2012

So another year has passed.  Another year of struggling, trials and the odd moment of joy and hilarity.  I go into 2013 still single with a menagerie of animals that ensure I get out of bed each morning (sometime afternoon). 

Let’s get into this:

January

I started the year at Field Day, a music festival, where I photographed Gotye, Kimbra and Calvin Harris.  This pretty much set the scene for my photography projects for the year. 

I had a garage sale which was a disaster, I made $160. 

I sold Cap’n Hank

Cara turned seven.

February

After a three day hospital stay for a kidney stone I felt it was time to restart my comedy career.    Helen came over from the UK for a few days.

March

A busy month I photographed Jurassic Lounge, Renbury Cats and some street fashion.   Having been unemployed for a while I tried to keep my Funeral Celebrant career off by visiting loads of funeral homes. 

I also started my short lived ‘extras’ career when I spent several hours sitting around and pretending to be a barrister.  It was an interesting experience to see just how long it take to make a TV program.

April
The day known for fools turned into a tragic day for me.  My darling Cara went missing when I went out without her for the first time in weeks.  A storm spooked her, someone picked her up and stole her.
I held my first Tupperware party as a demonstrator.

I started working at FaCS.

May

I found myself lacking a creative outlet so I picked up a crochet hook and some wool.  My first Granny square in about 10 years was a disaster, but it soon came flooding back.
I had seven comedy gigs this month.

I spent a weekend in Melbourne with Sally

June

I went to the theatre, I saw 'When Dad Married Fury'.  It was a lot of fun.

I photographed The Sydney Film Festival Hub and Renbury cats again.  Comedy was good with six gigs.

I started to learn how to play the recorder.

July

This month I learnt that trying to perform comedy on the anniversary of your mother’s death isn’t ideal.  It’s hard to get into ‘the zone’.

I fostered, then adopted FeFe.  After months of looking and several false alarms, my heart, still breaking for Cara, cried out for a Chihuahua companion.

August

A quiet month I volunteered for Oscar’s Law.

Jon visited for two and half days.

Jurassic Lounge started it’s winter season, I photographed it.

September

After being qualified for nearly a year, I finally got around to being a wedding celebrant. 

Agent interviews started again as my contract with FaCS drew to an end

I started studying for a Graduate Diploma in Counselling

October

I fostered Harry.  A Chihuahua/mini foxy that had been left for dead on the roadside.  He and FeFe got on so well, that he ended up getting himself adopted.  Silly boy!
It was my 40^th birthday.  I got two cards and one pressy.  To say it was underwhelming is an overstatement.

Unemployed, still.

November

I kept my head down after the disappointment of October.  I handed in my uni assignments, performed comedy and delivered Toastmasters speeches.

Went the theatre and saw ‘Sex with Strangers’ on 14^th.  Struggling financially as I have all year, I was unable to join everyone for dinner.

Started a three a week contract, because it was all I could get.

December

Photographed Goyte in Melbourne and Sydney.

Went to Perth for work.

Declared a pt 9 debt agreement, but still struggling financially because I’m only working three days a week.

Low on seasonal spirit and cash I've done nothing except walk the dogs the entire Christmas new year season.  forgive for being a tad Bah humbug.

Maybe 2013 will bring better times

Late

You’re not sorry, you’re rude.

If you were sorry, you’d have allowed more time and not been late in the first place.

I’m one of those people that tries to be earlier or on-time for everything I do. If I have an interview at 2.30, I’ll be there at 2.15. I’d rather be sat in reception twiddling my thumbs wondering if everyone that walks passed is the interviewer than have the interviewer think I don’t care enough to be on time.

I had a meeting this morning for 10.30. They turned up 10.35. I’d been waiting in the room for them since just before the meeting start time. They seemed surprised when I closed the meeting on time even though they still had thing to say, but I had another meeting to get too.

During the early months of 2010 I worked in Nigeria. It was an interesting environment to work in for me because always having had the ‘be on time’ mentality I had trouble adjusting to the normalcy of people turning up for meeting half an hour late; without a batt of an eyelid. Often people would wander in at various times during the meeting, make a fuss about the seating or play with their phones and never really have much interest in what the meeting was all about. After four months we finally had a meeting were no one was more than 10 minutes late. It was a compromise.

I was hosting a party at the weekend for a group of ladies and it was due to start at 2pm. I was cooking them lunch and giving a simple cooking lesson. Four of the five ladies arrived at 1.45. They caught up, helped themselves to a drink and settled down. One turned up at ten passed two, decided now was an appropriate time to catch up with every one, help herself to food and drink and wake up the baby. I smiled my way through it with my silent mantra of ‘calm blue ocean’ and carried on. The late comer than refused the lunch I had prepared because she was full. I could handle the late, if she hadn’t have disrupted everything putting me about 30 minutes behind on the demo. Meaning her friends who had come for lunch had to wait longer to eat, while she stuffed her face with leftovers from the fridge. The host said, ‘good job we’re related’.

It seems to have become acceptable to be late. Something starts at 8pm, people don’t turn up until nine when ‘all the interesting people have arrived’.

I dabble in stand-up comedy and I like to see more of the sort of treatment that late comers to comedy shows get. If you wend your way to you seat after the lights have down and a comedian is on the stage expect to be pointed out to the rest of the audience.

‘Hello, welcome, I’m glad you felt like joining us.’

‘I’m sorry our well publicised start time inconvenienced you in any way, would you like me to start again, just for you?’

I’d love to be able to do this when meeting start late because they didn’t allow for that extra time to get their coffee. Or even when someone turns up late for my cooking demos. Out of context though, that doesn’t work. Shame.

Years ago when training I used to make a point of making people who came back from the break tell an embarrassing story, and have the other participants vote if it was embarrassing enough. People were only late back at the first break. So in context it does work.

***

If you factor in time to a financial cost, my time, your time and everyone’s time has a value. When you keep someone waiting for half an hour and they normally earn $50 an hour, that has cost the $25. Imagine eight in a room waiting for a ninth, that’s $200 dollars plus the extra for having to reschedule etc.. It can have a massive knock-on effect.

When you turn up late to a party, you’re disrespecting the host and guest that have bothered to arrive on time. You’re telling them you’re too important to bother with such silly things as a start time or you just don’t care, which is worse, neither sheds a positive light on you.

As a wanna-be stand-up I don’t get paid, but your lateness may put me off and could potentially cost me that entire five minute gig because I lost my flow. That in turn may mean I never get booked at that venue again. It hasn’t happened to me but I know some that it has happened to.

There really is no excuse for lateness just as there is no excuse for rudeness.

I’m not saying I’m never late, that would be a lie. I was three minutes late for a doctors appointment the other day because I failed to keep track of my lunch date. I was mortified. I then waited another 25 minutes for three other people to go in before because the doctor was running a bit behind.

‘He terribly busy and a patient had taken more time than expected’. 25 minutes is not a bit behind, it’s a lot behind.

Spread the appointments out a bit more, see less patients. The three minutes I was late could have been made up by my 10 minute appointment being seven (in fact it was only five because ‘you’re skin is amazing’). Would he have been bothered if I’d have walked out of his surgery, saying I’m also very busy? You bet ya bloomers he would have been, he may have even charged me for failure to cancel.


I hate being late.

I knew it!

I’ve always had a general loathing for a particular fruit that Muv tried to get me to eat. She’d cut it in half, sprinkle sugar on it and grill it. It was too bitter for me, even with copious amounts of sweetness. Muv however, would eat it and make the sounds of a person really enjoying her food.  She loved it.


I try to have fruit every day and often I’ll buy a fruit salad on the walk to work. My regular place know my order and I’m often greeted with, ‘The usual?’

One day I spied something out of place in the lovely, brightly coloured bowl of lushness in the cooler cabinet.

I asked, ‘Have you boobie trapped the fruit salad?’

They had…and it’s no use picking out the offending citrus because it pollutes all that it touches.



Today the newspapers confirm my thoughts on grapefruit. I’m glad I’m right about somethings, this is one of them.

Grapefruit can kill you!

    PS.  My regular supplier never tried to poison me again :)

Cancelled

The job market at the moment is an interesting one to be looking for a job in.

In the last three weeks, three jobs that I have been submitted for have been cancelled due to 'Budgetary issues'.

You'd think that budget would be sorted and finalised before putting a job out into the market place?  Clearly not, or it's just the soft, fluffy stuff, change management, that is no longer being included or taken out of project briefs.

I have five days.

ABC Meme

A - Are you single?         Yes

B - Because?         I am

C - Crush? Yes

D - Drink you last had?    A bottle of dessert wine

E - Easiest to talk to? Men

F - Favourite Song?         Oh Very Young by Cat Stevens

G - Greatest Memory?      Camping on the the Isle of Wight

H - Hometown?        Guildford, Surrey UK

I - In love? Yes

J - Jealous? No

K - Known longest?         Janneke

L - Last Text?         to JH

M - Middle Name?         Elizabeth

N - Number of Siblings? Loads if you count steps and halves

O - One Wish:        Never have to worry about money again

P - Person you last called? Job agent

Q - Question I'm always asked.  Why?

R - Reason to smile?         Many and varied

S - Song I last heard? Can't remember 

T - Time I woke up?         Today, 10.30

U - Umbrella Colour? Black with cloud on the inside

V - Violent Moment?         Ripping up the grass vines today

W - Worst Moment?         Muv dying

X - Person I'll never stop loving? Muv

Y - Your last hug?         GB

Z - Zodiac Sign? Libra

Pigs

I saw a story in the Sydney Morning Herald this morning and all I could think was surely the police aren't going to rule out foul play without any further investigation?  They have so far suggested he had a medical emergency, such as a heart attack.  You think? 

Have they not seen or read Hannibal where Mason Verger is planning on feeding Doctor Lecter to the piggies in the barn?

The perfect murder or just a tragic accident?

La Laa Laa!

Picture borrowed from here, I had absolutely nothing to do with taking it or making it and credit belong to the originator. 

Mr. Boots

A friend died today.


I use the word friend because of the effect this news has had on me is unexpected, tear producing and a general feeling of overwhelming grief.

The thing is I have never met this friend or even spoken to this friend. We’ve exchanged a few postcards and until this morning I only knew his parents as ‘the fatties’. Their names where only revealed to me through messages of condolence on Facebook. Yes, this is a Facebook friend.

The power of social media has revealed it more bonding side.  The power to make friends from those you are yet to meet.

I know this is going to sounds daft, but I’m devastated that Barney Boots has passed away after an accident on the farm a few days ago. I know he was a dog on the other side of the planet, from a town I’ve never been too (and unlikely to go to). I know that the character I looked forward to posts from was the human in his life, his adoring Mum, Deb. I really like that woman’s sense of humour.

No matter how down I was, a post of ‘I’ll be outside now’ or I’m up now’ brought a smile to me face.

And those damned giant pumpkins!

I can’t explain to you why this has upset me so much, it’s irrational and some, I’m sure will think ridiculous, but you know what, I cannot control my emotions over this, when I do try snot starts pouring from my nose and water leaks from my eyes.  I feel for the man and woman behind the dog we loved.  Really, I'm having this outpouring of emotion for them.

Has the death of a small brown dog remained me of Muv, John and Cara. All I have lost in the last few years. I know Cara isn’t dead, but the mystery of her disappearance remains. I like to be able to mourn her, but I can’t, I know she’s out there still.

I feel for the Boots family at this time, the devastation of having to make such a hard decision and then having to tell the world, his nearly 5000 online followers.

Deb and Paul, while we didn’t know each other, my thoughts are with you at this terrible time. Grieve your boy Barney and don’t let anyone tell you ‘he was just a dog’.*  We know that isn't true and anyone who says it doesn't understand the unconditional love a dog can give. 

Barney Boots, corgi and farmer, Rest In Peace, in your astral vegetable patch, and may you enjoy an endless supply of bacon, cheese curd and gravy.

*Yes, I’ve been told that many times and I’m sure they will get the same.

 

Picture from here and here...I had nothing to do with it's creation, but it's very pretty don't you think?

Daydreaming

From my desk I can see the planes flying over the Star Casino, and I often think to myself, which far flung place are you going to?


Then I think where would I be if I could be anywhere but here? The first, quick answer is usually, anywhere but here.

This morning was no exception, after a hideous Monday morning trip to work. I had a twelve minute walk to the station because the parking situation is so bad at my local station, but I had to go there this morning because I needed to buy a ticket. The walk and queue for ticket caused to me miss my train by about 30 seconds. A fifteen minute wait for the next one stretched in 30 when the 9:01 was cancelled.

If I'd known that the train was cancelled sooner I could have walked back to my car to to get my phone from the front seat, which I noticed was missing from my bag when I got my purse out to pay for my ticket.

Once on the train, it was packed. That's what happens when a train gets cancelled. A big bottomed Indian man sat next to and his friend across the aisle. Not having my phone I was unable to block them out with noise cancelling headphones, so had to focus on the sprayed artwork of hyena, soup and wayward. They are very naughty boys with a passion for purple, yellow and silver, but they do help the time pass as you figure out what's new on the canvas' of walls, signal boxes and fine wire mesh.

I got to work at 10.

Some days it's better if you don't have to get out of bed.

URGENT!

What does the word URGENT mean to you?

To me it means some thing that requires a rapid response and quick solution.


Once again I find myself frustrated by the behaviour of others. I know I can not control the actions of others, but that doesn’t stop me wanting to shout, ‘Come on, get your act together!’

Over three weeks ago (in August) my CV was submitted for a job and then two days later I was asked to provide more detailed information about a particular time period. The advert said the person selected was required to start ASAP as it was an urgent requirement.

I’m still waiting to receive any further feedback on my CV or be asked to attend an interview.

I am going through an agent and I have followed up a couple of times. Today I was told it can take up to four week to receive feedback.

I would like to clarify my understanding of the word is correct and it is:  Dictionary.com defines the adjective, urgent, in three ways, but the most relevant one to this is use is;  'compelling or requiring immediate action or attention; imperative; pressing: an urgent matter.'


Considering the nature of the business that I have applied for; it worries me that urgent doesn’t seem to mean to them what it means to everyone else in the world.

If I had an emergency and I called these people for assistance, I would expect a rapid response, as would anyone else calling them. It’s likely that I would get one too; depending on want other emergency situations there were happening at the same time as mine.

Clearly filling the civilian roles they have advertised have now fallen from the top of the to-do-list due to drive by shootings, robberies, traffic control and kittens stuck up trees.

I understand these things are important, but it’s either urgent or its not?

Please say what you mean and mean what you say.

Picture borrowed from here, I had nothing to do with creating it!

Black Beard

It be International Talk Like Pirate Day today me hearties, yarrr, and as Cap'n of this ship, I feel the day has sailed well for a lily livered scoundrel.

The sun will soon set fer ya all in Aussie and I'll walk the plank to a better place (home). The land lubbers that we office dwellers are, we'll scatter to the four winds until the morrow.

So drink up me hearties, for another 364 days we must wait, before we can don our eye patches, dress in threads of the ocean and doff our tricorns to sea going scallywags of days of yore.

Yarrr, barrel of rum, me hearty?






Picture borrowed from here, I had nothing to do with creating it!

World gone mad

Do you remember when you were a child? Playing on your scooter, push-bike or strap-on roller skates outside the house? Round and round you'd go for hours. Mum and Dad had told you where you could go to and you daren't go beyond those limits.

My brother and I were allowed to go over to the woods. A small crop of trees on the edge of a playing field across the road from our house. He was allowed to go into the field with his friends and play football while I was to stay in the woods, climb trees (yes, I climbed tress) or made Mud Pies.

We would be out of sight of Muv and/or Dad for hours. Muv would be inside cooking up a storm or out in the back garden tending the veggies, while Dad would be servicing the taxi.

Just to prove how crazy the world has become a woman, Tammy Cooper, has been arrested for letting her children (aged 6 and 9) play in the cul-de-sac outside her house unsupervised. Shock horror!

I wouldn't want to be the neighbour that reported her to the police for abandonment.

Is the world really such an awful place now that a mother can't watch her children from the kitchen or the comfort of a lawn chair? Do we really have stand over our children 24/7?

I'm so glad I was given the chance:

- to play in the mud without being told, 'get out.'

- to learn the hard way that sticks do not make good imitation cigarettes. I fell over and landed on the stick injuring the back of my throat.

- to learn, never borrow a bike from a kid you just met and ride it really fast down a hill, because the brakes may not work. Cue fat lip, grazed knuckles and scabs covering the right side of the face.

- Stinging nettles hurt a lot when you fall from a tree into a patch.

- and don't jump into the deep end of the pool when you can't swim, it get really ugly real quick until that 10 year old saves you.

Kids have to learn lessons. They only get some lessons when they go out into the world. The front garden and safety of the cul-de-sac you live in is the very edge of the world and needs to be explored when you're in running while crying distance from home.

The police need to question the intentions of the neighbour and how they reacted. Surely when the woman you've come to arrest approaches you because she's seen you arrive it's clear she hasn't abandoned her children in her own front garden.

Charges have been dropped and Tammy is going after the police by suing them. Only in America?






Picture borrowed from here, I had nothing to do with creating it!

Intelligence

Yesterday morning, Rizzo the chicken managed to evade me. She didn't want to go back into the chicken house after the morning scratch, so she squeezed her deceptively skinny body out of the run. After I'd tried to encourage her back, she used the compost bin and then the potting shelf to get onto the top on the chicken house. I couldn't get her up there.


After the roof, she moved into a tree.

This all took about three minutes. A bird that can't fly and is notoriously dumb figured out if she got up high, the predator (that's me) couldn't reach her.

I came home after dark and couldn't find her. I feared she may have fluttered down into the garden behind us. There be two big dogs there that wouldn't have taken kindly to her intrusion. She may have wandered a little further into the garden of the family I have no doubt would have had her on a spit by lunchtime (I know this from conversations and experience).

Turns out she was next door, she's safe there because the three lazy brothers live there. I'll go and get her when she roosts later.

It maybe nature that send her high and hide when she perceives danger, but I think it's pretty smart she figured out how to get high so quickly while running around clucking. Most animals will avoid danger rather than run headlong into it.


So why is it that humans, supposedly the smartest creatures on earth can't figure out that avoiding agro is better than starting it? That violence begets violence and posters and banners spewing hate messages only affirms what some were already thinking, which in turn leads to more violence.

Live in peace, spread no messages of hate and remember when you're out on your own, you're much more vulnerable and more easily picked off, which no one really wants...

...unless they fancy chicken for dinner.

Mid Life

In just under three weeks, I’ll be turning 40. I don’t have an issue with aging. I know I’ll do it disgracefully and I have no issue with that. What I do have an issue with is doing a job I hate, working for the man to spend the rest of my life struggling financially.


I asked a question on my Twitter this morning; ‘In this day and age: what’s the point of being a good and helpful person? Really, I’d like to know why I waste my time.’

I asked this because last night a buxom, burlesque dancer that I photographed for free as part of an event asked me to remove the photos I had taken of her because of ‘unflattering angles’. She asked me to leave a couple as they where beautiful. I had carefully selected all the photos posted so as not to show skin rolls (no easy task), smiles (plenty of those) and to show the very essence of her performance. Despite her size she had grace, elegance and dancing skills of a woman considerable smaller. I removed all the photos I had taken.

I give my time for free because I enjoy taking pictures in a challenging environment (lots of movement, bad lighting and having to ask people if they'd like their photo taken). In total I spend three hours at the event (it's a fortnightly thing), then up to three hours processing the pictures. It usually costs me $10 to park the car, plus the petrol to and from the event. So when asked ‘as an artist I have to careful of how I’m seen’, I say, as an artist and someone who isn’t being paid, I was doing you a favour by giving you free publicity, so you get nothing’.

I’m sick of ungrateful people, just taking. It seems that the world has more of them these days

When Leo Durocher said, ‘Nice guys finish last’, I’m sure he was talking about baseball, but you know what, I’ve come to the conclusion it’s in all walks of life.

I’ve lived my life as a good person. I help old ladies out, I ask homeless people, ‘have you eaten today?’ and follow through when they say no. I volunteer my time to a number of non for profit organisations. And you know, when I try and do something for me, I get nothing back. So I’m taking it back. I’m not going to commit to anymore volunteer things that cost me money. I’m going to do something for me and anyone with an opinion can go f*ck themselves.

I’m not saying I don’t have a few supporters, I do, and thank you to those of you that ‘get’ me.

So this is my plan.

I’m going to get a part-time job and study full time. I may, if I have to, sell everything of value that I own and get a housemate (that really is the last resort).

I think I can cope with a job I hate if I only have to do it three days a week.

I haven’t brought a sports car or a flash motorbike…but I do believe this is what they call a midlife crisis

Finally something the middle classed white lady can talk about at stand-up comedy!

Audition

I have 50 minutes to kill before leaving the office today. I may do some work in the time, but it’s more likely I’ll blog, read a story or two from the newspaper, but I’m most likely to try and learn my lines for the audition I’m about to attend.


Why am I going to an audition, you ask. Because I can, is my reply.

I may have mentioned this before but I’m not entirely satisfied with my current career progression. I think I know what I want to do and were I want to go, but in the mean time of making that happen I’m doing other stuff.

Can I cut it as a presenter on a TV channel dedicated to career development and work/life balance?

I don’t know, but I’m going to find out.

Welcome to WorksTV, I am your host, Jodie! [cue smile]

Temper temper

I have noticed recently people are getting angrier on the roads.

This morning when I was driving the train station I was on the receiving end of driver aggression.  I’m not sure it would classify as road rage.  I was caught in the wrong lane and put my indictor on.  I then slipped into a space that was more than large enough to fit my tiny car into, in front of the white van of a plumber.  I know he was a plumber because his branding was all over the van, along with his phone number.  What happened next was the start of a few minutes of road harassment.

First he lent of his horn for a prolonged period of time.  More than enough to show his displeasure you’d think.

Then he proceeded to tailgate me for a about a kilometre, all the time making hand gestures that would make a sailor blush, of course I just laughed it off and resisted temptation to brake suddenly.

Then, as the road widened to two lanes, I moved over to let him pass, and pass he did, only to rapidly pull back in front of me (sans indication), before speeding off and into the other lane.  Further up the road he pulled back into the left lane without indicating. 

Over now you’d think.  Ohh now…he was now still really angry about my indication and moving front of him over five minutes ago.

As I pulled up level with him again at traffic lights, two lanes away, I caught him make gestures at me from the corner of my eye.  I didn’t feel the need to look at him and give him the satisfaction of screaming at my silently and I really didn’t want him to see me smiling at his ridiculous behaviour.

Of course, I second guessed myself.  Had a cut in too close?  No, I could clearly see his entire front in my side mirror and over my shoulder.  I’d been indicating for at least 20 seconds…which we all know is ages when sat in a traffic queue and I know he’d seen it because we’d got eye contact in the mirror.

Yesterday, in the news was a story about a young woman being followed home before the attacking driver ran over her Dad and threatened them with a knife, all because she merged in front of him.

Are we losing all perspective of what’s a good thing and what’s a bad thing?

An actor gets saved while out kayaking – he gets blasted for pulling a publicity stunt, maybe he really was lost and was genuinely thankful for the save.  While not really news, kinda of feel good story that should be taken for what it is, not vilified.

A woman gets abused so badly online she makes an attempt on her own life after being repeatedly told to ‘go kill herself’ – she gets blasted for bringing it upon herself, she should have just turned off and heeded the old adage of stick and stones.  No, she should be able to conduct her life and work without being abused by hidden cowards with anger issues.

A woman tries to merge on a busy highway, a requirement of getting from A to B in a motor vehicle and experienced countless times a day by hundreds of thousands of drivers around the world - she gets followed home and threatened with a knife

I get abused for changing lanes while indicating and called an ‘attention seeking whore’ for looking for my dog.

I do believe the world really has gone crazy.

Can we all just calm down and look at our behaviour towards others.  We all have a life to lead.  For the most part we try to do so without interfering too much in each others lives.  We’re all busy, your time is worth no less than mine.  We all just want to live peacefully.  In the end it all comes back to what George Bernard Shaw said in 1903:

'Do not do unto others as you would that they should do unto you. Their tastes may not be the same.'    

On the Up?

Things continue to go from bad to worse on the work front.


Personally though, things have remained fairly static with a very slight elevation.

A week ago I got massive laughs during a stand-up set, which I pretty much winged. While much of the material had bee written before I tried loads of new stuff and it worked. Always a good thing. My next gig is at 8pm on 7th September at the Comedy Court on George Street, Sydney, in case you’re interested.

The last weekend was fun and after lots of fun in the garden I feel like I actually want to sort sh*t out on the home front. It’s been a while since I actually wanted to do anything that related to keeping my environment clean and tidy, but despite being exhausted when I get home from my work day, I do a little something that may, in the long run contribute to a cleaner home space.

My veggie patch has started to produce food. Yay! For the next six months I’ll be able to go into the garden and pluck sustenance from the ground. I’m sorry, but there really is no better feeling than eating freshly picked produce. For the last three days I’ve been able to use my home grown greens in my dinner and also eggs laid by the Pink Ladies in omelettes, scrambled and poached.

With the better weather comes more vitamin D which in turn makes you feel better generally, so hopefully, there will be less depression and more happiness in my future.

Now please enjoy this picture of my dinner from last night. Everything is from the garden except the Holumi cheese (and the tiny bit of fresh ground pepper) :-)

Down

While my small creamy coloured dog has been missing I have found the big black one barking at the back door and paws on the window sill on many occasions. My attempts to scare him away have only succeeded in getting him out of the garden and my near vicinity.

This morning he got in and landed on the bed with a thud. Pinning me down.

I’m not sure how he got in, but I think the cracks have expanded over the last few weeks while I have been wrestling with a couple of issues. These cracks have clearly been ignored by me as I’ve focused on trying to think my way through my problems.

While in the grander scheme of things that effect the wider world, my problems are meaningless and insignificant, but one thing I’ve learned, when you’re dealing with things alone, they can often become all consuming to the exclusion of all others.

I find myself trying to claw my way through financial worries, still. My attempts to bring it all to a speedier conclusion seem to be ticking along, but a little support would be nice.

My work situation is interesting to say the least and the least said the better.

Which bring me to the overarching issue: companionship. As much as I love my fur family I find it really hard to ask them to help out about the place. When I have to change a light bulb, if I was to fall off the step ladder and broke my neck, they would be pretty useless at calling the emergency services. They are crap at helping move logs in and even worse at doing any kind of housework.

I discovered this when I had a kidney stone and spent several days in hospital alone until someone came to visit. The chicken shed I’ve had for nearly a year that has been partially erected (yes, kiddies I said erected), the fact that I still haven’t seen Batman 3 because I have no one to go with. Actually I haven’t been to the movies in months and I love the movies. What’s the point of going if you come out with that urge to discuss but turn to empty air?

People laugh at me when I say I’m learning the recorder…I do that so I’m not sitting at home alone, it gives me a focus.

When people criticise my choice to be a Tupperware Lady, I do that because a, I love the product and genuinely believe it’s great but b, so I can get out of the house, meet people and as an added bonus make a little cash. I’ve been told ‘You’re better than that’ but has it every occurred to people that I do actually enjoy it and would rather not wait tables or pull pints in shift work.

When people ask why I drive to Canberra to perform 10 minutes of stand-up comedy, it’s because no one comes to see me in Sydney and people actually do when I go to Canberra. The weird thing is, people have actually been to see me multiple times in Canberra…they even get to see my new material.

When people say I should only photograph things that pay…that’s nice if I never actually wanted to photograph anything and I didn’t do it to get out of the house.

When people say to me I should stop looking for my missing dog. When the dreams of vivisection, abuse and overfeeding stop and I know what happened to her, I’ll stop looking. A need to know her fate drives me to do the things I do, with little or no physical or emotional support. Would you give up looking for your loved one if they went missing, and NO, it’s no different because she isn’t ‘ just a dog’.

I do things that get me out of the house and interacting with human beings. As much as I hate the general public it sometimes feels better to be alone in company than alone, alone.

I shall have three days of companionship this weekend then it will be over for another undisclosed period of time. Time to move on I think, the hope that it will lead to more has hit a point in reality that I don’t like, but I need to start living my life with a view to the future. Cold turkey. Rip the band-aid off and visit the doctor for more brain numbing drugs. While I should be looking forward to this brief time of fun, laughter and adventure, I find myself half dreading it because I know it will be over before it’s even begun.

A long term future with some genuine human companionship would be a rather pleasant thing I feel. I do still feel.

fingerfriend hugs by FCImages

Karma?

I’ve grown up hearing the names Myra Hindley and Ian Brady. Their images are instantly recognizable to me, just as I could tell you who Pope John Paul II, Clint Eastwood and James Cagney are.
They are famous, or should I say infamous, murderers and rapists from 1960s England.

Like all people of infamy they have been glamourised by some, but for the most part vilified as they rightly deserve. Between them they sexual assaulted and tortured five children (that they admitted and where convicted of, but unofficial numbers are higher) between July 1963 and October 1965. They were convicted in 1966. Before I was even born, but their names often popped up.

In the mid 80s they gained a tremendous amount of press when they returned to scene of their crime to find the graves of their victim, but could only find one.

In 1995, Hindley was in the news again, but this time for her mugshot being used as the basis for a portrait painted by Marcus Harvey using children sized hand prints.

Hindley died at the age of 60 in 2002 in jail.
Today I saw the name Ian Brady in the paper and though, surely he’s dead now, but apparently not.

I read this story and felt hope for the family of Keith Bennett.

It was the last line of the story was what caught my eye and brought out a very rare, extreme, non-humane reaction from me.

‘The tribunal was to consider Brady's application to be transferred to a Scottish prison and be allowed to die. He has been tube-fed since refusing food 12 years ago.’

My immediate reaction to this was ‘Let the f*cker suffer!’
Then I reconsidered.  At 72, is it right that he be allowed to die or should he be forced to continue to suffer?  Does that make his captors as bad as he?

I know say, let him die and maybe, just maybe his name will cease to reoccur in our lives to remind us of the evil he and his girlfriend perpetrated forty odd years ago.

    NOTE: the image was taken form here and the copyright belongs to them, not me.

Social Media

I love social media. I would happily stand up in a Social Media Support group and say, ‘My name is Jodie and I am a Social Media-aholic’.

I have a Facebook and a Twitter account. I’m also on Instagram. I have a blog, but you know about that because you’re reading it. I’m resisting Flicka and Pinterest, just because I think I have enough.

I have a few pages and both my dogs have their own Facebook accounts, but I have to say they post more than me.

It’s not just the sharing of the details of my life in the vein hope that someone else actually gives a damn about what I’m up too; it about when I die, alone in my house, and have my face eaten by the cats that someone might notice my lack of posts and therefore come looking for me, that I like, it's other random posts from strangers that appear on my wall.

Today…I saw a post from such a random to pop starlet Nicki Minaj and it appeared on my wall because one of my friends had seen fit to add her voice to the 59,000 other comments.

It was a somewhat vitriolic post that included the phases ‘it makes me want to punch my cat’, ‘it has been proven that you can catch Aids from watching her music videos’ and ‘it’s (her music) cancerous to the earth’. Actually, if you look at the message as a whole there is some rather amusing imagery conquered up. It is still cruel and unnecessary.

If you don’t like her music, change channel and stop buying it from iTunes.

The starting message itself is interesting but some of the comments are hilarious, if not cruel in themselves!

Some comments were full of admiration for the original post and they agree with the sentiment (typed as they appear on the posting*):
‘Dude that kid gor balls…but no brains’ Jordan S-P
‘I think I love you, sir’ Naomi H.
‘Fu*k that b*tch nicki keep doing u boo…’ Ashley A.
There was more to that last one, but it became so unintelligible I couldn’t tell if it was supportive or abusive.

The religious and lifestyle ones always make me smile

‘That’s not very Christian’ Jesse G
‘(posters name), if you were Greek, you’d be Zeus.’ Jake M
‘Lolsomeone is pi*sed they don’t make the money she makes :)’ Billy S.
‘Ur gay’ Joe O.
‘2 words…STOP HATING’ Dsire B
‘If u think shes hurt by this u dimb as hell’ Tatiana FW. Do I hear the pot calling the kettle names?

Invariably though someone brings up the age old debate that haunts all forms of social media, and with good reason. Most people fire of comments and posts without a thought to the content and how it will appear. We’re all guilty of it, some more so than others. I know I’m not perfect, but at least I put a little effort in.

In this case I only saw Milo S’s attempt to set the world straight on the matter, but you just know there would have been others amongst the fifty nine thousand other comments. ‘Wow, most of these comments either have bad spelling or improper grammar. What a world where people can’t spell, at all.’

In some way I wish I was a researcher. I’d love to examine the way people are affected by social media. What would happen if it was to go away over night? What would happen to those that have grown up knowing no other way to communicate.

The days before mobile telephones when there was one telephone in the house and your dad had put a lock on it. When you made plans and stuck to them because there was no way to punk out at the last minute. When you physically had to invite everyone you wanted to come to your party because there was no ‘wall event’ capability.

‘Didn’t you get my wall invite?’
‘No, I haven’t looked at Facebook for weeks’
Sound familiar?


Most of all though how would they cope not being able to hurl abuse anonymously at all and sundry just because they felt like it and it was free?

Would they sit down with a pen and paper and write out the words ‘I don’t come to you respectfully as I don’t think you even deserve to be treated with sincerity’ (another line from the NM post means) and other nasty, down right mean spirited comments, fold it neatly, pop it into an envelope, put a stamp on it and place it into a letter box, after they had spent an age finding an address to send it too? Most likey the ‘Fan Club’.

I really don’t think they would bother.

I love social media. I really do. It’s helping me spread the word about my missing dog. It’s helping get word out about my business. It helps me stay in touch with family and friends who live overseas and far away places. It has even introduced me to many people I may not have otherwise come across.
In the words of Uncle Ben from Spiderman (2002) ‘With great power comes great responsibility’.
Please think before you press send.



* Swear words did not have * in them, they appeared in full in the original comments, but I'm a senstive soul that likes to have some modicum of manners :-)
Picture of telephone lock from here

Dining

I don’t like eating at my desk. There I said it.

I like being able to get away from my desk for a moment or 30. Eat my lunch in peace, away from the bright lights of the overhead florescence and noise of ringing phones.

Recent studies have shown that desks are actually more unhygienic that toilets. This is likely because they simply aren’t cleaned as often but no less of a worry.

I’m hot desking again today and the first thing I had to do was get out the surface cleaner and cloth. I swear there was a pube, font and centre. Within minutes of sitting down I had a dirty hand heal. I went search of the cleaner.

Now the desk smells like a gents loo…why do office cleaning product always smell like that?

Anyway, I digress.

Where do you eat lunch?

In the office that I currently reside I, there is a small galley kitchen but no where to sit and eat. There’s a meeting room but if there’s someone in there having a meeting, you are left with no choice but to eat at your desk.

Today someone was having a lunch meeting. First, that’s just rude to schedule a meeting over lunch and not provide lunch, second I had to eat at the smelly boy loo desk.

So while I was scoffing my baked potato with Chicken korma I decided to look up the rules about such things.

Apart from saying that a separate dining area needs to be provided were 10 or more people would be dining at once, I’m pretty sure on a floor of 70+ staff, 10 or so would be having lunch at the same time, it also states:

# separated from the work process

I think this is key. Eating at your desk would not be considered separate for the work process.

Just goes to show my desire to get out is valid and should be continued. I’m going for a walk.



http://www.ohsrep.org.au/faqs/workplace-and-amenities/dining-facilities-what-must-employers-provide/index.cfm

Just when you thought...

…it was safe to go back into the water.

The other day a surfer was attacked and killed off the coast off the Western Australian coast by a great white shark about 180km north of Perth.

Shock horror. Yes, it’s a nasty thing to happen and those that were on the beach when it happened, it would have been partially horrible thing to witness.

Family and friends are devastated by the accident. They have my sympathy because losing a loved one is awful and has a profound effect on the rest of your life.

The authorities are now combing the water for the offending creature so they can kill it so it doesn’t kill anyone else.

I have a solution to this. Don’t kill the shark for doing what sharks do, eat things in the water. Stop people going in the water or let them go in the water and let Darwinism take its course. It think it called the natural order of things. I stay out of the ocean. I understand they are many things in it that can move quicker than me through water and would, if given the chance, could kill me. Not just sharks, but jelly fish, snakes and fish with spines that have toxins that can cause heart failure in minutes.

How many sharks will they kill in the search for the ‘maneater’?

Why do sharks now feel the need to attack humans? Is it because they look like seals? It could be. Is it because the fisherman are denuding the water of natural prey, fish? Maybe. Are we just hearing about more attacks because of the internet and social media?

I really don’t think killing off white pointer sharks is the solution to this issue. Killing the sharks will only leave the oceans devoid of predators and every environment needs predators to keep a balance.

Is the next step to bring back capital punishment for killers. Are we going to bring back lynch mobs and dispense with the court system? Hang ‘em high from a branch.

That’s what we’re doing to the sharks. I understand we can’t have a trial for a shark, lack of a speech centre in the brain and need to keep water flowing over the gills being an issue. But why punish an animal for simply surviving.

I find the imbalance between human and animal rights disturbing.

We need to think about what we’re doing. Wake up and see that it isn’t all about us, humans. Animals deserve a lot more respect and the rights to do what they need to do to survive.



http://www.perthnow.com.au/news/western-australia/surfer-taken-by-shark-north-of-perth/story-e6frg13u-1226425990874

Bad for you?

I’ve been thinking about exercise lately. Yes, thinking about it.

Those of you that know me, know my philosophy that ‘exercise is bad for you’. This is born of knowing no one that partakes on a regular basis that hasn’t sustained an injury from it and my own experience of having to having my hip reconstructed at the age of 18 because of my love and vast abilities at hockey, field, not ice.

Don’t get me wrong I’m not a complete couch potato. I walk, a lot. I dig the garden. I cycle on occasion, but not so much since my cycle buddy went missing.

I’d like to use the stairs more often, but despite having to travel between levels 3 and 2 a lot when at work, I am forced to use the lift due the fire doors being closed off except for an emergency.

With recent studies showing too much sitting is likely to end your life earlier, I would have thought offices would be encouraging the use of stairs between floors. No, they would like us to inconvenience our fellow office dwellers by making us go one floor in the lift.

Considering I’m more than 40% likely to die in the next three years because I spend more than eight hours a day sitting, I’d like to use the stairs a bit more.

Let me break it down…
Car to station: 10 minutes
Train trip: 45 minutes
Desk time: 8 hours (that’s my story and I’m stickin’ to it)
Train trip: 45 minutes
Station to car: 10 minutes
Telly watching and evening computer time: 2+ hours

That adds up to far too much sitting. A bit scary really and no wonder I have the fitness of a 80 year old.

How about exercise for the day, I know it isn’t nearly as much.

From car to station x 2 : 10 minute walk
From station to office x 2 : 5 minutes including 35 steps
Lunch time stroll/walk: 50 minutes

At the weekend, maybe a few hours of walking in total. I do plenty of standing too. I stand when I do my music practice and I stand to cook. I also stand at the photocopier/printer waiting for my latest masterpiece to pop out.

So, I do my 150 minutes of exercise and more per week which increases my chances a bit, but the odds still aren’t great. I repeat, I think I’d like to use the stairs at the office more.

Or… I need a dog that forces me outside. Or as noted in previous posts, a different form of employment ;-)

How does your sitting to exercise ratio stack up?


http://news.yahoo.com/too-much-sitting-kill-study-suggests-200408243.html

On a lighter note

In the four weeks since I procured and commenced my recorder playing career I have mastered a few tunes, including but not exclusively:

Hot Cross Buns
Mary Had a Little Lamb
When The Saints Come Marching In
Snail

Now that my Tenor Recorder has arrived I’m working on Amazing Grace, and the cats have stopped leaving the room in disgust when I start practice.

Lennox

There is a dog called Lennox in Belfast, Ireland, with a noose around his neck.

He’s been living like that for two years. In a kennel after being ripped away from his family for simply looking like a Pitball Terrier. His registration papers, issued by the same council that did the impounding, say he’s a Bull Dog. He has done nothing to cause the community concern. There was no reason for his detention or death sentence.

News on Twitter, Facebook and other media sites have been saying for the last week that he’s due to be killed tonight. That’s every night for the last week. They also say that his family have been told they are not allowed to visit him in his final hours and his ashes will be posted to them. We don't know the details of what's happening currently, but you can be sure the basics are true.

We had a similar case recently in Melbourne, Australia. Luckily, that dog was returned to his owners after an investigation.

Both of these stories have occurred because of one thing. Breed Specific Legislation.

Frankly it’s rubbish.

How can you punish an animal based purely the misfortune of it's birth.

Do we punish people born into poor, bad neighbourhoods purely because their heritage tells us they are likely to commit crime. No, we wait until they do, if they do. If they do, then they get imprisoned. Why can't we extend the same courtesy to dogs?

Throughout my life I've seen different breeds come under fire. Dobermans, Rottweilers, German Shepherds and now PitBulls.

Any dog has the ability to be vicious. One of the scariest dogs I ever met was a Pomeranian. Cute and fluffy to look at, but if you got within a five feet radius of his ‘territory’ and that was whereever he happened to be, he’d latch on and only let go if you poured water down his nose holes. Sounds cruel, but that dog did damage. I wouldn’t go near it, or Santa as he was named. The owner would say, ‘Oh, never mind dear, he’s just being protective.’

That dog lived to be 16 years old with his owner defending his name, the whole neighbourhood wanted him gone, he was a menace and proved it many times. I was lucky enough not to be scared for life. He was a Pom, how dangerous could a Pom be? He never did, but I’m pretty sure if a toddler had ever wandered into his range, he could have done fatal damage.

Of course, the council wasn’t interested. We had a vendetta against a harmless, yappy, little fluffball according to them. You can bet your butt if it had been something bigger, they’d have been around like a shot.

I have friends that have bull breeds. My friends are calm, loving and most of all, leaders of their packs. The dogs are smoochy, friendly and well behaved with other dogs and humans alike.

If we need to stop anything, it’s stupid owners that don’t know how to treat dogs to get the best from them.

BSL doesn’t work, it’s a faulty system that punishes arbitrarily. Think about what you're doing governments and councils of the world.

Most of all though, I'd like to say, if he isn’t dead already, let Lennox go!





Update: 23.58pm Lennox has been put to sleep in Belfast http://www.belfastcity.gov.uk/news/news.asp?id=3109

Wasted

Will I look back on my life when on my deathbed and think, ‘Did I waste my life?’

I know it seems like a grim thing to think about, but seeing as we are here for such a short time I believe it something we should all reflect on, regularly.

I’ve been thinking about it a lot over the last few days while I’ve been sick. I can’t pin my feelings of lethargy, upset tummy, sniffy nose and vertigo on any one thing, but I honestly think I’m sick of doing something that leaves me unfulfilled.

Yes I know I do lots of things outside work hours that should keep me entertained and my mind off the hours of boredom and thumb twiddling, but I can’t help but shake the feeling those long, eight hours are the ones taking a toll on my body that cannot be reversed with a few short hours crochet, speech writing, recorder playing and stand up comedy.

Is it unreasonable to expect a level of enjoyment and satisfaction from your job? I don’t think so. Surely a happy employee is a constructive employee.

How do I correct this imbalance in my life without sending myself broke?

I have no idea, given my current plans/dreams are likely to end in disappointment.

At the moment I’m hoping that the publisher that requested to see my partially written manuscript wants the rest and pays me a small advance to finish it and then it goes on to be an international success. Because I know it’s written better that Fifty Shades of Grey, after all, it as nothing to do with Twilight, so it must be. Right?

Or I’ll suddenly become an in demand Civil Celebrant. I know that isn’t going to happen. Either people aren’t dying or getting married or they have no idea I exist (despite advertisments) or don’t care.

What if I were to win the lottery; would we still be friends?

Maybe, my stand-up will become popular and I’ll soon be making pod-casts and making appearances on TV panel and radio shows with my quick wit and amusing insights into popular culture.

I’m a realist; I know there is no overnight solution. But I fear my current health levels require something fairly rapid.

At this stage I’m left looking for a job in my current line of employment that may satisfy my need to be productive. I just want to be busy. I need to be occupied. It keeps my mind and body focused and gives it a reason to want to get out of bed in the morning, because currently, if asked the opening question, my answer would assuredly be, 'Yes'.

Animal Ethics

I’m having a crisis of faith in the human race.

Mahatma Gandhi once said ‘The greatness of a nation and its moral progress can be judged by the way its animals are treated’.

If this is the case we, as a country are on a path to ruin and despair.

I was speaking with L. today, she works in small animal rescue. She told me that recently a baby guinea pig came into her care after the box it was in (with the rest of it's litter mates) was fished out of the river. It was the only one to survive.

My friend N, recently came into procession of a six week old kitten after it was found in a dumpster, cuddled up to his dead sister.

Dogs being surrendered to the pound and being kicked and beaten between the car and the office. This I have seen with my own eyes.

I was told of a Maltese that came to the pound so matted it had barbed wire stuck in its coat. The dog had to be shaved and several infected wounds were treated.

What kind of animal would do that to another? The Human Animal, that's who.

***

Anne Sewell (1820 - 1878), author of the novel Black Beauty said,
‘We call them dumb animals, and so they are, for they cannot tell us how they feel, but they do not suffer less because they have no words.’

I believe this to be true; they simple are unable to tell us. They don’t have a voice that we understand, it doesn’t mean that they don’t have a voice. I’m convinced they know when a kind human crosses their path and helps them. I’ve seen it with my own eyes. After months and years of abuse, animals will present themselves to be helped. Dogs will let you dress wounds, even though they are clearly in pain. I have had cats that fight when you give them a worming tablet, but when injured will let you administer antibiotics and cleanse wounds.

I’ve been called a mad cat lady for helping out. I've had friends turn their backs to me and fall from contact because of my desire to help out.

I know others that have been told they’re wasting their time fighting for new laws about puppy farming.

I’ve had conversations with animal rescuers that have had friends turn their backs on them because of their obsession with helping animals.

I’ve been told, ‘it’s just a dog’. It's not just a dog, she's a member of the family, my pack.

***

Anyone who tries to improve the lives of animals invariably comes in for criticism from those who believe such efforts are misplaced in a world of suffering humanity.
Jane Goodall (1934 - )

Why are humans so dismissive of the suffering of animals? Is it because it’s so easy to avoid the gaze of a distressed puppy?
I’ve seen this look, it’s devastating. They may not be able to speak the words, ‘I’m hurting’ but their eyes speak volumes.

I’ve come to the realisation that I do not need people in my life that think I’m a fruitcake for caring about animals more than I care for humans.

Humans, for the most part can fend for themselves, animals can’t. They need a kind and loving hand to feed them, house them and provide a safe environment that keeps them from harm, but they also need family.

Dogs are pack animals, and humans form that pack if there are no other dogs around. If they are beaten, they will still be loyal but not because they don’t care about being beaten, not because they don’t feel the pain and betrayal of it, it’s because the crave the pack life. Be a kind pack leader or don’t bring a dog into your life. Certainly don’t use them as money machines just because they can’t tell you they’re in pain and would love to see the sunshine.

Alas I fear that the human condition is that we treat the voiceless with contempt and not just animals. I will continue to be that mad animal lady, whether it be cats, dogs, chooks, or whatever comes my way. If it needs caring for I will do my best and it will break my heart to let them go when it’s time.

I will continue to talk to my animals regardless of the looks and comments I receive from strangers and friends alike. I may not understand their reply in words, but I know they understand me and that I only wish them well.

As for all my friends that continue the pursuit of rights for animals in the belief that all animals deserve to be treated with respect. You go for it. I’m behind you all the way and will help in any way I can.

I’m going to go home tonight, i'll hug the cats, once again ask Oren why she keeps chasing Jack but get no reply except the look that says, I just don't like his face', feed the chooks and give them their favourite food, cracked corn and all weekend I shall continue to pursue my hunt for Cara. If I have no other human contact I won’t feel like I’ve missed out, because frankly the more I deal with some humans, the more I like animals. They have no hidden agenda.

Will

There are days when the will to live is dealt a severe blow. When you are consistently shadowed by a big black dog, the blow may be something small to ordinary man, but as far as you’re concerned you may as well have had a house fall on you.

I had every intention of being to work for nine this morning. I even managed an early night by being in bed and light out before 11pm. I was up, showered and all animals fed and watered by 8pm, I was parking the car outside number 16 by ten past eight.

First blow. Number 16 is nearly three-quarters of kilometre away from the station. It’s pretty much as close as you can get. At that time I should have been down around number 6 or 8, but these big houses have wide street frontage and I was basically twice as far away as I should have been.
I had to run down the hill for the train.

Second blow. There were men in uniform checking tickets. Stopping everyone. I had to dig in my bag for my weekly, usually done on the train between stations and just before I get off the train. Today, I missed the train I was aiming for by a couple of seconds.

It was OK…the next train would get me into the office just after 9am.

If only the train hadn’t been significantly delayed due a mechanical failure.

I stepped on the train at 8.44.

I got into the office at 9.38. And the desk I was supposed to be sitting at was occupied. At least the computer was. So I had to hunt for a spare desk.

My will to live on a scale of 1 – 10 is currently sitting at about 4.

And yes, I'm aware on the grander scale of world problems it ranks roughly as a nothing. It's my world I concerned with right this minute. I'll deal with bigger issues later, when I'm feeling up to it.

I really hate days like this. It can only get better.

Are you really sorry?

When you hear the phrase, ‘I hate to do this to you, but…’ you know the next words are going to be something you will not like.

There really is nothing like being told you have to move because someone more important than you is being employed and they need to sit in ‘that’ seat because they are a permanent member of staff and you, well, you’re just a contractor, to make you feel welcome.

The rumblings of movement had started on Tuesday when I was asked, ‘I hate to do this to you, but …is this your permanently assigned desk?’

‘As far as I’ve been told yes, at least until your department moves to xxx at the end of July and then the team I work with will be resettled together.’

Of course that wasn’t the first thing that went through my head. The first thing was more like – If you really hated to do it, you wouldn’t, but you’re going to anyway because really you have no feelings on the issue except to get what you want.

‘Oh, I have a permanent employee starting next week, you need to move.’

‘In that case you’ll need to speak with A. to discuss seating arrangements.’ I said.

I had to pack up the contents of the desk on Friday and shove my belongings into a cupboard.

***

Why do people say sorry for things they really aren’t sorry for?

It’s a word that is losing its meaning through over and incorrect use. If you let the door close on someone on purpose, don’t say sorry, say, ‘I’m an ignorant arse.’ If on the other hand you genuinely didn’t see the people directly behind you, apologise.

When you push in the queue, don’t speak the word of apology as you jump in front of others, say it like it really is, ‘I really do believe that my time is more valuable than yours, so I’m not waiting’.

Everyone knows what you’re thinking, so please speak the truth and stop devaluing the sorry word.

***

Today I have been moved on twice. I will be ‘hot-desking’ for at least 30 days. It’s going to be so much fun because I’ll meet people I’ve never met before when they see me sat at their desk and ask, ‘Why are you sitting here?’

I won’t be apologising, I’ll be speaking the truth. ‘I’m sitting here because there is nowhere else for me to sit and for some reason I’m not allowed t work at home.’

Lottery Win

Natasha was from Spain. I thought she was the absolute bees-knees. She had an exotic accent and lovely skin. She was my friend and her Mum would make little cakes whenever I went over after school. Also, Natasha had three recorders, a normal sized one, a medium and a big one, all of which she could play. She could read music too. The recorders were mostly black but had creamy detailing on the mouth piece and banding towards the top and at the bottom. Aulos made these masterpieces of music, in all their smooth plastic glory. I remember that because they were so much prettier than the wooden ones the school lent to others.

I wanted to learn the recorder, but being from a big family I got to learn the guitar because we had one in the loft. It was massive and came in an even more massive hard case which I had to carry it to school in; switching it from hand to hand along the way. Mr Hardman taught guitar and he was school staff, no extra payments required. Recorder required an outside teacher and a one pound sub was required for each lesson.

I was eight years old and three months older than Natasha.

***

A few weeks ago I was out at a comedy club waiting for my spot. One of the other comedians went on stage with a guitar and played a tune and sang a funny ditty. Having never stuck out the guitar lessons, (mainly because the thing was such a pain to lug around) I have no musical instrument but it got me to thinking about how I could incorporate it into my comedy act without actually playing anything.

I came up with, take some drum sticks on stage and say, ‘I was gonna play you a drum solo, but some bastard nicked my drums!’ Boom Boom.

Then I remembered Natasha and her recorder. The idea of a 40 year old walking onto stage with a recorder would be a joke all of its own. No playing required.

***

A week ago I brought a lottery ticket for $23. I won $12. The first win in a very long time, but a win is a win, so I put the cash in my wallet.

I was walking through town on my lunch break thinking, as you do, when I found myself outside Allan’s Music.

With my $12 I procured a shiny new recorder. Not an Aulos, but a Yamaha. They make good motorbikes, so surely the quality of their products would be even. I also brought a book called ‘Recorder for Beginners, Book 1’. My lottery win was exhausted.

And now I have a new thing to learn. Maybe not master, but learn. I have my first lesson tonight.



I wonder if Natasha continued with her recorder playing.

Please hold!

Have you ever been on the receiving end of a call that has instantly been put on hold?
I have many times.
Ring ring, ring ring.
‘Good afternoon, XYZ Company, Melody speaking, would you mind holding?’ Click.

You don’t even get a chance to protest before your ear holes are being assaulted by some of the worst music know to man or a poorly tuned radio station. Plus, what would happen if you said ‘Yes, I mind holding’.

Today, someone at work was on hold, on speaker, so we all (those within a 10 metre radius) had to endure the tinny strains of synthesised Green Sleeves.

I remember many years ago when I was working for a start-up company as the office manage I had to get a telephony system put in. We were given a choice of hold music; radio, white noise, the classics played by fingerless monks of the moors of whoop whoop or our own messages recorded and played back. The MD selected the ‘Classics’ because he didn’t know what to say and he was too cheap to pay for the radio option.

After three months of countless comments about bleeding ears from customers he decided to write and record some nuggets of wisdom like, ‘Your call is very important to us, please hold’ and ‘If you’d like to leave a message press star and someone will get back to you’. They were powerful, but to the point. The customers stopped complaining.

Why do companies insist on torturing their customers with these crimes against music?

Also, the 80s have a lot to answer for with the invention of the keyboard you don’t have to play but could just press back beat buttons.

Boys

There has been another scandal involving sporting folk in Australia. Shock horror! In a nation that worships participants of sporting activities like the deities of ancient cultures it's not an uncommon occurrence.


When a rugby player assaults his wife, it's fair enough, pres coverage is expected and yes, he should get into trouble. He behaved like an ar*ehole and committed a crime.

When Australian Football League players goes out on a bender and fall asleep in a bush, yes, the papers have a right to report that, but it's hardly a capital crime. He was an idiot, no harm done except for a few broken branches.

When a cricketer sends saucy text messages to a lady other than his wife. Again idiot, but do we really not have enough drama in our own lives that we have to feed off others?

The most recent trouble is because two Australian swimmers posted a picture of themselves on Facebook posing with guns in a gun shop while taking a break during a training camp in California, America, where it legal to own and shots guns. The Aussie press went crazy, calling them 'Bad Boy Swimmers' and the act 'a gun-toting lark' suggesting the Australian Olympic Committee (AOC) ban them from attending the Olympic Games in August. One paper accused them of looking 'smug', dare I suggest they looked like young men having fun.

It's ridiculous. Yes, their judgement may not have been completely tip top, but I know a couple of people that have visited the States and spent time on the firing range, because they can. One of my mates even had a go with an Uzi. On the plus side of this, when the zombie apocalypse comes, he’ll know what to do.

Swimming Australia has said as a punishment they will be sent home as soon as their events are completed and will not be allowed to stay to enjoy rest of the game or take part in the closing ceremony.

Yesterday they came out and announced that they are imposing a ban on themselves using any social media before or during the Games. Stating they need to have no distractions in the seven week run up to the games.

Incidentally, it's also legal to own and shot guns here if you have a licence, but anyone can walk into a firearms shop and browse the cold hard steel and highly polished wooden butts. I’ve done that. There’s something quite intoxicating about the smell of gun metal. And I’m a girl.

Boys will be boys.

Leave them alone and focus on something important. Like that Milat kid killing his friend and getting 43 years…you practically skipped over that nugget.

Oh yes, and what about the participants of the Shooting events at the games in 2012. Air rifle, rifle and pistol, I'm pretty sure they'll be posing with guns at some point in the next few weeks.

Snug

No one would ever accuse me of being a domestic goddess.

I’m the first to admit I have better things to do than dust, sort, clean and wash.  Like sitting on the sofa doing crochet or reading a good book.  Things I actually enjoy.

Every now and then though I get the urge to clean, sort and wash.  I like to throw open the windows, crank up the tunes and get stuck into it. On Friday when I left work, it was chilly but clear skies.  I was revved up for a weekend chucking stuff out, filling the house with fresh air and finally being able to see the top of my desk.

But conditions needed to be right.

Rain of any sort kills the urge, dead.  Torrential rain just makes me want to hibernate like a bear, tucked into my warm, dry pit.  Eating beans from a tin while wearing baggy tracksuit bottoms and wearing Uggs.  Only going outside to get more wood for the fire.

I have been eating things other than beans, but the clothing of choice has involved sheepskin boots and I have been tucked up on the sofa.  The cats have been happy with this arrangement also.

If I didn’t have to get up and go photograph an event tonight I think I would stay in bed.  It’s warm here.  It’s dry here and I can listen to the sound of the falling rain in the comfort of knowing it isn’t going to get me.

Flower in my garden with fly and raindrops

The rapid pitter patter that ebbs and flows.  The tin roof amplifying the sound of every droplet that lands on it.  Watching the sky’s teardrops chase each other down the window to the ground. 

I like these things from the inside when tucked up snug as a bug in a toasty cocoon.

Golf plated printers

I have a bit of an issue with a business changing you an unreasonable amount of money.

I know this seems like a redundant statement but please let me explain.

As you may be aware my dog Cara has been missing for a while (since April 1st). This has meant that I have been doing an inordinate amount of colour copying and printing. This has forced me to shop around for a supplier with rates that please the budget and produce a product that pleases the eye.

I always used to be a fan on Kwik Kopy. When I was the editor of the Alpaca Hmmm… I used them for all my printing needs, I even took business to them from companies I was working for when they were anything but close. But these days I will NOT use them. Here’s why.

They print things and charge a rate that is somewhat premium conpared to some other printing houses. They have to receive files in a format, be it a MSWord or .pdf, whatever, in order to print the job. Am I correct in making this assumption about what they do? If they don’t receive a file, be it by email or USB stick thingy, they are UNABLE to do the job.

Why then, do they feel it appropriate to charge a fee to open a file? $10 for a word file and $5 for a .pdf. These charges are before you even have anything on paper. How long does it take to open a file?

It confuses me.

Would you pay a non-refundable $5 or $10 fee to use a basket in a supermarket?
Would a petrol station get away with a surcharge to get the fuel out of the hole in the ground to the car tank?
Would a café survive long if the started charging a ‘washing up’ fee?

These things are built into the price of the service being provided. So why oh why, does this printing place think it’s OK to charge you extra for something they have to do in order to serve you.

I’d really appreciate your thoughts on this one.

Would you pay the extra fee or go somewhere that doesn’t charge to open the file?