don't know what I feel, or why. Part of me wants to "have a good cry" and part of me says "stop being so bloody self-indulgent". I guess one or other will win, eventually.
When I left the UK I was resigned to the fact that there were some people I knew it was unlikely I would see again, but this is a nasty reminder that I have moved away/shifted my life. That I'm not there, with them. And that what I left behind is moving and changing and shifting without me. I think it's easy to walk away from something and somehow think that it stays the same, unmoving and static, and that when you come back nothing will have changed. Your friends and family will still be there, and they'll welcome you with open arms because they've done nothing whilst you've been away except wait patiently for you to come back (because of course you are the most important person in the world). And then someone dies, or something significant shifts, and suddenly you realise that you're not there and there is nothing you can do about any of it. You're just on the outside now, and it was your choice to leave. All there is now are a series of intermittent phone calls, emails & promises of a visit, and the realisation that this is reality without those people you just took for granted. Loved immensely, but took for granted and assumed would always be there.
I don't mean that to sound as harsh as it may have come across. What I mean is that it is difficult and strange to start a new life in a new place without the people around you that you love and have relied on for years, the people who tell you that you are doing the right thing, that wind you up when you know you've done something stupid and that simply hang around because they like your company and you like theirs. The people whose love you assumed was yours, simply because it had been for so long.
And then something happens that reminds you of what you've given up, and you grieve for it. And with a bit of luck you pick yourself up afterwards, be bloody grateful for having had that in your life and look forward to what you might have.
But, the most important thing, despite the death that has made me get so introspective (and un-British), is that the reason I am feeling so sad is that I do genuinely miss those people (and hopefully, they will know who they are if they read this) and I know that, unless I try really hard to fuck things up, they will always be the ones I can rely on.
S
xxx
Monday, September 11, 2006
Misery guts
I’m starting to wonder whether Wellington, despite its capital city status and vast number of restaurants and cafes, might just be Tonbridge/Tunbridge Wells in disguise. Sometimes it just really has the whiff of town life about it. I’m still trying to figure out exactly what people do here for fun – I think they all join sports teams or do gardening. I don’t know whether to be depressed or just stop giving a toss.
It’s almost like Wellington has all of the elements of a city – bars, restaurants, clubs, loads of shops, different areas, parks, beaches, galleries & museums, universities, even parliament – but doesn’t quite have the buzz or attitude of a city. I can’t figure out quite why, but when I do I’ll let you know…one theory is that there are just far too many families in Wellington, not that I’m quite sure how that makes a difference. I suppose it might mean that people are just a bit too sensible/responsible to concoct the city ambience I am used to, a sort of disaffected self-gratification where responsibility and kids come with a move out to the ‘burbs. Mostly I find myself complaining about ugly boy racer cars & lack of a decent salad bar, rather than trying to cycle home after 2 for 1 pizza and happy hour wine. What a grumpy bastard, huh?
I don’t think it is Wellington or New Zealand that is at fault – I am still sometimes quite taken aback by just how lovely it is here – but my acclimatisation is taking a lot longer than I thought. I may have been grouchy when I was in London, I just didn’t realise I was a grouchy Londoner. At least the sun is shining & spring is on its way. I did plant a blueberry bush & some strawberry plants in the front garden, Gert discovered the joys of sunbathing on the front doorstep and I am seriously thinking of building a seat/bench out the front so I can sit & stare at people walking by.
Jo & I were meant to be going to a party on Saturday night, but the person who invited us failed to get in touch to let us know where & when, so we just went for Chinese and came home instead. That was actually okay because I got to check out a place I’d wanted to go to for ages, but burnt the holy crap out of my tongue on some “sizzling pork”, which was so “sizzling” the waitress had to shield herself from it with a tea towel. And, yes, I did mutter something about how if I was in the USA I could probably sue the restaurant – Jo just looked at me like I was a little stupid and re-iterated the danger of shoving a chopstick-full of something that blatantly scorchingly hot into your gob.
BUT…we did go for a really nice 4 hour dog walk on Saturday down to Houghton Bay, around the coast and back up through Island Bay, picking out all the houses we’d like to buy along the way (there are loads of really nice houses in Wellington). On the downside I had an allergic reaction to Nivea SPF 15 moisturiser that made the whole area around my eyes go red puffy & scaly (yum). And last weekend we had a really nice relaxing weekend at the beach (we were the only members of the Tarleton family at the beach house), so really things are pretty good. I think I just have that Monday feeling. Or I need a hobby.
Plus, Ann brought back a large bottle of Finlandia cranberry vodka for us from her trip to Fiji & we bought lots of good food at the supermarket yesterday, so I am planning a bit of a feast tonight. Hooray for me.
It’s almost like Wellington has all of the elements of a city – bars, restaurants, clubs, loads of shops, different areas, parks, beaches, galleries & museums, universities, even parliament – but doesn’t quite have the buzz or attitude of a city. I can’t figure out quite why, but when I do I’ll let you know…one theory is that there are just far too many families in Wellington, not that I’m quite sure how that makes a difference. I suppose it might mean that people are just a bit too sensible/responsible to concoct the city ambience I am used to, a sort of disaffected self-gratification where responsibility and kids come with a move out to the ‘burbs. Mostly I find myself complaining about ugly boy racer cars & lack of a decent salad bar, rather than trying to cycle home after 2 for 1 pizza and happy hour wine. What a grumpy bastard, huh?
I don’t think it is Wellington or New Zealand that is at fault – I am still sometimes quite taken aback by just how lovely it is here – but my acclimatisation is taking a lot longer than I thought. I may have been grouchy when I was in London, I just didn’t realise I was a grouchy Londoner. At least the sun is shining & spring is on its way. I did plant a blueberry bush & some strawberry plants in the front garden, Gert discovered the joys of sunbathing on the front doorstep and I am seriously thinking of building a seat/bench out the front so I can sit & stare at people walking by.
Jo & I were meant to be going to a party on Saturday night, but the person who invited us failed to get in touch to let us know where & when, so we just went for Chinese and came home instead. That was actually okay because I got to check out a place I’d wanted to go to for ages, but burnt the holy crap out of my tongue on some “sizzling pork”, which was so “sizzling” the waitress had to shield herself from it with a tea towel. And, yes, I did mutter something about how if I was in the USA I could probably sue the restaurant – Jo just looked at me like I was a little stupid and re-iterated the danger of shoving a chopstick-full of something that blatantly scorchingly hot into your gob.
BUT…we did go for a really nice 4 hour dog walk on Saturday down to Houghton Bay, around the coast and back up through Island Bay, picking out all the houses we’d like to buy along the way (there are loads of really nice houses in Wellington). On the downside I had an allergic reaction to Nivea SPF 15 moisturiser that made the whole area around my eyes go red puffy & scaly (yum). And last weekend we had a really nice relaxing weekend at the beach (we were the only members of the Tarleton family at the beach house), so really things are pretty good. I think I just have that Monday feeling. Or I need a hobby.
Plus, Ann brought back a large bottle of Finlandia cranberry vodka for us from her trip to Fiji & we bought lots of good food at the supermarket yesterday, so I am planning a bit of a feast tonight. Hooray for me.
Friday, September 08, 2006
Apparently it’s Spring…and I’m working in an office…
This was not part of the master plan. So, up I get this morning, look out the window and its beautiful & sunny, put on some nice Spring-like clothes, step outside and…freeze my arse off. As I am still learner driver, Jo & I have been driving to and from work (which has done wonders for my driving, apart from the day when we gave a colleague of Jo’s a lift home and I flaunted my skills by attempting a hill start whilst still in 2nd gear), so I only had to scamper from the house to the car, and then to the office from the car, but I still like an 18 year old sacrificing comfort for fashion. I wouldn’t mind if I actually was 18 and actually looked cool, but I’m fairly sure I fall short on both counts.
To compensate for being exposed to cold air for at least 5 minutes, I scampered into one of the 3 coffee bars that inhabit the 50m or so long block that my office sits on (this is not allowing for coffee shops/cafes along side roads – there really are a ridiculous number of them) and purchased a coffee made by a gentleman who is (according to a magazine I was reading yesterday) the best coffee barista in the whole North Island. He won a competition & everything. Not that I could tell from the coffee – it tasted okay, but didn’t blow my socks off – so I’m not sure how they judge these things. And then I went to work….only another 6 weeks to go ‘til the end of my contract.
I was thinking the other day that some of you may have the impression that I don’t like working. I’d like to challenge that. You see, it’s not that I don’t like working; it’s more that I resent spending 5 days a week being bored out of my skull (despite the financial benefits). Hopefully, my masters proves that I am not afraid to work, but I think I do have to try to find a job/role where I don’t feel the urge to go home after an hour or so. And yes, I know a lot of jobs are boring – it’s just that I don’t happen to feel obliged to resign myself to that for the next 20 - 30 years. However, there is one intriguing element to my current job. I am sitting at a desk that looks out over some car parking spaces (much like at Savile Row) and the traffic wardens here have a nifty trick of carrying different coloured chalk around with them that they use to mark the tyres of parked cars, so they can just tell by the chalk marks how long a car has been parked somewhere, sneaky…though it has been pointed out to me that you can just rub the chalk off and confuse the hell out of them.
To compensate for being exposed to cold air for at least 5 minutes, I scampered into one of the 3 coffee bars that inhabit the 50m or so long block that my office sits on (this is not allowing for coffee shops/cafes along side roads – there really are a ridiculous number of them) and purchased a coffee made by a gentleman who is (according to a magazine I was reading yesterday) the best coffee barista in the whole North Island. He won a competition & everything. Not that I could tell from the coffee – it tasted okay, but didn’t blow my socks off – so I’m not sure how they judge these things. And then I went to work….only another 6 weeks to go ‘til the end of my contract.
I was thinking the other day that some of you may have the impression that I don’t like working. I’d like to challenge that. You see, it’s not that I don’t like working; it’s more that I resent spending 5 days a week being bored out of my skull (despite the financial benefits). Hopefully, my masters proves that I am not afraid to work, but I think I do have to try to find a job/role where I don’t feel the urge to go home after an hour or so. And yes, I know a lot of jobs are boring – it’s just that I don’t happen to feel obliged to resign myself to that for the next 20 - 30 years. However, there is one intriguing element to my current job. I am sitting at a desk that looks out over some car parking spaces (much like at Savile Row) and the traffic wardens here have a nifty trick of carrying different coloured chalk around with them that they use to mark the tyres of parked cars, so they can just tell by the chalk marks how long a car has been parked somewhere, sneaky…though it has been pointed out to me that you can just rub the chalk off and confuse the hell out of them.
Tuesday, August 15, 2006
For your information
I won't be doing much in the way of blogging for a couple of weeks because I have (gasp! the horror!) gone and got myself a short contract job working at the State Services Commission until the end of October. I started yesterday & I am bored already...but they are paying me a fair whack of money, so I guess that's better than nowt.
Adieu.
Adieu.
Thursday, August 10, 2006
The legendary sprain
by the way these were taken 4 days after Jo sprained her ankle - pretty impressive, huh?
Monday, August 07, 2006
All quiet on the western front.
Yes, Gert & I are taking full advantage of having the house to ourselves. We've ensconced ourselves in the study/spare bedroom/room that desperately needs re-organising & tidying, the heater is switched on, I have a cup of tea and the newly donated cordless phone is on my desk, so I only have to leave the room to use the loo and/or get more tea (the two seem oddly connected). This is the only really sensible course of action as a steady rain is falling outside (G & I have already fearlessly ventured out for an hour of vigorous yomping up & down the hills of Melrose) and a particularly unpleasant & chill southerly wind is due to hit Wellington later on. Which sucks because I have to return a couple of DVDs (Brokeback Mountain & The Brothers Grimm - an accidental Heath Ledger marathon) before 6pm and that means going out in the rain.
Brokeback Mountain. Can't say I was too excited by it, didn't find it anywhere near as affecting in the banality of tragedy/tragedy of banality stakes as The Remains Of The Day or Vera Drake, but I guess it would have annoyed many a manly man. And the 'ageing' make-up was shocking, looked really like something out of a school play. The Brothers Grimm just had an awful lots of distractingly 'northern' accents considering it was meant to be in Germany.
The steady rain that is falling is causing some concern as an equal amount of it seems to be coming through our laundry ceiling - about 2 inches yesterday & an inch & a half so far today - and the crack in the ceiling is getting significantly larger. I did the obvious thing of getting out the ladder and climbing up to peer at the roof and though there don't appear to be any holes the roof is not sloping as it should. So the water is just pooling and seeping through. And the weather forecast is for rain for the rest of the week. Somehow we're going to have to fix some temporary tarpaulin to at least try to stem some of the flow, otherwise we're going to be in big trouble. Christ alone knows how though.
So. Jo & I went snowboarding for a few days up at Turangi. I can now officially state that I am a much better snowboarder than I am a skier, but that isn't saying much because I was a terrible skier. Really appalling. But when it comes to snowboarding I managed to not only get down the kiddie slope without killing myself, I also managed to stop, do at least one turn and was able to get up when I fell over. Hooray for me! Jo is very pleased that we may finally have a winter sport that we can both participate in, but I'm thinking I'll need at least a few more days practising before I'll be able to do anything much more than just slowly creep downhill with a scowl of grim determination. After a couple of days the weather got a bit grotty, so we decided that we would drive back down to Waikanae to meet up with Len, Amy & Gertie, giving me ample time to do some driving practise. I managed to get us safely to Wanganui via State Highway 4 despite the rain, landslips (one clipped the back of the car) & trees in the road. Very exciting. For anyone who is interested, SH4 is one of those winding, hairpin, up hill & down dale, only driven by the people who own farms up there, take this corner too fast & you'll end up in a field 40 feet below type of roads. And of course we went down it after heavy rains.
Once back in Wellington Jo spent a the next few days helping Amy finish off her packing and get ready for her departure to Auckland, all of which was pretty straightforward despite Amy misreading her ticket and arriving at the airport as her flight was departing. Actually that was just as well because she'd left her purse in our kitchen & it gave Jo time to drive back home & pick it up before her brand newly booked flight left at 4pm. A couple of days later Jo Ecclestone headed back up to Auckland prior to her onward journey to LA, and Jo & I had the place to ourselves. Unfortunately, Jo went to play netball that lunchtime (Thursday) for the Telstraclear company team and managed to spectacularly sprain her ankle (though she did drive home - no one knows how). It puffed up quite magnificently and by Saturday she hobbled to the hospital to get it looked at, they promptly signed her off for another week. But it meant that we had plenty of time to finish watching Bleak House on DVD.
Jo finally got back to work today, ankle still swollen (the physio says it may take another couple of weeks to get back to normal) and the grot & I are languishing in the silence of the house, just the rain to keep us company and only another 2 hours before I have to take the DVDs back. Might wear my waterproof trousers, should do the trick.
Adios!
Brokeback Mountain. Can't say I was too excited by it, didn't find it anywhere near as affecting in the banality of tragedy/tragedy of banality stakes as The Remains Of The Day or Vera Drake, but I guess it would have annoyed many a manly man. And the 'ageing' make-up was shocking, looked really like something out of a school play. The Brothers Grimm just had an awful lots of distractingly 'northern' accents considering it was meant to be in Germany.
The steady rain that is falling is causing some concern as an equal amount of it seems to be coming through our laundry ceiling - about 2 inches yesterday & an inch & a half so far today - and the crack in the ceiling is getting significantly larger. I did the obvious thing of getting out the ladder and climbing up to peer at the roof and though there don't appear to be any holes the roof is not sloping as it should. So the water is just pooling and seeping through. And the weather forecast is for rain for the rest of the week. Somehow we're going to have to fix some temporary tarpaulin to at least try to stem some of the flow, otherwise we're going to be in big trouble. Christ alone knows how though.
So. Jo & I went snowboarding for a few days up at Turangi. I can now officially state that I am a much better snowboarder than I am a skier, but that isn't saying much because I was a terrible skier. Really appalling. But when it comes to snowboarding I managed to not only get down the kiddie slope without killing myself, I also managed to stop, do at least one turn and was able to get up when I fell over. Hooray for me! Jo is very pleased that we may finally have a winter sport that we can both participate in, but I'm thinking I'll need at least a few more days practising before I'll be able to do anything much more than just slowly creep downhill with a scowl of grim determination. After a couple of days the weather got a bit grotty, so we decided that we would drive back down to Waikanae to meet up with Len, Amy & Gertie, giving me ample time to do some driving practise. I managed to get us safely to Wanganui via State Highway 4 despite the rain, landslips (one clipped the back of the car) & trees in the road. Very exciting. For anyone who is interested, SH4 is one of those winding, hairpin, up hill & down dale, only driven by the people who own farms up there, take this corner too fast & you'll end up in a field 40 feet below type of roads. And of course we went down it after heavy rains.
Once back in Wellington Jo spent a the next few days helping Amy finish off her packing and get ready for her departure to Auckland, all of which was pretty straightforward despite Amy misreading her ticket and arriving at the airport as her flight was departing. Actually that was just as well because she'd left her purse in our kitchen & it gave Jo time to drive back home & pick it up before her brand newly booked flight left at 4pm. A couple of days later Jo Ecclestone headed back up to Auckland prior to her onward journey to LA, and Jo & I had the place to ourselves. Unfortunately, Jo went to play netball that lunchtime (Thursday) for the Telstraclear company team and managed to spectacularly sprain her ankle (though she did drive home - no one knows how). It puffed up quite magnificently and by Saturday she hobbled to the hospital to get it looked at, they promptly signed her off for another week. But it meant that we had plenty of time to finish watching Bleak House on DVD.
Jo finally got back to work today, ankle still swollen (the physio says it may take another couple of weeks to get back to normal) and the grot & I are languishing in the silence of the house, just the rain to keep us company and only another 2 hours before I have to take the DVDs back. Might wear my waterproof trousers, should do the trick.
Adios!
Thursday, July 13, 2006
It's December in New Zealand.
A slight variation on something a friend of mine was asked by an American - "When it's June in America is it December in New Zealand?".
The answer, of course, is "yes". Well, almost. When it is July 8th in America, it is December 25th at our house.
The thought process behind this slight bending of the calendar was inspired by my inability to get into the festive spirit at Christmas, for the simple reason that I couldn't get my head around Christmas being during the summer. For me, and for many of us Northern Hemisphere-ites, at Christmas it should be dark, dank, cold, wet, and downright miserable. An ideal excuse to shut yourself in the house and eat & drink way too much whilst watching dubious 'sitcoms' & old films. Just what those pagan folk were thinking when they invented it...
So, we came up with the genius idea of having a birthday christmas, seeing as my birthday has also transformed from a summer BBQ event to a wintery sludge. Hooray! Of course I forgot the vital element - I don't usually actually have to organise or do any of the work at Christmas, that's what mums do. Then, I decided that it should be split into two elements - a couple of mates over for lunch and a party in the evening. Has anyone actually done this on Christmas Day? No. Why? Because it is knackering and almost impossible to be jovial & sociable for that long (approximately 14 hours...)
Being MY Christmas I then decided I wanted to be all flash & roast a goose for lunch, just because I'd never done that before. But my plans were thwarted when I discovered that you cannot buy goose in NZ. No idea why, you just can't. Turkey isn't too common either outside the actual festive season (when Jo asked one supermarket assistant if they sold turkey he looked at her blankly and said "but it isn't Christmas".). Luckily, el fancio butchers shop in town sells boned, rolled & stuffed turkey, so panic averted. Phew.
Friday 7th July saw the early morning arrival of Jo Ecclestone, 'fresh' off the overnight bus from Auckland, and she was immediately thrown into a day of faffing about, collecting aforementioned turkey, making egg-nog & gluewein, and decorating. By the evening we had almost convinced ourselves it was really Christmas Eve - yes, we are that gullible. Up & at 'em the next morning, we steeled ourselves for the day ahead by watching "Olive, the other reindeer" on DVD & playing dodgy Bing Crosby christmas songs, peeling potatoes and being merry. I was forced to open my present a day early (my birthday isn't actually until the 9th) - a fine set of Global kitchen knives, which are terrifyingly sharp - and lunch went relatively well despite the oven pissing about and taking about an hour longer to cook everything than I had planned. I decided to skip the traditional apologising for the lateness of lunch & went straight into arsey "you'll get your bloody food when it's ready" mode. It seemed to work.
So, lunch over, we whiled away the afternoon watching "The Vicar of Dibley", "The Great Escape" & playing Trivial Pursuit, until someone got out the Live Aid DVD and much very bad singing began. One guest, being a mere 27 years old, was most bemused and traumatised us all by admitting to having never heard of The Thompson Twins. The horror.
By the time our evening guests started appearing, at about 8pm, we were fairly 'merry'. Most people, being under the impression it was a normal party, arrived after 9pm by which time I was knackered & decided upon the 'steer them to the kitchen, give them a drink and then head back to the sofa & let them fend for themselves' tactic. I hope it worked. It was always effective in London, let's hope it travels. The rest of the evening is a blur of red wine, crisps, pickled onions, loud music, sofa hand-jiving, Gertie trying to pretend there was no one there and sleeping, varying degrees of inebriation & lots of laughing. Jo E commented that it was just like our parties in London, but people seemed less drunk. Must have been the lack of Scandinavians or Vicky/Keiran/Sib...
As is traditional at my parties, I called an end to proceedings by going to bed & hoping that everyone else would get the hint. It worked.
The next day consisted of a very long dog walk - to the Mount Vic lookout & back - "The Sound of Music" and lasagne.
5 days later & I'm still tired. Is it because I am 36 now? Or just because I am crap?
The answer, of course, is "yes". Well, almost. When it is July 8th in America, it is December 25th at our house.
The thought process behind this slight bending of the calendar was inspired by my inability to get into the festive spirit at Christmas, for the simple reason that I couldn't get my head around Christmas being during the summer. For me, and for many of us Northern Hemisphere-ites, at Christmas it should be dark, dank, cold, wet, and downright miserable. An ideal excuse to shut yourself in the house and eat & drink way too much whilst watching dubious 'sitcoms' & old films. Just what those pagan folk were thinking when they invented it...
So, we came up with the genius idea of having a birthday christmas, seeing as my birthday has also transformed from a summer BBQ event to a wintery sludge. Hooray! Of course I forgot the vital element - I don't usually actually have to organise or do any of the work at Christmas, that's what mums do. Then, I decided that it should be split into two elements - a couple of mates over for lunch and a party in the evening. Has anyone actually done this on Christmas Day? No. Why? Because it is knackering and almost impossible to be jovial & sociable for that long (approximately 14 hours...)
Being MY Christmas I then decided I wanted to be all flash & roast a goose for lunch, just because I'd never done that before. But my plans were thwarted when I discovered that you cannot buy goose in NZ. No idea why, you just can't. Turkey isn't too common either outside the actual festive season (when Jo asked one supermarket assistant if they sold turkey he looked at her blankly and said "but it isn't Christmas".). Luckily, el fancio butchers shop in town sells boned, rolled & stuffed turkey, so panic averted. Phew.
Friday 7th July saw the early morning arrival of Jo Ecclestone, 'fresh' off the overnight bus from Auckland, and she was immediately thrown into a day of faffing about, collecting aforementioned turkey, making egg-nog & gluewein, and decorating. By the evening we had almost convinced ourselves it was really Christmas Eve - yes, we are that gullible. Up & at 'em the next morning, we steeled ourselves for the day ahead by watching "Olive, the other reindeer" on DVD & playing dodgy Bing Crosby christmas songs, peeling potatoes and being merry. I was forced to open my present a day early (my birthday isn't actually until the 9th) - a fine set of Global kitchen knives, which are terrifyingly sharp - and lunch went relatively well despite the oven pissing about and taking about an hour longer to cook everything than I had planned. I decided to skip the traditional apologising for the lateness of lunch & went straight into arsey "you'll get your bloody food when it's ready" mode. It seemed to work.
So, lunch over, we whiled away the afternoon watching "The Vicar of Dibley", "The Great Escape" & playing Trivial Pursuit, until someone got out the Live Aid DVD and much very bad singing began. One guest, being a mere 27 years old, was most bemused and traumatised us all by admitting to having never heard of The Thompson Twins. The horror.
By the time our evening guests started appearing, at about 8pm, we were fairly 'merry'. Most people, being under the impression it was a normal party, arrived after 9pm by which time I was knackered & decided upon the 'steer them to the kitchen, give them a drink and then head back to the sofa & let them fend for themselves' tactic. I hope it worked. It was always effective in London, let's hope it travels. The rest of the evening is a blur of red wine, crisps, pickled onions, loud music, sofa hand-jiving, Gertie trying to pretend there was no one there and sleeping, varying degrees of inebriation & lots of laughing. Jo E commented that it was just like our parties in London, but people seemed less drunk. Must have been the lack of Scandinavians or Vicky/Keiran/Sib...
As is traditional at my parties, I called an end to proceedings by going to bed & hoping that everyone else would get the hint. It worked.
The next day consisted of a very long dog walk - to the Mount Vic lookout & back - "The Sound of Music" and lasagne.
5 days later & I'm still tired. Is it because I am 36 now? Or just because I am crap?
Thursday, July 06, 2006
Sarcasm will get you everywhere.
In response to the cheeky git who commented on my extreme lack of blogginess - I have been thinking about blogging for some time now, but have been distracted by the vile weather & severe lack of heating in the house (note how close G has to get to the old heater to reap any benefit).
The heating situation has now been resolved and I may well blog next week. Until then I am busy organising my birthday extravaganza this weekend, which will be taking the form of a mid-winter knees-up. We're even making egg nog. I shall attempt to record the aftermath early-ish next week. Maybe.
S
Tuesday, April 18, 2006
Mice are tenacious wee bastards, aren't they?
And they don't seem to understand that they are supposed to go into the mousetrap, instead of prancing about our kitchen.
Having said that I just went downstairs to make a cup of tea and discovered our mousetrap did indeed contain a willing victim (who has just been relocated at the bottom of the street).
Let me begin at the beginning. A few weeks ago, in a land far far away (depending on where you live) we began to suspect we had a mouse problem. When I say "we began to suspect", what I actually mean is that we kept seeing mice in our kitchen. Well, when I say "we kept seeing mice in our kitchen", what I actually mean is that we kept seeing mouse arses/tails disappearing down the back of our oven. In fact some of these critters had actually taken to pooing on roasting trays left in the oven (clean ones) and larking about in the cupboards and pooing in my wok. Annoying. So it was decided that something had to be done and, after much searching, I finally found some humane mousetraps. Jo was favouring the 'splatter them all over the place' traditional trap, but I thought that a little harsh seeing as they were only doing their mousey thing, so we bought the humane one.
This took some negotiation as they were really pushing their luck with Jo by holding little soirees in the crumb tray of her Dualit toaster. They don't know how close they came. My campaign against them began quite gloriously. In fact, I caught two of the wee buggers in a single evening. Hurrah for me!!! And then it all went quiet. Not being foolish enough to think it could be that simple, I left the trap in situ.
For the last two/three weeks at least one mouse has been merrily partying away in the kitchen without even as much as poking its nose in the trap. Damn. Jo's patience with both the mice & the trap was wearing thin and there was talk of "bait" & "poison" being bandied about at the dinner table (very Borgian - and yes I did check that this is an actual word. Its used by the Vatican, no less.). The conflict was about to escalate.
Then the impasse was finally broken. Yesterday (Easter Monday), following an epic dog walking adventure of almost 4 hours, Jo & I were both in a state of minor collapse on the sofa watching 'Edward Scissorhands' on DVD (just giving you a visual) and having just consumed a fine lunch of fajitas when Jo claimed to hear a rattling in the kitchen. Off she went to investigate. The trap was indeed closed, suggesting a prisoner, but it can be a bit temperamental so I asked whether she was sure there was something in it. I usually test this theory by giving the trap a bit of a shake to see if it has anything inside (probably defeats the 'humane' aspect a bit), but Jo had tried the failsafe method of actually opening the lid and peering in. She offered to let me have a look, but I had visions of high velocity mouse leaping to freedom in my face, so declined. Off I wandered to the long grass behind the church hall to release the beastie.
Once a safe distance from our place I opened up the end of the trap and gave it a little shake to encourage our little friend out. Normally at this point a high speed leap is the chosen option of the mouse, but nothing. Strange. So I peered into the trap only to see a very wide-eyed vermin beast using its paws to wedge itself against the end of the trap in a style I can only imagine it had picked up from James Bond films - you know that classic using your hands and feet to wedge yourself on the lift ceiling so you can drop on your enemy. Nice try sonny. A firm flick of the wrist dislodged the mouse and I must confess it was quite athletic in its leaping through the undergrowth.
Back to the house and all is calm. Jo's now finely tuned mouse detecting ears were ready for any further encroachment, and later that evening something caught her attention. Off to the kitchen to investigate. No sign of the mouse/mice, but one giveaway clue. Gert hadn't eaten all food that evening - she doesn't like the new dog biscuit stuff we bought at the weekend, I don't blame her it does smell a bit like disinfectant - so there were some left over biscuits in her bowl waiting to be chucked away. Now these are quite chunky biscuits, I'd estimate at least a couple of centimetres square, but one of our combatants had managed to get one out of the bowl (which is polished metal and pretty slippery), past the sink edge and to the edge of the bread bin. Jo saw this as a blantant act of defiance, yet I had to grudgingly respect such initiative. Plus it gave me a massive hint as what to use as bait in my trap.
My first capture just now confirms that Gert's yucky dog biscuits do seem to be effective. I'll keep you updated.
Having said that I just went downstairs to make a cup of tea and discovered our mousetrap did indeed contain a willing victim (who has just been relocated at the bottom of the street).
Let me begin at the beginning. A few weeks ago, in a land far far away (depending on where you live) we began to suspect we had a mouse problem. When I say "we began to suspect", what I actually mean is that we kept seeing mice in our kitchen. Well, when I say "we kept seeing mice in our kitchen", what I actually mean is that we kept seeing mouse arses/tails disappearing down the back of our oven. In fact some of these critters had actually taken to pooing on roasting trays left in the oven (clean ones) and larking about in the cupboards and pooing in my wok. Annoying. So it was decided that something had to be done and, after much searching, I finally found some humane mousetraps. Jo was favouring the 'splatter them all over the place' traditional trap, but I thought that a little harsh seeing as they were only doing their mousey thing, so we bought the humane one.
This took some negotiation as they were really pushing their luck with Jo by holding little soirees in the crumb tray of her Dualit toaster. They don't know how close they came. My campaign against them began quite gloriously. In fact, I caught two of the wee buggers in a single evening. Hurrah for me!!! And then it all went quiet. Not being foolish enough to think it could be that simple, I left the trap in situ.
For the last two/three weeks at least one mouse has been merrily partying away in the kitchen without even as much as poking its nose in the trap. Damn. Jo's patience with both the mice & the trap was wearing thin and there was talk of "bait" & "poison" being bandied about at the dinner table (very Borgian - and yes I did check that this is an actual word. Its used by the Vatican, no less.). The conflict was about to escalate.
Then the impasse was finally broken. Yesterday (Easter Monday), following an epic dog walking adventure of almost 4 hours, Jo & I were both in a state of minor collapse on the sofa watching 'Edward Scissorhands' on DVD (just giving you a visual) and having just consumed a fine lunch of fajitas when Jo claimed to hear a rattling in the kitchen. Off she went to investigate. The trap was indeed closed, suggesting a prisoner, but it can be a bit temperamental so I asked whether she was sure there was something in it. I usually test this theory by giving the trap a bit of a shake to see if it has anything inside (probably defeats the 'humane' aspect a bit), but Jo had tried the failsafe method of actually opening the lid and peering in. She offered to let me have a look, but I had visions of high velocity mouse leaping to freedom in my face, so declined. Off I wandered to the long grass behind the church hall to release the beastie.
Once a safe distance from our place I opened up the end of the trap and gave it a little shake to encourage our little friend out. Normally at this point a high speed leap is the chosen option of the mouse, but nothing. Strange. So I peered into the trap only to see a very wide-eyed vermin beast using its paws to wedge itself against the end of the trap in a style I can only imagine it had picked up from James Bond films - you know that classic using your hands and feet to wedge yourself on the lift ceiling so you can drop on your enemy. Nice try sonny. A firm flick of the wrist dislodged the mouse and I must confess it was quite athletic in its leaping through the undergrowth.
Back to the house and all is calm. Jo's now finely tuned mouse detecting ears were ready for any further encroachment, and later that evening something caught her attention. Off to the kitchen to investigate. No sign of the mouse/mice, but one giveaway clue. Gert hadn't eaten all food that evening - she doesn't like the new dog biscuit stuff we bought at the weekend, I don't blame her it does smell a bit like disinfectant - so there were some left over biscuits in her bowl waiting to be chucked away. Now these are quite chunky biscuits, I'd estimate at least a couple of centimetres square, but one of our combatants had managed to get one out of the bowl (which is polished metal and pretty slippery), past the sink edge and to the edge of the bread bin. Jo saw this as a blantant act of defiance, yet I had to grudgingly respect such initiative. Plus it gave me a massive hint as what to use as bait in my trap.
My first capture just now confirms that Gert's yucky dog biscuits do seem to be effective. I'll keep you updated.
Wednesday, March 29, 2006
I just bloody deleted my 1st blog entry for months...bugger!!!
So...you get the gist...and it was really funny/witty/urbane...arse.
I'll give you a summary in bullet points and write a better one next week, honest.
- I am not dead/ill/traumatised in any way, just lazy/busy.
- Our washing machine broke, but we bought a new one. And now I keep getting that very strange Kate Bush washing machine song in my head. We had to cut away part of a door architrave to get it to fit - annoying.
- I chopped down a tree in the front yard because it had fallen over.
- Gert tried to choke herself on a piece of chopped down tree wood. She's fine but had to have 2 antibiotic jabs.
- Gert's disgusting ear scab/growth is being surgically removed on April 21st.
- Tennis ball chuckers are great - every home should have one.
- The weather here is getting quite wintery - mainly wet, cold & windy.
- Luckily I have a new Drizabone raincoat, so I don't care. ($100 off in a sale)
- We have mice, but I've caught 2 of them in my brand new humane mousetrap & relocated them behind the church hall at the end of the road. Jo thinks I am a soft git for buying a humane trap.
- I have been busily writing my Ancient Egyptian Archaeology course, but am already a week behind schedule (I've only been working on it for 3 weeks).
- If anything dramatic/traumatic did happen to me, rest assured Jo would let you know.
- I went to a Gay Ex-Pats club & spent the entire evening talking to a bloke from New Zealand. It was crap.
- Our pub quiz has disappeared, which sucks.
- I am now working 3 mornings a week at the Drama School cafe.
- I have got a Kiwi hooked on 'Heat' magazine, which is bad as it costs $9 over here. But its nice to know what Kerry Katona is up to.
- I'm getting my bi-annual haircut tomorrow.
- I'm listening to the Martha Wainwright album, supposedly one of the albums of 2005 but I'm not so sure.
- Jo is trying to teach Gert to play dead. I am trying to encourage the use of the command word "blam!" with matching gunfire hand actions.
that should keep you going for a couple of days at least...
Adios!
S
I'll give you a summary in bullet points and write a better one next week, honest.
- I am not dead/ill/traumatised in any way, just lazy/busy.
- Our washing machine broke, but we bought a new one. And now I keep getting that very strange Kate Bush washing machine song in my head. We had to cut away part of a door architrave to get it to fit - annoying.
- I chopped down a tree in the front yard because it had fallen over.
- Gert tried to choke herself on a piece of chopped down tree wood. She's fine but had to have 2 antibiotic jabs.
- Gert's disgusting ear scab/growth is being surgically removed on April 21st.
- Tennis ball chuckers are great - every home should have one.
- The weather here is getting quite wintery - mainly wet, cold & windy.
- Luckily I have a new Drizabone raincoat, so I don't care. ($100 off in a sale)
- We have mice, but I've caught 2 of them in my brand new humane mousetrap & relocated them behind the church hall at the end of the road. Jo thinks I am a soft git for buying a humane trap.
- I have been busily writing my Ancient Egyptian Archaeology course, but am already a week behind schedule (I've only been working on it for 3 weeks).
- If anything dramatic/traumatic did happen to me, rest assured Jo would let you know.
- I went to a Gay Ex-Pats club & spent the entire evening talking to a bloke from New Zealand. It was crap.
- Our pub quiz has disappeared, which sucks.
- I am now working 3 mornings a week at the Drama School cafe.
- I have got a Kiwi hooked on 'Heat' magazine, which is bad as it costs $9 over here. But its nice to know what Kerry Katona is up to.
- I'm getting my bi-annual haircut tomorrow.
- I'm listening to the Martha Wainwright album, supposedly one of the albums of 2005 but I'm not so sure.
- Jo is trying to teach Gert to play dead. I am trying to encourage the use of the command word "blam!" with matching gunfire hand actions.
that should keep you going for a couple of days at least...
Adios!
S
Friday, January 20, 2006
We made it out alive!
I feel it is my duty as an ex-pat to flaunt my sunny Christmas by letting you all know that I did indeed manage to get myself sunburnt on Boxing Day. I'm not sure how because I did go through the ritual of dunking myself in enough factor 30 sunscreen to cover an entire British summer, but guess that's just the way it is...
If it's any consolation Jo & I will miss the best of summer over here by coming over to Finland/UK and freezing our butts off. Great.
Back to Christmas/New Year - we arrived at Jo's folks place at Waikanae on Christmas Eve all ready for a few days of R&R, dog in tow (who Len had very kindly built a rather fabulous kennel for - it even has her name on it), and proceeded to raucously celebrate pre-Christmas with much alcohol and a surprisingly vocal game of Scrabble. Jo & I had brought our tent as we realised that if we were planning to go camping over New Year then we should check that it was still in one piece and, sensibly, had put it up before we began our Scrabble frenzy. So off we staggered, clutching torches, into the pitch blackness of the back garden (sending the dog off to her new kennel for the night), and crashed out. Not for long though, for mysterious snuffling noises awoke me from my slumber. Feeling courageous I flamboyantly unzipped the sleeping section of the tent (our tent is really quite roomy) to find out what kind of beastie had dared to sneak into the entrance bit only to find myself up close & personal with Gertie's nose. She'd figured out that she could easily crawl under the flysheet and was making a valiant effort to claw her way through the inner tent to get to us. Jo was adamant that Gert shouldn't be allowed in the sleeping bit with us, but seeing as there was sod all we could do to make her go into the kennel, she spent the rest of the night sleeping in the central part of the tent, stretching the inner liner as far as she could in an attempt to be as close to us as possible. Considering how knackered she was the next day I'm guessing it wasn't the best night's sleep she'd ever had. In fact, Jo's grandad spent most of the day suggesting that there was something wrong with our dog seeing as she was practically comatose.
The rest of Christmas passed without anything significant happening and we headed back to Wellington so that Jo could savour the delights of work before we went a-camping for the New Year. Which would have been great if we hadn't arrived back at Green Street and realised that we'd left our house keys at Waikanae...luckily we had the spare keys for Jo's folk's place and were able to hide out there until Amy returned to town.
Thus, on Friday 30th Jan we found ourselves once more heading north (stopping briefly at Waikanae to leave Gert with Jo's folks) to the heady delights of Vinegar Hill's annual New Year gay extravaganza - woo hoo! Now I really do not have the energy to go into any gory detail about Vinegar Hill, so I shall summarise our trip in a series of bullet points.
. It is not advisable to camp in close vicinity to the campsite's giant bonfire - people/cars/tents all end up with a slightly updated Pompeii theme
. Really good earplugs = essential
. if entertainment is voluntary/free expect little in terms of quality, but the predictable in terms of range ie. drag queen, lesbian singer/songwriter guitarist (even the 'love' songs were depressing), drag queen, buttocks & boobs, elderly drag queen, drag king, Guns 'N Roses karaoke, drag queen, disco (Hi-NRG/Euro).
. if entertainment is voluntary & gathered from a pool of about 500 people expect the worst. You won't be disappointed.
. Bring your own teabags
. Don't drink the majority of your booze on the first night, despite the temptation/feelings of desperation
. Kiwi lesbian campers (I can't comment on the blokes for obvious reasons) seem to have very low squeamishness thresholds when it comes to campsite toilets
. they also seem to have a very low cold temperature tolerance when it comes to river swimming
. Jo is very very good at hitting leaves with pebbles in fast flowing water
. Glow worms are very pretty
. Kiwi lesbians seem afraid of London S&M ladies (clearly not versed in the old 'just maintain a disinterested eye-contact & keep walking/smile politely and decline' protocol)
. People who park their motorcycles right outside my tent and then decide to start them up at 4am are wankers
. Repeatedly playing 'Push the Button' by the Sugarbabes doesn't make it any less crap
So, having realised that 3 days was our limit, we headed back to Waikanae to collect Gert and then back to Wellington. Upon our return to Green Street this time we noticed that one of our living room front windows had fallen out, frame and all. Luckily no one else seemed to have noticed and everything was intact, and lucky we came back that day because the overnight weather was a shocker and would have wrecked the downstairs of the house if we hadn't boarded it up. Well, if we hadn't asked the bloke next door to do it for us and paid him in beer. Just to confirm our weather worries one of the neighbour's windows went kablooey too.
Since then we've been pootling around the house making the place look half-way decent, drove to Auckland & back to attend a wedding party (great party, bloody long drive), Gertie passed her puppy school grading with flying colours (and has since been a pain in the arse - we are still working on getting her come back everytime she's called rather than just wehn she feels like it), and we've just had a long weekend in celebration of Wellington Day (?). We hightailed it out of town, but there was some extreme sports BMX/skateboard thingy on in the city for the young folk. I noticed them building the ramps etc for it as I cycled past on the way to the gym last Friday, but thought I'd best leave it to the professionals.
Only 3 weeks until we hit Europe now. Scary. But hopefully I'll get back in the blogging zone and be ready for some more Monday updates.
Adios!
If it's any consolation Jo & I will miss the best of summer over here by coming over to Finland/UK and freezing our butts off. Great.
Back to Christmas/New Year - we arrived at Jo's folks place at Waikanae on Christmas Eve all ready for a few days of R&R, dog in tow (who Len had very kindly built a rather fabulous kennel for - it even has her name on it), and proceeded to raucously celebrate pre-Christmas with much alcohol and a surprisingly vocal game of Scrabble. Jo & I had brought our tent as we realised that if we were planning to go camping over New Year then we should check that it was still in one piece and, sensibly, had put it up before we began our Scrabble frenzy. So off we staggered, clutching torches, into the pitch blackness of the back garden (sending the dog off to her new kennel for the night), and crashed out. Not for long though, for mysterious snuffling noises awoke me from my slumber. Feeling courageous I flamboyantly unzipped the sleeping section of the tent (our tent is really quite roomy) to find out what kind of beastie had dared to sneak into the entrance bit only to find myself up close & personal with Gertie's nose. She'd figured out that she could easily crawl under the flysheet and was making a valiant effort to claw her way through the inner tent to get to us. Jo was adamant that Gert shouldn't be allowed in the sleeping bit with us, but seeing as there was sod all we could do to make her go into the kennel, she spent the rest of the night sleeping in the central part of the tent, stretching the inner liner as far as she could in an attempt to be as close to us as possible. Considering how knackered she was the next day I'm guessing it wasn't the best night's sleep she'd ever had. In fact, Jo's grandad spent most of the day suggesting that there was something wrong with our dog seeing as she was practically comatose.
The rest of Christmas passed without anything significant happening and we headed back to Wellington so that Jo could savour the delights of work before we went a-camping for the New Year. Which would have been great if we hadn't arrived back at Green Street and realised that we'd left our house keys at Waikanae...luckily we had the spare keys for Jo's folk's place and were able to hide out there until Amy returned to town.
Thus, on Friday 30th Jan we found ourselves once more heading north (stopping briefly at Waikanae to leave Gert with Jo's folks) to the heady delights of Vinegar Hill's annual New Year gay extravaganza - woo hoo! Now I really do not have the energy to go into any gory detail about Vinegar Hill, so I shall summarise our trip in a series of bullet points.
. It is not advisable to camp in close vicinity to the campsite's giant bonfire - people/cars/tents all end up with a slightly updated Pompeii theme
. Really good earplugs = essential
. if entertainment is voluntary/free expect little in terms of quality, but the predictable in terms of range ie. drag queen, lesbian singer/songwriter guitarist (even the 'love' songs were depressing), drag queen, buttocks & boobs, elderly drag queen, drag king, Guns 'N Roses karaoke, drag queen, disco (Hi-NRG/Euro).
. if entertainment is voluntary & gathered from a pool of about 500 people expect the worst. You won't be disappointed.
. Bring your own teabags
. Don't drink the majority of your booze on the first night, despite the temptation/feelings of desperation
. Kiwi lesbian campers (I can't comment on the blokes for obvious reasons) seem to have very low squeamishness thresholds when it comes to campsite toilets
. they also seem to have a very low cold temperature tolerance when it comes to river swimming
. Jo is very very good at hitting leaves with pebbles in fast flowing water
. Glow worms are very pretty
. Kiwi lesbians seem afraid of London S&M ladies (clearly not versed in the old 'just maintain a disinterested eye-contact & keep walking/smile politely and decline' protocol)
. People who park their motorcycles right outside my tent and then decide to start them up at 4am are wankers
. Repeatedly playing 'Push the Button' by the Sugarbabes doesn't make it any less crap
So, having realised that 3 days was our limit, we headed back to Waikanae to collect Gert and then back to Wellington. Upon our return to Green Street this time we noticed that one of our living room front windows had fallen out, frame and all. Luckily no one else seemed to have noticed and everything was intact, and lucky we came back that day because the overnight weather was a shocker and would have wrecked the downstairs of the house if we hadn't boarded it up. Well, if we hadn't asked the bloke next door to do it for us and paid him in beer. Just to confirm our weather worries one of the neighbour's windows went kablooey too.
Since then we've been pootling around the house making the place look half-way decent, drove to Auckland & back to attend a wedding party (great party, bloody long drive), Gertie passed her puppy school grading with flying colours (and has since been a pain in the arse - we are still working on getting her come back everytime she's called rather than just wehn she feels like it), and we've just had a long weekend in celebration of Wellington Day (?). We hightailed it out of town, but there was some extreme sports BMX/skateboard thingy on in the city for the young folk. I noticed them building the ramps etc for it as I cycled past on the way to the gym last Friday, but thought I'd best leave it to the professionals.
Only 3 weeks until we hit Europe now. Scary. But hopefully I'll get back in the blogging zone and be ready for some more Monday updates.
Adios!
Thursday, December 22, 2005
Surely it can't be Christmas already?
Well Jesus, Mary & Joseph - it's Christmas already!
Firstly a combined thank you and humble apologies. Thank you to those of you who sent us Christmas cards (& presents), you will be heartened to know that you made me cry...thus ruining my image as the cool & sophisticated urbanite that I am...and sincere apologies to those who will not be getting a Christmas card from us. There is a reason for this though, and the reason is that I am horribly disorganised. And you would be shocked at the extortionate prices they charge over here to post stuff at Christmas - it's about $6 for a card and postage to the UK - and I am skint 'cos I am too slack to work. Actually the not working thing is starting to seriously irritate me, but I shall not ruin your reading pleasure by whinging on about how terrible it is to be a kept woman. I'll save that for the New Year. So, executive decision: rather than spending loads on christmas cards etc etc, we will focus instead on birthdays. How's that sound? Wouldn't you much rather get something pointless and lightweight (under 2kg or it costs loads to post) on your special day?
Speaking of special days, and before I forget, Jo & I have some exciting news on the coming to Europe front. Yes, we've actually booked our flights. We will be arriving in Finland in time to attend Sini & Ali's nuptials (hmmm, jet-lag & vodka, should be interesting), and from there it's just a quick hop, step & a jump to London on 18th February 2006. Jo will probably only be able to stay in the UK for a week, seeing as she has a job and all, but I'll probably stay for a couple - so start booking me into your diaries now...and remember I can easily be bought by promises of food/alcohol/weeping & tales of how much you've missed me...Hopefully the south east London menagerie (consisting of Maija, Jan, Catherine & Vicky H) will be happy to share me like the cheap floozy I am, but I am hoping that I'll get to spend at least one or two drunken evenings with everyone. I'm trying to act all cool about it, otherwise I'll make a pillock of myself as soon as I see you guys. No doubt you will soon be receiving grovelling emails asking if we can stay at your place.
So, Christmas in NZ? It is sunny, and it doesn't feel like Christmas. At all. I suppose for me Christmas is all about it being cold & miserable, very dubious television programmes, Christmas lights & heinous music, Eastenders and scoffing way too much food off a giant plate waiting about 3 hours and eating way too much of the same food (only cold with branston pickle) and drinking alot. And mince pies. So far Christmas in NZ has been none of the above, but it would be very weird if it was considering we are in the middle of summer - but I am pretty sure I can maintain the traditional consumption of enough food & wine for a small family by myself, so all is not lost. And I think Jo's dad has some Branston pickle stashed somewhere. Hurrah!
As for news of me over the last couple of weeks, not a great deal to report. I've been trying to learn my road code so I can get a learner's licence and start terrorising the locals with my driving skills - might even try to get it tomorrow so I can cause the traditional Christmas row by having a driving lesson during the festive season. Amy was on the radio this morning reading a Christmas short story (v. weird hearing someone you know on the radio doing acting & stuff), the dog is growing quite rapidly and getting very bouncy indeed, and we're off to a gay campsite for New Year. I can't wait to get back and blog that! Some have suggested it may cause emotional distress, but I reckon I must have seen worse at Pride, surely? Expect tales of my steely death stare and Jo's repetition of the phrase "there's just no need for that".
Well, ho ho ho...
MERRY CHRISTMAS TO ALL OF YOU, DEAR READERS...like the sarcasm?
Wish you were here - maybe next year, eh?
lots of love
S & J (& G)
Firstly a combined thank you and humble apologies. Thank you to those of you who sent us Christmas cards (& presents), you will be heartened to know that you made me cry...thus ruining my image as the cool & sophisticated urbanite that I am...and sincere apologies to those who will not be getting a Christmas card from us. There is a reason for this though, and the reason is that I am horribly disorganised. And you would be shocked at the extortionate prices they charge over here to post stuff at Christmas - it's about $6 for a card and postage to the UK - and I am skint 'cos I am too slack to work. Actually the not working thing is starting to seriously irritate me, but I shall not ruin your reading pleasure by whinging on about how terrible it is to be a kept woman. I'll save that for the New Year. So, executive decision: rather than spending loads on christmas cards etc etc, we will focus instead on birthdays. How's that sound? Wouldn't you much rather get something pointless and lightweight (under 2kg or it costs loads to post) on your special day?
Speaking of special days, and before I forget, Jo & I have some exciting news on the coming to Europe front. Yes, we've actually booked our flights. We will be arriving in Finland in time to attend Sini & Ali's nuptials (hmmm, jet-lag & vodka, should be interesting), and from there it's just a quick hop, step & a jump to London on 18th February 2006. Jo will probably only be able to stay in the UK for a week, seeing as she has a job and all, but I'll probably stay for a couple - so start booking me into your diaries now...and remember I can easily be bought by promises of food/alcohol/weeping & tales of how much you've missed me...Hopefully the south east London menagerie (consisting of Maija, Jan, Catherine & Vicky H) will be happy to share me like the cheap floozy I am, but I am hoping that I'll get to spend at least one or two drunken evenings with everyone. I'm trying to act all cool about it, otherwise I'll make a pillock of myself as soon as I see you guys. No doubt you will soon be receiving grovelling emails asking if we can stay at your place.
So, Christmas in NZ? It is sunny, and it doesn't feel like Christmas. At all. I suppose for me Christmas is all about it being cold & miserable, very dubious television programmes, Christmas lights & heinous music, Eastenders and scoffing way too much food off a giant plate waiting about 3 hours and eating way too much of the same food (only cold with branston pickle) and drinking alot. And mince pies. So far Christmas in NZ has been none of the above, but it would be very weird if it was considering we are in the middle of summer - but I am pretty sure I can maintain the traditional consumption of enough food & wine for a small family by myself, so all is not lost. And I think Jo's dad has some Branston pickle stashed somewhere. Hurrah!
As for news of me over the last couple of weeks, not a great deal to report. I've been trying to learn my road code so I can get a learner's licence and start terrorising the locals with my driving skills - might even try to get it tomorrow so I can cause the traditional Christmas row by having a driving lesson during the festive season. Amy was on the radio this morning reading a Christmas short story (v. weird hearing someone you know on the radio doing acting & stuff), the dog is growing quite rapidly and getting very bouncy indeed, and we're off to a gay campsite for New Year. I can't wait to get back and blog that! Some have suggested it may cause emotional distress, but I reckon I must have seen worse at Pride, surely? Expect tales of my steely death stare and Jo's repetition of the phrase "there's just no need for that".
Well, ho ho ho...
MERRY CHRISTMAS TO ALL OF YOU, DEAR READERS...like the sarcasm?
Wish you were here - maybe next year, eh?
lots of love
S & J (& G)
Thursday, December 08, 2005
Sneaky
I've just finished writing an entry I started on 4th Dec, so it's hidden back down the list. You might want to have a look.
S
S
Tuesday, December 06, 2005
FYI...
Just to let you know that there are some very good bargain London to NZ flights around at the moment (mainly for next year...so if you fancy a sunny January?)
hint hint...
hint hint...
Monday, December 05, 2005
A photo of our dog...
Now that I have finally figured out how to add photos!!!!! The first one was taken the day we brought her home & the second one was taken this lunchtime.
S
Sunday, December 04, 2005
By gum we've been busy!
Ha ha haaaa! Just making myself laugh by accidentally writing 'busty' instead of busy in the title...if only...
Anyway, there is a reasonably good excuse for this blog being late. And that reason is that I've been busy. Busy with activities as far ranging as attending wine festivals and doing incredibly long bike rides.
Wine festivals are pretty self-explanatory, so I'm not going to go into too much detail here except to say that if you ever get the chance to attend Taste Martinborough you should go. The highlight of the day for me was Jo applying her dog training techniques on a very drunk Australian by repeatedly telling him to 'sit & stay' (it didn't work though and he was eventually wrestled into his seat by a Kiwi woman). So I shall instead give you a fascinating summary of our weekend at the Lake Taupo Cycle Challenge.
We, that is Jo, Harriet and I, had cleverly decided to avoid the worst of the traffic by leaving Wellington at 4pm, and this plan would have worked brilliantly if it wasn't for the ludicrous traffic jam we encountered about 20 mins outside of the city. A traffic jam that saw us travel about 50km in 2 hours. The rest of the journey was fairly uneventful, alot of it goes along a very dull road called 'The Desert Road' even though it isn't in a desert, just a very boring flat plain, and through a variety of non-descript towns. The most interesting town was a place called 'Bulls' (why?) and that was only interesting because of it's 'amusing' habit of trying to put dodgy puns on as many buildings as possible eg the local medical centre was 'cure-a-bull', the pc shop was 'comput-a-bull' etc etc, whilst the dullest place was Levin. It's so dull I can't even think of anything to say about it. Oh yeah, the petrol station toilet had no loo paper. Fascinating, huh?
Eventually we reached Tuarangi, having enjoyed a rather lovely view of the big volcanoes on the way, and tried to follow Rachel's directions to the place where we were staying. This was somewhat hampered by Harriet's decision not to bring a road map with us and our decision to call Rachel to get a better idea of where we were going only to find that she'd managed to go 150 or so km off course, so eventually we gave up and headed to another petrol station to consult their maps and sample some of their finest crapola food.
We got to our destination, a weekend place kindly loaned to us by the parents of one of Rachel's friends, at about 10pm and I proceeded to commandeer the largest room (with ensuite no less) for Jo & I. I also needed to have a quick practice at riding Harriet's bike as it had those funny clip pedals, you know the ones where you attach your shoes to the pedal like skis, but having fallen spectacularly on my arse several times in quick succession I decided against using them and vowed to wear normal trainers. My falling off shame has been lessened by Harriet informing me yesterday that she did exactly the same thing last Saturday, except that she was at a set of traffic lights in town and her humiliation was compounded by having many more witnesses. Karmic retribution for laughing at me, I'd like to think. Anyway, after that little debarcle, we took ourselves away to bed in readiness for a 5.00am wake-up so that we'd be able to register and drop off our bikes by 7am.
So, fortified with 5 hours sleep and a bowl of porridge, we headed off to Taupo 40km down the road. We registered and dropped the bikes off about 30 seconds before the deadline and then realised we had sod all to do until our respective stages of the ride. I was signed up for the 2nd stage and Harriet for the 3rd, whilst Rachel & her mate Amy had 4th & 1st respectively. Once Rachel realised this (and the fact that her changeover point was about 500m from the house we were staying in) she dropped off Amy and went back home where she proceeded to go back to bed until 12.30pm! Jammy wee bastard. By this point, about 8am, I had gone to get on the bus that would deliver me to my changeover point 40km down the road. I feel it is sensible to point out that the NZ weather had decided that it would turn f******g freezing and with a slight drizzle.
My bus trip was uneventful except for the realisation that I hadn't actually met Amy (who I had to swap the tracking/competition timer ankleband thingy with) as Rachel and she had arrived after we'd gone to bed and we'd left before them in the morning. Bugger. Luckily Jo, being the only sentient one in our group, had realised this and given her a description of me and shown her a photo. We arrived at the changeover point at 9am and I proceeded to wait for Amy to arrive...thanks to the persistant drizzle and chill breeze I was forced to put on every item of clothing I had with me and by the time she arrived at 10.45am I was wearing the following couture combo - red nike trainers, powder blue 3/4 running leggings, greenish/sludge hiking shorts, red t-shirt, blue fleece, orange waterproof jacket, red woolly hat & a bike helmet. God, I was gorgeous. After an emotional changeover (I was immeasurably relieved by the fact that I could start moving and stave off hypothermia, not to mention get away from the 60-something bloke who was having a conversation about chafing and his lack of undercrackers), I began the long slow slog to meet Harriet at the 2nd changeover.
Interesting aside - why is it that you only hear the conversations about the 1st & 2nd stages being by far the hardest after the 2nd stage? Basically it was 2 hours of pedalling up and down hills in the rain, with a headwind. The only thing that motivated me was the unspoken competition between me & some of the larger participants - I would overtake them on the way up a hill only to have them sail past by sheer force of volume and gravity on the downhill. It's really aggravating, but I'm pretty sure it was mutual. As mentioned, stage 2 is the hilly part. Imagine cycling up and down Camberwell Grove for 2 hours, or Mount Pleasant for those more familiar with Liverpool, or Mount Pleasant for those more familiar with Tunbridge Wells, or anywhere bloody hilly...like Switzerland. By the time I met up with Harriet I was ready for a nice sit down, so I trudged off to the free bus that would transport me back to the start where I would meet up with Jo & Amy. I decided I would send Jo a text message informing her that I was on my way and proceeded to scoff the contents of the handy bag o'treats they give you for being stupid enough to take part (coincidence that the last time I got one of these was when I ran the marathon? I think not, they are clearly an indicator of foolish levels of physical activity) ie, a banana, a snickers bar & a bag of 'healthy' crisps. Jo very kindly bought me a coffee in anticipation of my arrival back at the beginning, alas she didn't anticipate that the bus trip would take an hour and a quarter. I drank it anyway.
Not long after we convened back at the start we got a text from Harriet saying that she had finished her stage and was heading back up the road to the house (seeing as she was only 500m or so away), but that there was no point in us driving all the way back until Rachel finished the last leg as we'd only have to come back in and pick her up anyway. So we went to the supermarket and bought booze & pizza making ingredients for the night ahead and then went and spent our free food vouchers (for being stupid enough to take part) on very messy roast beef sandwiches and sausages. Rachel mentioned afterwards how heartened she was by our rousing celebration of her crossing the finish line and I am afraid that, yes, I did burst her bubble by informing her that our delight at seeing her was mainly inspired by the fact that it meant we could go home and have a hot shower. Jo wins the prize for longest suffering though having spent approximately 10 hours doing nowt but wait for us lot.
Not much else to report - went back to the house, had a shower, Jo went to bed and slept until 9pm, made pizza (well, I oversaw rather than made), only managed 1 bottle of wine between 5 of us, crashed out. Harriet is now trying to persuade me to do the Coast to Coast in 2007, or at the very least a triathalon. I am resolute in my refusal to humour her, though I might have a crisis when my 40th is approaching and crack. I'll let you know...
S
Anyway, there is a reasonably good excuse for this blog being late. And that reason is that I've been busy. Busy with activities as far ranging as attending wine festivals and doing incredibly long bike rides.
Wine festivals are pretty self-explanatory, so I'm not going to go into too much detail here except to say that if you ever get the chance to attend Taste Martinborough you should go. The highlight of the day for me was Jo applying her dog training techniques on a very drunk Australian by repeatedly telling him to 'sit & stay' (it didn't work though and he was eventually wrestled into his seat by a Kiwi woman). So I shall instead give you a fascinating summary of our weekend at the Lake Taupo Cycle Challenge.
We, that is Jo, Harriet and I, had cleverly decided to avoid the worst of the traffic by leaving Wellington at 4pm, and this plan would have worked brilliantly if it wasn't for the ludicrous traffic jam we encountered about 20 mins outside of the city. A traffic jam that saw us travel about 50km in 2 hours. The rest of the journey was fairly uneventful, alot of it goes along a very dull road called 'The Desert Road' even though it isn't in a desert, just a very boring flat plain, and through a variety of non-descript towns. The most interesting town was a place called 'Bulls' (why?) and that was only interesting because of it's 'amusing' habit of trying to put dodgy puns on as many buildings as possible eg the local medical centre was 'cure-a-bull', the pc shop was 'comput-a-bull' etc etc, whilst the dullest place was Levin. It's so dull I can't even think of anything to say about it. Oh yeah, the petrol station toilet had no loo paper. Fascinating, huh?
Eventually we reached Tuarangi, having enjoyed a rather lovely view of the big volcanoes on the way, and tried to follow Rachel's directions to the place where we were staying. This was somewhat hampered by Harriet's decision not to bring a road map with us and our decision to call Rachel to get a better idea of where we were going only to find that she'd managed to go 150 or so km off course, so eventually we gave up and headed to another petrol station to consult their maps and sample some of their finest crapola food.
We got to our destination, a weekend place kindly loaned to us by the parents of one of Rachel's friends, at about 10pm and I proceeded to commandeer the largest room (with ensuite no less) for Jo & I. I also needed to have a quick practice at riding Harriet's bike as it had those funny clip pedals, you know the ones where you attach your shoes to the pedal like skis, but having fallen spectacularly on my arse several times in quick succession I decided against using them and vowed to wear normal trainers. My falling off shame has been lessened by Harriet informing me yesterday that she did exactly the same thing last Saturday, except that she was at a set of traffic lights in town and her humiliation was compounded by having many more witnesses. Karmic retribution for laughing at me, I'd like to think. Anyway, after that little debarcle, we took ourselves away to bed in readiness for a 5.00am wake-up so that we'd be able to register and drop off our bikes by 7am.
So, fortified with 5 hours sleep and a bowl of porridge, we headed off to Taupo 40km down the road. We registered and dropped the bikes off about 30 seconds before the deadline and then realised we had sod all to do until our respective stages of the ride. I was signed up for the 2nd stage and Harriet for the 3rd, whilst Rachel & her mate Amy had 4th & 1st respectively. Once Rachel realised this (and the fact that her changeover point was about 500m from the house we were staying in) she dropped off Amy and went back home where she proceeded to go back to bed until 12.30pm! Jammy wee bastard. By this point, about 8am, I had gone to get on the bus that would deliver me to my changeover point 40km down the road. I feel it is sensible to point out that the NZ weather had decided that it would turn f******g freezing and with a slight drizzle.
My bus trip was uneventful except for the realisation that I hadn't actually met Amy (who I had to swap the tracking/competition timer ankleband thingy with) as Rachel and she had arrived after we'd gone to bed and we'd left before them in the morning. Bugger. Luckily Jo, being the only sentient one in our group, had realised this and given her a description of me and shown her a photo. We arrived at the changeover point at 9am and I proceeded to wait for Amy to arrive...thanks to the persistant drizzle and chill breeze I was forced to put on every item of clothing I had with me and by the time she arrived at 10.45am I was wearing the following couture combo - red nike trainers, powder blue 3/4 running leggings, greenish/sludge hiking shorts, red t-shirt, blue fleece, orange waterproof jacket, red woolly hat & a bike helmet. God, I was gorgeous. After an emotional changeover (I was immeasurably relieved by the fact that I could start moving and stave off hypothermia, not to mention get away from the 60-something bloke who was having a conversation about chafing and his lack of undercrackers), I began the long slow slog to meet Harriet at the 2nd changeover.
Interesting aside - why is it that you only hear the conversations about the 1st & 2nd stages being by far the hardest after the 2nd stage? Basically it was 2 hours of pedalling up and down hills in the rain, with a headwind. The only thing that motivated me was the unspoken competition between me & some of the larger participants - I would overtake them on the way up a hill only to have them sail past by sheer force of volume and gravity on the downhill. It's really aggravating, but I'm pretty sure it was mutual. As mentioned, stage 2 is the hilly part. Imagine cycling up and down Camberwell Grove for 2 hours, or Mount Pleasant for those more familiar with Liverpool, or Mount Pleasant for those more familiar with Tunbridge Wells, or anywhere bloody hilly...like Switzerland. By the time I met up with Harriet I was ready for a nice sit down, so I trudged off to the free bus that would transport me back to the start where I would meet up with Jo & Amy. I decided I would send Jo a text message informing her that I was on my way and proceeded to scoff the contents of the handy bag o'treats they give you for being stupid enough to take part (coincidence that the last time I got one of these was when I ran the marathon? I think not, they are clearly an indicator of foolish levels of physical activity) ie, a banana, a snickers bar & a bag of 'healthy' crisps. Jo very kindly bought me a coffee in anticipation of my arrival back at the beginning, alas she didn't anticipate that the bus trip would take an hour and a quarter. I drank it anyway.
Not long after we convened back at the start we got a text from Harriet saying that she had finished her stage and was heading back up the road to the house (seeing as she was only 500m or so away), but that there was no point in us driving all the way back until Rachel finished the last leg as we'd only have to come back in and pick her up anyway. So we went to the supermarket and bought booze & pizza making ingredients for the night ahead and then went and spent our free food vouchers (for being stupid enough to take part) on very messy roast beef sandwiches and sausages. Rachel mentioned afterwards how heartened she was by our rousing celebration of her crossing the finish line and I am afraid that, yes, I did burst her bubble by informing her that our delight at seeing her was mainly inspired by the fact that it meant we could go home and have a hot shower. Jo wins the prize for longest suffering though having spent approximately 10 hours doing nowt but wait for us lot.
Not much else to report - went back to the house, had a shower, Jo went to bed and slept until 9pm, made pizza (well, I oversaw rather than made), only managed 1 bottle of wine between 5 of us, crashed out. Harriet is now trying to persuade me to do the Coast to Coast in 2007, or at the very least a triathalon. I am resolute in my refusal to humour her, though I might have a crisis when my 40th is approaching and crack. I'll let you know...
S
Wednesday, November 23, 2005
About bloody time!
Dear dedicated readers
Please accept my most sincere apologies for the total lack of blog entries for the last couple of weeks, which has been due to a combination of slackness (in the first instance), being busy (in the second instance) and the blog website completely mucking me about and refusing to let to write anything (in the third instance). But here I am and I am feeling inspired, so let's rock!!! Jezuz, clearly I have been inspired by Jon Bon Jovi...bit of a worry.
Well, the New Zealand Spring season has launched itself upon us with a series of ultra windy days and some stonking downpours (like right now - good job I decided not to bother bringing the washing in don't ya think?), so I have been holed up in the house & pottering. Today my pottering might even stretch as far as cleaning, for even I can no longer deny the grostesque nature of the kitchen floor (and I can't even blame the dog 'cos she doesn't come into the kitchen)(it's too small and there's too much of a risk of an embarassing, yet fatal, tripping scenario). Guessing you don't really care much about that though and would rather hear of our adventures of the last couple of weeks.
Most excitingly we now have broadband! And cable TV! So I can surf the net and watch crud as much as I want - huzzah! For those of you who also have broadband and tend to keep anti-social hours you might be interested to know that I have signed us up to Skype (handy free internet phone link), so if you fancy a free chat sign up and you should be able to find me in the directory. Jo has even managed to get the Madonna-esque headset to work, so if you do chat to me you might like to visualise me looking like a Gap employee, or a call-centre flunky (or Madonna, for the more imaginative of you, though my ability to do top dance moves is restricted by the length of the connecting cable - and my crapola dance skills).
Speaking of dance skills (or should that be 'skillz' for I am down with the kids), we ventured into the bacchanalian debauchery that is Wellington on a Friday night the other week in order to celebrate Jo's mate Ingrid's birthday. We started rather sedately at the Good Luck Bar (v. groovy, slightly scary waitresses, great cocktail list) awaiting the call from Ingrid to let us know that she was heading into town, where we met up with Hollie (another Kiwi who has recently returned after several years overseas). Moving on we headed to Pound, Wellington's 'finest' & only gay club, to catch up with Hollie's sister Abbie & her friend Sandy. It being 11pm on a Friday night Pound was almost completely empty. Actually it might have more to do with the fact that Pound is horrible, naff & hideously decorated (and that's just the clientele! Ha ha! Not really...but maybe...). Ingrid arrived just in the nick of time to save me from having to attempt to drink another glass of their house red (Chateau Ammonia 2003, I think) and we headed off, en masse, to try to find some suitable entertainment. Oh dear god.
Our first stop was Maya, a local hotspot where the lighty-up dance floor immediately sent me heading for the bar & a vodka. THe music was a rather intriguing combo of crap & rubbish and we left not long after they started playing a Grease medley/mega-mix. After a quick stop at the Ponderosa bar next door for a brief moment of sanity, we headed around the corner to the Go-Go Bar. The Go-Go Bar isn't quite as hideous as it sounds, but having temporarily forgotten the fact that NZ has more women than men I was slightly stunned by the whole 'hen night' vibe (waaayyy too many boobtube-esque tops). Much jigging was going on in the dancefloor region, but by this point I had lost the will to live and chose to sit quietly in the corner and simply observe. After carefully noting a series of interesting fashion combos - my personal favourite = the gold clompy-heeled strappy sandals with ribbon ties going up the legs a la Miss Piggy) I decided that sitting quietly and not observing might be better. We left at about 2am, only to be hit by the aural assualt of another Grease medley blasting from another bar...
Obviously I need to seek clubbing advice...
To be continued tiomorrow...
Please accept my most sincere apologies for the total lack of blog entries for the last couple of weeks, which has been due to a combination of slackness (in the first instance), being busy (in the second instance) and the blog website completely mucking me about and refusing to let to write anything (in the third instance). But here I am and I am feeling inspired, so let's rock!!! Jezuz, clearly I have been inspired by Jon Bon Jovi...bit of a worry.
Well, the New Zealand Spring season has launched itself upon us with a series of ultra windy days and some stonking downpours (like right now - good job I decided not to bother bringing the washing in don't ya think?), so I have been holed up in the house & pottering. Today my pottering might even stretch as far as cleaning, for even I can no longer deny the grostesque nature of the kitchen floor (and I can't even blame the dog 'cos she doesn't come into the kitchen)(it's too small and there's too much of a risk of an embarassing, yet fatal, tripping scenario). Guessing you don't really care much about that though and would rather hear of our adventures of the last couple of weeks.
Most excitingly we now have broadband! And cable TV! So I can surf the net and watch crud as much as I want - huzzah! For those of you who also have broadband and tend to keep anti-social hours you might be interested to know that I have signed us up to Skype (handy free internet phone link), so if you fancy a free chat sign up and you should be able to find me in the directory. Jo has even managed to get the Madonna-esque headset to work, so if you do chat to me you might like to visualise me looking like a Gap employee, or a call-centre flunky (or Madonna, for the more imaginative of you, though my ability to do top dance moves is restricted by the length of the connecting cable - and my crapola dance skills).
Speaking of dance skills (or should that be 'skillz' for I am down with the kids), we ventured into the bacchanalian debauchery that is Wellington on a Friday night the other week in order to celebrate Jo's mate Ingrid's birthday. We started rather sedately at the Good Luck Bar (v. groovy, slightly scary waitresses, great cocktail list) awaiting the call from Ingrid to let us know that she was heading into town, where we met up with Hollie (another Kiwi who has recently returned after several years overseas). Moving on we headed to Pound, Wellington's 'finest' & only gay club, to catch up with Hollie's sister Abbie & her friend Sandy. It being 11pm on a Friday night Pound was almost completely empty. Actually it might have more to do with the fact that Pound is horrible, naff & hideously decorated (and that's just the clientele! Ha ha! Not really...but maybe...). Ingrid arrived just in the nick of time to save me from having to attempt to drink another glass of their house red (Chateau Ammonia 2003, I think) and we headed off, en masse, to try to find some suitable entertainment. Oh dear god.
Our first stop was Maya, a local hotspot where the lighty-up dance floor immediately sent me heading for the bar & a vodka. THe music was a rather intriguing combo of crap & rubbish and we left not long after they started playing a Grease medley/mega-mix. After a quick stop at the Ponderosa bar next door for a brief moment of sanity, we headed around the corner to the Go-Go Bar. The Go-Go Bar isn't quite as hideous as it sounds, but having temporarily forgotten the fact that NZ has more women than men I was slightly stunned by the whole 'hen night' vibe (waaayyy too many boobtube-esque tops). Much jigging was going on in the dancefloor region, but by this point I had lost the will to live and chose to sit quietly in the corner and simply observe. After carefully noting a series of interesting fashion combos - my personal favourite = the gold clompy-heeled strappy sandals with ribbon ties going up the legs a la Miss Piggy) I decided that sitting quietly and not observing might be better. We left at about 2am, only to be hit by the aural assualt of another Grease medley blasting from another bar...
Obviously I need to seek clubbing advice...
To be continued tiomorrow...
Monday, November 07, 2005
Scary Christmas adverts already on TV!
It's gradually getting warmer (except for today, which looked lovely and sunny, but was somewhat marred by quite a nippy breeze), but as it is now the 2nd week of November the Christmas decorations have started to appear...why do they (the generic "they" = whoever it is who thinks that it's appropriate to try to flog horrible Christmas cack 6 weeks too early) do it? Are they demented Christmas-ites who just love the festive season so much that they cannot bear to wait another minute? I was just getting myself psyched for Guy Fawke's Night and, boom!, there's a fake Christmas tree in the supermarket.
But enough of my ranting, I suppose you are desperate to hear what I've been up to for the last 7 days.
Most importantly, and despite our severely restricted team numbers (basically Jo, Harriet & me), we came a glorious 2nd at The Office pub quiz last Wednesday, which means a $30 bar tab. And this is despite our almost total lack of knowledge about sport (I know about British stuff, but sod all about rugby or cricket) and a slight intra-team dispute about the name of the group that starred as themselves in 'Speed 2' (none of us had seen it, but Harriet had the gall to suggest it might be 10 000 Maniacs - for those of you who care, it was UB40). Next week we'll have one of the founder team members back, Nick, from his stint doing some professional acting. I was a bit giddy at the quiz as I'd had an attack of being energetic and had spent the afternoon doing a 40km bike ride round the bays followed by 40 mins on the treadmill at the gym and a massage. Of course, I had decided to rehydrate with beer. Also, Jo's pal Hollie (who some of you will have met in London) has now resurfaced in NZ and is living at her sister's place just up the road, so we had to catch up with her too.
We also took the houndbeast to dog school. She didn't have to do anything as we were just there to do a recce and see if we liked the look of the place, but she proceeded to suck up to the dog trainer and get loads of treats for sitting attentively at her feet. She also decided that her new best pal was a bloody huge bull mastiff called Millie and proceeded to jump all over her head. Of course, since then Gert has learned that sitting quietly will get her a treat, but she only does it on her own terms...but she's still fabulous.
On Friday morning I headed up to the cafe where Amy works to help with the school lunches - each Friday one of the local schools let's their kids order a special lunch from the catering company Amy works for ('Dusted & Delicious'). The menu is classic kids' crap - hot dogs, pizza, pies, crisps etc - and I am temporarily checking the money etc. I have come to the conclusion that any kid who spends more than $5 on their lunch is either suffering from worms or has a quite astounding capacity for junk food (or maybe they are just lardy?). The afternoon was spent visiting my recruitment consultant, Lynley, and 'discussing' my job hopes (mainly we actually talked about films). In the evening we went to check out Amy in a play, "Attempts on Her Life", at The Garage, one of the spaces at the drama school. I quite enjoyed it, but I think mainly for the groovy moving scenery and because Amy had spent so long telling me how awful it was nothing could possibly be as tedious as she made it sound.
Saturday was spent at Jo's parent's place celebrating Jo's grandad's (Jim) birthday (79th) with the traditonal beer & BBQ, where Jim almost did for himself by getting macho and trying some scary chilli pickle. Anyone who's ever met Jim will realise quite how ludricrous the idea of him being macho is...but we did agree to try to play golf with him one weekend soon. Jim and Glenn (Jo's uncle) both became quite taken with young Gert and even took her for a walk for us! Excellent, should save us some energy over Christmas. As it was Bonfire Night we had planned to watch the fireworks in the harbour from the deck at Washington Avenue, but we soon realised that there were some very pesky trees in the way, so we switched to plan B, ie go into town. Then, out of the blue, Len phoned (for he was on shift on the ferry) to let us know that the ferry would be in dock and that he could get us on board to watch the fireworks close-up - huzzah!
So that's exactly what we did.
We were on the 'new' ferry (new to NZ, but a 'previously loved' ship) so got the grand tour, including the galley, which was bloody huge and had one of the scary uber dishwashers that uses water temperatures of about 1 million degrees, the like of which I hadn't seen since I worked on a dig in Israel in 1991 (where it proceeded to regularly scald the crap out of my hands whilst I was on kitchen duty). The fireworks rocked, by the way. However, Jo & I were slightly distracted by noticing that some genius had managed to set fire to the brush on top of Mount Vic, one of the larger hills overlooking Wellington. The Fire Brigade seemed to have it all under control by the time we headed home. Gertie seemed completely unfazed by the fireworks.
Sunday saw a day of total slackness. Our DVDs of series 4 of 'Alias' and series 2 of 'The L Word' arrived the day before, so most of the day was spent lounging on the sofa watching DVDs and eating.
As for today - Monday - all I've managed to achieve is to persuade the people we bought our car from that they should fix it for free seeing as it has an unnerving judder once it gets over 3000 revs and to buy some secondhand office shelves for our study/spare room. Also I have been commandeered to assist with some more catering tomorrow, which I'm really quite looking forward to and should earn me an extra $50. Marvellous!
On that note I'll get back to some important TV watching.
Arrividerci!
S
xxxx
But enough of my ranting, I suppose you are desperate to hear what I've been up to for the last 7 days.
Most importantly, and despite our severely restricted team numbers (basically Jo, Harriet & me), we came a glorious 2nd at The Office pub quiz last Wednesday, which means a $30 bar tab. And this is despite our almost total lack of knowledge about sport (I know about British stuff, but sod all about rugby or cricket) and a slight intra-team dispute about the name of the group that starred as themselves in 'Speed 2' (none of us had seen it, but Harriet had the gall to suggest it might be 10 000 Maniacs - for those of you who care, it was UB40). Next week we'll have one of the founder team members back, Nick, from his stint doing some professional acting. I was a bit giddy at the quiz as I'd had an attack of being energetic and had spent the afternoon doing a 40km bike ride round the bays followed by 40 mins on the treadmill at the gym and a massage. Of course, I had decided to rehydrate with beer. Also, Jo's pal Hollie (who some of you will have met in London) has now resurfaced in NZ and is living at her sister's place just up the road, so we had to catch up with her too.
We also took the houndbeast to dog school. She didn't have to do anything as we were just there to do a recce and see if we liked the look of the place, but she proceeded to suck up to the dog trainer and get loads of treats for sitting attentively at her feet. She also decided that her new best pal was a bloody huge bull mastiff called Millie and proceeded to jump all over her head. Of course, since then Gert has learned that sitting quietly will get her a treat, but she only does it on her own terms...but she's still fabulous.
On Friday morning I headed up to the cafe where Amy works to help with the school lunches - each Friday one of the local schools let's their kids order a special lunch from the catering company Amy works for ('Dusted & Delicious'). The menu is classic kids' crap - hot dogs, pizza, pies, crisps etc - and I am temporarily checking the money etc. I have come to the conclusion that any kid who spends more than $5 on their lunch is either suffering from worms or has a quite astounding capacity for junk food (or maybe they are just lardy?). The afternoon was spent visiting my recruitment consultant, Lynley, and 'discussing' my job hopes (mainly we actually talked about films). In the evening we went to check out Amy in a play, "Attempts on Her Life", at The Garage, one of the spaces at the drama school. I quite enjoyed it, but I think mainly for the groovy moving scenery and because Amy had spent so long telling me how awful it was nothing could possibly be as tedious as she made it sound.
Saturday was spent at Jo's parent's place celebrating Jo's grandad's (Jim) birthday (79th) with the traditonal beer & BBQ, where Jim almost did for himself by getting macho and trying some scary chilli pickle. Anyone who's ever met Jim will realise quite how ludricrous the idea of him being macho is...but we did agree to try to play golf with him one weekend soon. Jim and Glenn (Jo's uncle) both became quite taken with young Gert and even took her for a walk for us! Excellent, should save us some energy over Christmas. As it was Bonfire Night we had planned to watch the fireworks in the harbour from the deck at Washington Avenue, but we soon realised that there were some very pesky trees in the way, so we switched to plan B, ie go into town. Then, out of the blue, Len phoned (for he was on shift on the ferry) to let us know that the ferry would be in dock and that he could get us on board to watch the fireworks close-up - huzzah!
So that's exactly what we did.
We were on the 'new' ferry (new to NZ, but a 'previously loved' ship) so got the grand tour, including the galley, which was bloody huge and had one of the scary uber dishwashers that uses water temperatures of about 1 million degrees, the like of which I hadn't seen since I worked on a dig in Israel in 1991 (where it proceeded to regularly scald the crap out of my hands whilst I was on kitchen duty). The fireworks rocked, by the way. However, Jo & I were slightly distracted by noticing that some genius had managed to set fire to the brush on top of Mount Vic, one of the larger hills overlooking Wellington. The Fire Brigade seemed to have it all under control by the time we headed home. Gertie seemed completely unfazed by the fireworks.
Sunday saw a day of total slackness. Our DVDs of series 4 of 'Alias' and series 2 of 'The L Word' arrived the day before, so most of the day was spent lounging on the sofa watching DVDs and eating.
As for today - Monday - all I've managed to achieve is to persuade the people we bought our car from that they should fix it for free seeing as it has an unnerving judder once it gets over 3000 revs and to buy some secondhand office shelves for our study/spare room. Also I have been commandeered to assist with some more catering tomorrow, which I'm really quite looking forward to and should earn me an extra $50. Marvellous!
On that note I'll get back to some important TV watching.
Arrividerci!
S
xxxx
Tuesday, November 01, 2005
Hot bloggity blog!
Sorry this is a bit late - I seem to have got very slack about sticking to my deadlines these days. One day I will get the hang of it...
I am still lounging in the realm of the gloriously unemployed and have now finished painting the hallway, thought I haven't quite managed to do the woodwork or the ceilings properly, which means it is time for me to focus on getting my career back on track. I have been rewriting my CV to make me sound much more interesting than a mere adminstrator (not that there's anything wrong with being an adminstrator except that over here it seems to be an astonishingly dull role), and have an appointment with a recruitment consultant on Friday morning. But, to be honest, I think it's more likely that I will find a role/job for myself.
On that note could I ask a favour - what do you think I'd be good at? A couple of people have suggested that I could have a go at writing properly (as opposed to just blogging), and I've always had the teaching Egyptian Archaeology thing bubbling under, but god knows if I'd actually be any good at either of them. Any suggestions gratefully received. Ann found this great travel company that takes people on 'spiritual' journeys to Egypt where they get to meditate in the King's Chamber of the Great Pyramid, but quite why anyone would want to meditate in a grave in the middle of absolute tourism mayhem is beyond me. In fact, we came to the conclusion that any involvement I had with this firm would probably be limited to raising of one eyebrow and pointing out to them how very very wrong they are. Best I avoid them, methinks.
Perhaps I should start a travel firm which takes people to Egypt simply to show them the archaeology? Crazy idea, no?
Aside from the work situation, I have suddenly realised that I have signed up for gym membership and should really start getting my money's worth out of it, and that I have the Lake Taupo Cycle Challenge in 4 weeks and have done sod all in the way of training for about 3 weeks. So this afternoon I have decided that I will cycle the very long way to the gym (I can make the bike journey about 35km), and then do some form of gym work before I go for a massage. Do I sound like Lance Armstrong? I'd put good money on the fact that I will be unconscious by 8pm. And then tomorrow we're meant to be going sea-kayaking...luckily it's a tandem kayak, unluckily Jo is going to make me sit in the front so I can't slack off. Bugger.
But, I'm thinking that my unemployment gives me an ideal opportunity to get back in shape and healthy. Then I can leap and frolic like one of those jolly ladies that appear on sanitary wear adverts. Huzzah!
Gertie the dog is still going strong. Took her to puppy school last night and she spent most of the time leaping on the head of a truly massive bull mastiff and sucking up to the instructor for treats. She seems to have quite got the hang of the fact that trying to run really fast whilst on a lead results in fantastic backflips, but strangely seems to enjoy this as she certainly isn't stopping. She is very lovely though.
Going to skeddadle now and do vast amounts of PE. It's been nice knowing you.
love
S
I am still lounging in the realm of the gloriously unemployed and have now finished painting the hallway, thought I haven't quite managed to do the woodwork or the ceilings properly, which means it is time for me to focus on getting my career back on track. I have been rewriting my CV to make me sound much more interesting than a mere adminstrator (not that there's anything wrong with being an adminstrator except that over here it seems to be an astonishingly dull role), and have an appointment with a recruitment consultant on Friday morning. But, to be honest, I think it's more likely that I will find a role/job for myself.
On that note could I ask a favour - what do you think I'd be good at? A couple of people have suggested that I could have a go at writing properly (as opposed to just blogging), and I've always had the teaching Egyptian Archaeology thing bubbling under, but god knows if I'd actually be any good at either of them. Any suggestions gratefully received. Ann found this great travel company that takes people on 'spiritual' journeys to Egypt where they get to meditate in the King's Chamber of the Great Pyramid, but quite why anyone would want to meditate in a grave in the middle of absolute tourism mayhem is beyond me. In fact, we came to the conclusion that any involvement I had with this firm would probably be limited to raising of one eyebrow and pointing out to them how very very wrong they are. Best I avoid them, methinks.
Perhaps I should start a travel firm which takes people to Egypt simply to show them the archaeology? Crazy idea, no?
Aside from the work situation, I have suddenly realised that I have signed up for gym membership and should really start getting my money's worth out of it, and that I have the Lake Taupo Cycle Challenge in 4 weeks and have done sod all in the way of training for about 3 weeks. So this afternoon I have decided that I will cycle the very long way to the gym (I can make the bike journey about 35km), and then do some form of gym work before I go for a massage. Do I sound like Lance Armstrong? I'd put good money on the fact that I will be unconscious by 8pm. And then tomorrow we're meant to be going sea-kayaking...luckily it's a tandem kayak, unluckily Jo is going to make me sit in the front so I can't slack off. Bugger.
But, I'm thinking that my unemployment gives me an ideal opportunity to get back in shape and healthy. Then I can leap and frolic like one of those jolly ladies that appear on sanitary wear adverts. Huzzah!
Gertie the dog is still going strong. Took her to puppy school last night and she spent most of the time leaping on the head of a truly massive bull mastiff and sucking up to the instructor for treats. She seems to have quite got the hang of the fact that trying to run really fast whilst on a lead results in fantastic backflips, but strangely seems to enjoy this as she certainly isn't stopping. She is very lovely though.
Going to skeddadle now and do vast amounts of PE. It's been nice knowing you.
love
S
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