Workplace Relations

Today my last day at my job today. I’ve only been here for three months on a fix term contract, but it feels like I’ve been here forever, in a good way.

I think I will actually miss this workplace. The people have been lovely. They have cream filled biscuits in the kitchen. They have regular morning teas. They gave each and every employee an Easter egg last week, and not one of the tiny ones from a multi pack, a proper sized one. My boss doesn’t mind me bringing Cara to work.

Unlike the last three month contract I had, which I couldn’t wait to get away from, after a bout Whooping Cough and a spell on crutches. This one I will genuinely miss, but as with all things, it must come to an end, cash wins out.

Where I’m going they are going to pay a daft amount for me to supervise. I’ll actually be ‘Managing’ change, rather than doing change. I may have to get my hands dirty on occasion, but for the most part I shall be directing communicators, trainers and change people. Awesome! I wonder if I’ll have an office.

Let the Games Begin

This week I spent the Monday and Tuesday in Melbourne. I’ve drove down because I have an intense dislike of the airports, plus I like to prepare myself for the onslaught of family related stuff. I also like to reflect.

Actually, with the assistance of C, the guy that sits next to me in the office, I already have started. This time about the games we played, and didn’t play, as a child.

Operation: As kids we were never allowed to had one of these, despite it appearing on the Christmas and Birthday for a few years running. It needed to batteries you see, and batteries were and are expensive. But Paul, yes the same Paul for this entry, had Operation and would bring it with him on occasion when he came to play. I loved it, I was rubbish at it. My hands are steadier now. The buzzer and red light in his nose were squeal worthy.

Battleships: on paper, yes. Electronic, batteries. In later life I played Battleships, but with a twist. It’s rather fun to play Strip Battleships.

Pick-Up Sticks: I remember Muv getting me a set (I still have them). I was confused by why it was considered fun to throw coloured sticks onto the carpet and then pick them up again without moving any. I suppose in the Middle Ages when the game was invented by some poor bugger that dropped his firewood into a mud bath it was fun, but I needed batteries.

Tiddley Winks: Muv had a set made from Bakerlite in her jewellery box. The base that held the tokens in red, yellow, white, and powder blue and was divided into five segments where you score points. I loved playing this, but mainly because it was a rare treat to be allowed near the set as it had been her GrandMother’s. I have the set now.

Ker-Plunk!: No batteries required, therefore we were allowed it, but because it was noisy, we were only allowed t play a certain times. I enjoyed playing this so much, that I have a set now. With extra marbles :-)

Top of the Pops: This wasn’t a game persay, but when ‘Down Under’ by Men at Work was number one in the UK charts, my brother G and I bet each other 1p that’d they’d be number one again next week. He never paid up the 8p he owed me.

10 Card Brag and Bastard Brag: Cards on a Sunday night for 2p a hand. I’ll never forget Muv putting down two pairs of Kings and losing instead of four Kings and taking the pot.

Othello: A friend of Muv had this, a green felt board with black and white counters. Lillian would play it with me and carry on a conversation and still win. The other day I was in Borders during their closing-down sale and there was a set for $15. It’s mine now.

At the most we may get in a few hands of cards this week...maybe I should pick up a few bags of 5c pieces from the bank?

Marriage Rights

As a straight woman I find the term ‘gay’ a little offensive on behalf of all my gay and trans friends. For no other reason than it seems everything that the straights have common access too has suddenly become ‘gay’ if it happens to be enjoyed or wanted by those that don’t enjoy sex with the opposite gender.

I saw a poster today that prompted this post. I’ve been thinking about it for a while, but today, I’m not exceptionally busy at work so decided to write about it.
Liz Feldman said :

It’s very dear to me, the issue of gay marriage. Or, as I like to call it, Marriage. You know because I had lunch this afternoon, not gay lunch. I parked my car, I didn’t gay park it.

Here’s my humble opinion and I’m sure there will be those that do not agree, but this is my blog so shut up and read on.

Homosexuals pay tax. They can be arrested and put in prison. Many partake of the praying and worshipping activities. They have Mothers, Fathers, Brothers sisters and other all the other family connections. They can vote or in if they live in Australia, they HAVE to vote if aged over 18. They can buy houses and own land.
So why are they still having to campaign for the right to live as their heterosexual neighbours do. Women have the right to vote now and marry whom they like and the indigenous peoples can vote. Why is it that in the first years for the 21st century when, we can send spaceships to Mars and an all caramel Mars bars, doesn’t everyone have the right to get hitched?

If they want to have a piece of paper that says ‘OK, you’re married.’ I say, let them. After all, if children are involved, currently it can get very messy. I’d like to give an example: Jayne and Amber have a child. Jayne gave birth. They raise the child together and at the age of 12, Jayne is unfortunate enough to die. Amber has no rights to keep raising that child. The family of Jayne could take the child away from Amber. Not right in any way, shape or form.

They do have all the same issues in relationships as the straights. After spending months if not years finding ‘the one’, they have fights with their partners, they have in-laws, they have pets that they make the other walk on a rainy days, and have times when the sex dries up (running out of lube can be a bit*h). They even argue about who will do the washing up or that the dishwasher is stacked wrong.
Any commitment to a partner deserves to be shown. A piece of paper, a ring, a collar or a piercing.

The point is that they should be able to say, ‘I’d like you to meet my wife (or husband).’ Everything about their union should be recognised by law and if they decide it’s not for them, jump through the hoops to get divorced.

Allow marriage for ALL!

FV, An Addiction?

I don't smoke and apart from the one at the scattering of Muv’s ashes, I never have.
I've never done drugs, watched others partake and thought it amusing.
I don't consume vast quantities of tea or coffee on a daily basis (one cup of Earl Grey when I get to the office)
I have the odd glass of wine
I do have a couple of small collections (piggy banks: and they must be pigs, books and anything London taxi related), but not the sort of collections that has taken over my house like the ones you see on the ABC 'Collectors' program.

I find myself getting bored of App games on my iPhone that my friends play on an hourly or minute by minute basis.

I've finished Angry Birds, but it took me a couple of weeks. Not a couple of days like some people. Really, do I have to catapult these birds at pigs hiding behind rock, glass and wood? I said wood :-)

Words with Friends is getting old, mainly because I find it rejects the strangest words as not being in the dictionary, what do you mean? Of course ‘baltic’ is a word. Agh! Scrabble has suffered the same fate. Who’s dictionary are they using? It isn’t Oxford’s or MacQuarie’s.

Farmville on Facebook is looking like the latest to become a victim, again. I played it a while back for about six months. I ploughed my plots, harvested my crops, fed my animals, help out my 'friends' when they needed things to build their farm buildings, accepted gifts and helped by sending 'gifts' in return. I got up to level 39, had over a million coins and no social life to speak of. When I travelled to Nigeria I gave it up for a combination of reasons. A slow internet connection made it nearly impossible to play. I was hanging out with Trixie so had no time for virtual crops and finally; it had run it's course. Time for the next thing to learn, anyone for Swahili?

Niliibiwa*

I took Farmville up again a few weeks ago, in a bid to save money for trip to Montreal, Canada, later in the year. I figure if I’m farming crops that don’t require any actual land for coins that don’t really exist, I can’t help but not spend real money by going out. Unfortunately the downside of that is I have no life to speak of once again, except to say, ‘what do you mean your internet connection is down, now my potatoes will wilt and my dog will run away’. It also means in order to get anything good, such as build pig and sheep pens and breed more pixellated livestock, I need to add randoms as ‘friends’ because none of my real friends have enough time in their busy lives to farm in ‘Tron’.

The issue I find though is waking up to pages and pages of updates for people I know nothing about. Not to mention a million FV goodies up for grabs that have expired while I was sleeping. I think I’ve missed things my real buddies are up to amongst all the mess. I made a couple of buddies last time I played, and when I culled before I kept them on my friends list, you know who you are KLW and SPK :-) but this time I’m not sure. I haven’t had a single meaningful conversation so far, so the randoms have yet to turn into friends...time will tell I suppose.

Someone once told me that they thought I had an addictive personality. I can only think they meant I was so much fun they had to spend time with me, because it sure as heck isn’t my ability to take up a hobby and stick with it, just call me Miss Goldfish.


*I’ve been robbed (that one came in handy when I was in Kenya)

Eggs Benny Salmon

Over the last few months I have spent a number of nights in a small town called Bungendore. It is in New South Wales, but just, as it sits on the border of the Australian Capital Territory and home of Our Nation’s Capital, Canberra. Yes folks, Sydney is NOT the capital, and neither is Melbourne.

Canberra was designed as the Nation’s capital in 1912 by Walter Burley Griffin to be a bridging city between Sydney and Melbourne as they argued about who would be the capital once it actually became a county. Funnily enough, most Aussie’s still have that argument, most overseas visitor can’t tell the difference and don’t really care.

Anyway, back to the plot. A night out and good sleep should always be followed by a hearty breakfast, and in Bungendore you go to The Woodworks, a cafe attached to a gallery.

I have developed a liking for this place, somewhat like the Bungendore company (Miss Wyked, Miss Rose and the shadow), it is always warm and welcoming. They also do a kick-arse Eggs Benedict or as it’s called on the Woodworks menu, Eggs Benny Salmon. There is a bacon option as well, but I have to confess to being predictable every time and opting for the fishier choice. I also order an Earl Grey tea which comes, loose leaf, in a tea pot big enough to enjoy six times over.

The two poached eggs come out top of a toasted English muffin sliced in half, wilted spinach and a grilled fillet, skin removed. The homemade hollandaise sauce of lemon yellow is drizzled over the apex with a sprinkling of chopped chives. If that mental picture doesn’t do anything for you, add this, when you slowly slide the blade of the knife into the yolk of one of the eggs, the rich orangey centre pours out over the rest and onto the plate. The second one is just waiting for the puncture to let its runniness out onto the bed of salmon.

My mouth is watering just thinking about it.

I’ve got to point in the narrative where I no longer care about whom designed Canberra or why, or how cold it gets inland on a winter’s morning; all I care about is when do I get to eat Eggs Benny Salmon again?

Far from Home

There really is nothing that can be compared to the feeling of waking up when the train stops and realising that you’re several stops past where you wanted to get off.

Been there done that.

I’ve often been tempted to give the sleeping beauty next to me a nudge when I alight and tell them where we are, but then I don’t want to disturb them because they look so peaceful. But the thought is there, and isn’t that what really counts? :-)

picture borrowed from here

The Doglet*

I have experienced a few proud moments recently. I don’t have children of the two legged variety, but I consider my four legged companions to be my fur family. So when the newest addition to the family has achieved monumental things, I find I swell with pride and want to share those things with others that I think will care.

So far, only one person has been happy (thank you Nicole) to hear about the first time she had a wee somewhere other than the back garden. The first time she relaxed enough to eat something while we were out, when I finally got to use one of the little blue bags to pick up a micro poo for first time ever, and when she went to someone else to check them out instead of hiding behind my feet.

Parents of human children tell anyone who will listen when their babies do something for the first time, the first word, potty training, feeding and greener than green puke. Actually some will even think you want to hear about the tearing, cracked nipples and sleepless nights, too. Why do people look at me like I’m insane for being happy about notable moments in the life of my dog? She’s had a rough trot so far in life; she deserves some enthusiasm for her endeavours.

Also, as a side note I would like to add that Chihuahua’s don’t have the warm fluffy undercoat of hair that keeps them warm, she has to wear a t-shirt or jumper to stay warm.



I’m off to play ‘mousey mousey’ with someone who cares :-)


*credit for the term ‘The Doglet’ goes to JLH or Oxford, England. He heard her snorting in her sleep the other night while we were on the phone and he asked, ‘Is that the doglet?’

T vs C

Why is that I can drink three or four cups of tea a day and sleep like a baby, but a single cappuccino will have me shaking like a recovering druggie looking for the next fix?

Marketing Genius

Yesterday on my way into the train station I was given an Easter egg and a leaflet by a lady with a basket. I was in a hurry as were my fellow passengers and unlike normal where I give the wave of dismissal; I took what she was offering.

I got to the platform and looked at stuff I’d been handed.

She was a God Botherer and by handing out chocolate she had convinced me to accept her gift. I was kind of annoyed and chuffed for her at the same time. The leaflet itself had been made to look like something from Facebook and it wasn’t until I’d read a few lines that I’d realised.



Pure marketing genius!

I ate the chocolate, chucked the leaflet, and forgot the address of the church it was advertising.

Lawbreaker

I was thinking about this the other day because I've become friends with a policeman. He pretty straight-laced and old fashioned in his thinking unlike my other policewomen friends that are a bit radical with the likeing of the modern music and saying f*ck a lot.

I like the way he thinks though, despite being younger than me, yes that is possible despite the fact I still consider myself to be 18, he listens to classical music in the car, is fanatical about F1 racing, is rather shy, I don’t think I’ve heard him swear and he eats like a horse. He's a big unit, not fat just very tall and fit.

Anyway, back to me, this is my blog after all.

We were talking in the car on the way to somewhere or other and I got to thinking about my criminal history. I don't have one. I have a clean record.

I've never been caught speeding.
I've never tagged a wall.
I've never been in a bar fight, seen loads, but never been in the thick of it.
And apart from the soap I stole when I was eight, which my Muv made me return, I haven't stolen anything.

***

I was in a chemist with Muv and Paul Doba. There was a white wire basket that was filled with bags of coloured soap. Muv was at the counter and as kids tend to do, Paul and I were wandering around smelling stuff. Paul was my best friend and the son of my Muvs bestest buddy, Sue, they lived just down the road from us on Bushy Hill Drive.

Paul and I approached the basket. Each bag had six soaps. Some were white, some pink, purple, orange and blue. They all smelt like grandma. One of the bags was split.

'Go on, I dare you to take one'

Being the youngest of five, and four years younger than my brother and his best friend (Bradley, how I loved you), I was always up for a dare in a bid to be accepted and included. I knew what I was about to do was wrong, oh so very wrong, but I did it anyway. I looked around and as quick as a striking snake I put my hand into the basket and grabbed a soap. It was a white one, it smelt like Nanny Hawkins.

It went straight into my left pocket. I looked up into the air, scuffed my foot into the carpet and tried to look innocent. Apparently it worked. We walked home in near silence. Muv asked us what was up, we denied everything.

As we walked into the garden through the wrought iron gate my already spinning head flipped into overdrive, what was I going to do with my prize?

Through the back gate.

The back door.

I made an excuse to drag behind so I was the last one in. I pulled the now volatile bar of soap from my pocket; the red hot booty burning my palm. As I stepped over the threshold I pretended to trip and slid the soap under the fridge.

No one would ever know about my indiscretion. It was over.

Time passed. I could smell the soap every time I went to the fridge and every time I went through the door. Edger Allen Poe wrote about the feeling of being haunted by your actions in a Tell-Tale Heart, I had no idea who he was at the time, but whenever I read the story I think, soap!

After about a fortnight the cat got a whiff. Jodie started laying on her side, paw extended under the fridge, fishing for something. Muv and Dad thought it might be a mouse, it wouldn't have been the first time. With two cats and a dog, we often had small furries running around, but they never lasted long. I hoped it was a mouse.

It wasn't.

After two days she got it. She pulled the soap out and realising it wasn't anything she could eat decided to make a fuss. A cat that rarely said anything showed her disgust and disappointment by meowing loudly enough to alert everyone in the kitchen.

Muv saw it, a momentary look of confusion then she turned to me.

'Tell me why there's a soap under the fridge?'

It spewed out of my mouth. The whole sordid tale without names, I knew enough to never dobb.

'Tomorrow you'll take it back and apologise'

I cried into the night. I was so scared.

The ten minute walk to the shop the next day was like the long walk. I couldn't walk into chemist and was pushed in by Muv.

I looked up at the Pharmacist, he was so tall, he looked like Vincent Price (I’d seen The Abominable Dr Phibes) in that moment when every other time he'd been so kindly, I took the soap from my pocket and placed it on the counter which was at eye height. I started crying and I said 'so..so...sorry' and ran out of the shop.

I learnt many years later that Muv had rung them and warned them I was coming and they'd had a giggle about it, kids will be kids, kinda stuff.

After that I was always convinced I'd be caught if I committed any kind of anti-social behaviour. I can't help if the shoe elves always slip the lead insoles in just before I drive the car.

Manners

I think I've written about this before, but I think I need to again because it's something that continues to vex me.

Manners seem to be dying and to the detriment of society.

I know it may be an old fashioned point of view and suddenly I've turned into my grandmother with her 'youth of today' attitude, but it's not just the youth of today that this is decay is affecting. It's everyone.

Train travel: as a frequent user I see how the lack of simple please, thank you and excuse me affects the blood pressure of many travellers. When you wish to exit a packed afternoon commuter tube, 'excuse me' would be extremely effective at getting people out of the way instead at staring at the back of their head in the hope that their latent ESP is going to kick in. It rarely kicks in before they pushed out of the way from behind. Everyone in this scenario loses. The pusher gets annoyed and the pushee gets pushed and annoyed. Not good for anyone.

Queuing: being of English decent I am well versed with the art of queuing. I think I even formed my own queue to get out of my mother’s womb. So what happened to an orderly line of like minded souls all after a ticket for something or other? I had a bloke shout, 'oh come on!' at me this morning. Really, I wasn't even at the front being served; some Indian lady had that pleasure, and I'm pretty sure she was going as fast as the credit card machine would allow. Again, queuing is not a hard thing to master: join the end of a line, stay there and shuffle along until you reach the ticket seller, food dispatcher, or check out chick. It really is very simple; it shouldn’t require a six week learning annex.

Seating on public transport: there are seats that seat three or two people, on occasion there is the odd single seater or multi seater. If your bottom is wide or you are just grossly obese, please don't try and squish between two people in a three seater or peg someone to the window in a two seater. It's rude. If you need a seat and a half or even two, consider asking the sitter to vacate. It's entirely possible that you'll be told to 'bugger off' but at least you warned them before sitting on them and breaking their thigh bone.

On a similar note, when people are getting off the chosen mode of transport, don't make them climb over you to get out (or in for that matter). Please stand and let them slide into the window seat with dignity instead of nearly falling head first through said window. Ladies often have skirts and stocking on, it's not nice to have to spread your legs over a stranger just so you can sit down. It's even worse it you snag a new pair of stockings just because the sitter can't be arsed to stand.

A simple rule of physics next. If you don't let some out, you can't fit more in. Same goes for public transport. Letting folks off usually makes it much easier to get on.

I feel I have said enough for now on this subject. It’s possible I shall revisit it next time either I or some unfortunate stranger has steam pouring from their ears in the AM or PM trip, but I shall leave you with this final thought;

Wouldn’t being out in public be a much nicer and less stressful experience if everyone just gave a little thought to what other people may like in life?

Probation is over

I told you yesterday how I had officially adopted Cara, well, it seems she heard me because last night and today she’s thrown all the previously excellent behaviour out the window and started behaving like a dog.

Last night I took her for a walk and swim at Baywater beach to celebrate her new family status and the weather was somewhat inclement. Ok, it was shite, raining, windy and grey. But she needed a walk and we were already there. I changed into shorts and flip flops ready to paddle out to a swimming depth and started walking across the field towards the sand. We were halfway across when she turned back toward the car and legged it. I called her, but she completely ignored me. I took chase and caught up, just before the car park. I carried her to the sand. Once on the sand, she was giving every indication that I was clearly insane for expecting her to be happy about the situation of walking in heavy breeze and rain. There was no way she would enter the water despite all my calling in a sweet voice and tapping of thighs. I had go get her. I waded out to mid calf and tried again, she was having none of it, and looked like she was going to bolt again, so I carried her into the water. She swam straight back to the shore. She made it back before me and started running in the general direction of the car, before stopping and having a shake.

The lesson I learnt. Cara does not tolerate wintery weather, it is unacceptable.

Today, she came into the office with me again. I’m going out straight after work and thought it would be nice for the friend I’m meeting to see her again. She was excellent all morning, her usual quiet self. No one knew she was there. At lunch we went for a walk, she smooched a slug and had a wee. When we got back to the office though, she was feeling brave. She came out of her bag home and started to wander about. She wouldn’t stay in, until one of the secretaries came around and saw her, got all cutesy (imagine in your head a voice so high it’s almost out of hearing range for a human) ‘You’re so gorgeous! Yes, you are!’ She started to shake and went back into her bag to sleep and recover.

The lesson I learnt. I don’t think I can bring Cara to work anymore :-(

'You never told me I had to stay in my bag!'

Oh Really!?

At work, in a department not too far away from the one I sit in, there are two new recruits. One is called Harry, the other is called Krishna.

This is not an April Fools, as I first suspected, they are genuine names, I’ve seen them in the email address’.