Jodie Sorrell

Bumbershoot

2012-02-02T14:43:00.001+11:00

I don’t mind the rain in Australia, because it is rarely accompanied with a biting wind. We’ve had a very wet Summer and it looks set to continue. We have had a few sunny days, but they have been extremely humid due to the amount of moisture in the ground.

Monday was a good example of such a day. 31 degree in the city with 92% humidity. It was like wading through soup, if wading through soup meant it would be difficult to breath, your skin would feel clammy and you smells really bad at the end of the day.

Tuesday brought with it, a shift in the winds, from North Westerly’s to south easterly, bringing a cool change. It’s been less than 20 degree for the last couple of days, with persistent rain, but it isn’t, by any means cold.

When it not cold, I try to avoid wearing a coat. It makes me feel hot. So to avoid getting wet I stick close to building and under canopies where I can. Unfortunately, others of the human species do not share my desire to have one less thing to carry.

And the umbrellas come out in force.

All shapes, sizes, colours and states of repair.

Today, I saw a woman walking along under two thirds of a brolly. It was basically three metal spikes and a tiny piece of fabric clinging for dear life to the remaining three disguised spikes. It couldn’t have just happened, because it isn’t windy and the rain is coming down straight. How long had it been getting to this stage. Surely a few well place stitches and it would be as good as new?

One woman of extremely small stature had an umbrella as wide as she was tall. She was wielding it like a weapon. She had it resting on her left shoulder and as she walked the pedestrians parted like the Red Sea. They had no choice. At one point she was waiting for the traffic lights to change, she turned to look at the oncoming cars, as she turned (not just her head) the massive awning swung with her and pushed another lady into the road from behind. It just swept her up. The owner was completely oblivious.

I’m not a huge fan of umbrellas. When they were small fashion accessories, called parasols, that a lady took to picnics in the park and to the races to protect their delicate English skin from the sun and the inappropriate advances of gentleman. They had an elegance and grace about them. There were used when stationery, when leisurely walking with a suitor they would be space around, Ladies never hurry anywhere.

Now, in an age where people rarely give consideration to their fellow man or woman and are nearly always in a rush, they are yet another peril to watch out for.

How funny!?

2012-01-31T11:13:00.000+11:00

I’ve been told I’m funny. Maybe it’s because I can’t contain all that I am in a tiny body I have had to over compensate my whole life but making people laugh.

‘She’s got a great personality’.

I sure this has been used to describe me when friends have told potential suitors about my pear shape. In the words of the great Ricky Gervais, ‘I consume more calories than I burn off’, but not massively so, I like to say I’m buxom or cuddly. This had lead me though, to be reliant on my bubbly self to get ahead in life when it comes to friendships and love.

A few years ago, I was working in North Sydney and on a whim, I decided to do a short course under the disguise of ‘continuing professional development’. Stand-up Comedy.

For two Saturdays, I went along and I learnt to write material, then I performed seven minutes of stand-up. I think it well. But I didn’t do it again.

A couple of years passed. A friend that had attended my first and only performance, was still so fired up about it that she went off to do a course in Melbourne. She spent a whole week in Melbourne. I say she deserve kudos, just for that. Anyway, she came back and started signing up for open mics and badgering me to start again.

‘Be my comedy buddy!’

I caved. My first (or second if you count the one in 2009) open-mic is on 29th February. A day that happens only once in every four years. Unfortunately for you lot, my comedy isn’t something that is a rare occurrence.

Use by Date

2012-01-27T20:41:00.000+11:00

This year I’ll be 40. The big four ohh.

It’s still a few months away, but some seem to think this is my last year to do the things I set my sights on earlier in life. I actually had someone I considered to be a friend tell me, ‘you need to find yourself a man this year, or you’ll never get one.’ I haven’t spoken to her for a while. I never have and never will define my self worth by my relationship status.

In an article I read the other day, the author thought 35 was her ‘cut off’ date. Her article annoyed me a bit.

As I was reading it I realised I have achieved many things in the last five years, post 35, some that were never on my ‘to-do-list’ of life. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not like the first 34 years were uneventful, but the last five have been a rollercoaster when you condense the thing I’ve done.

I’m thankful for my age and I have no problem with the clicking over of the time piece into the forth decade. I shall continue along my current path of near crimpling debt, having adventure when I can and towards a change of career. Age is a mere number to be ignored. Apart from mild stiffness in the joints when I get up in the morning I feel better now than I did when I was 18.

I’ve actually matured, rather than behave in a manner I believed a mature would behave in. I was falsely mature.

I tut tutted at the idea of Muv smoking a joint.
I never drank to excess, except by accident at Jan’s birthday party when I ate a whole Vodka jelly
I never wore belts masquerading as skirts because I thought I didn’t have the body for it, now I really don’t have the body for it and I accept that.
I refused to jump walls when I could use the gate, not the gate is just a bit too far away

Make the judgement call. Are you not doing something because you think ‘I’m too old to behave like or do that.’ Or are you not doing the things you want to do because you are physically unable to do them.

I’m not too old to a photographer at music concerts...with ear plugs, I’m making that happen
I’m not too old to start stand-up comedy again (done it once before)... I’m going to start again (thanks CP)
I’m not too old get out of an office environment...I’ve got the qualification, so I’m working on making that happen

I say bring on the next decade. Bring on the challenges. I’m not a yoghurt, no use by date here.

Moggies and Mongrels

2012-01-23T19:45:00.000+11:00

Yesterday I went to the Opera House with Cara to take part in a photo opportunity for Oscar’s Law. The founder Debra Tranter was visiting from her home in Melbourne, so it was a great chance to meet her and little Oscar, the dog that started it all.

It was lovely to meet a woman so passionate about her dog that she endured a little hard time to save him. (You can read more about Oscar and his Law, here).

Debra Tranter and Oscar

I’ve always been a fan of animals. I have a few myself, that I consider to be my family. This week when I didn’t get paid due to an office snafu, I brought food for them, before myself. Some may say this was daft, but then those people don’t know me very well, and it’s unlikely they ever will because they clearly aren’t ‘my sort of people’. Everyone of the people I met yesterday would buy food for the pets before themselves in a pinch.

The premise behind Oscar’s Law is stopping the sale of live companion animals (puppy and kittens) in pet shops and ban puppy farms. This in turn will reduce the amount of impulse buys and animals being put down in shelters. It will stop unethical and cruel breeding practices of breeders out to make a buck or several.

Reducing the number of animals bred, could also, have an impact of problems such as the kidnap and murder of little Lilly. Without impulse buying people would be able to do their research between choosing a puppy after seeing it with its mother and picking it up, and therefore know exactly what they are getting into. Up to twenty years with a family member that never matures beyond that of a six year old human. You can’t leave them alone with no stimulus, and they need exercise.

In Australia, 250,000 companion animals are put to sleep per annum in a country with a population of 22 million people. Compare that with the UK that has a population of 59 million people that enthuses about 36,000 per annum. In Australia, you are nine times more likely to know an animal that is put down than those in the UK (any statisticians or maths whizzes out there, I’m happy for you to check my sums ;-). It’s a horrifying number.

I’m not unrealistic, I know that this will never disappear. I acknowledge there will always be a place in society for pounds, but the volume of our four legged friends passing through them can surely be reduced significantly.

This time of year is the busiest for pounds. Those Christmas presents are starting to grow. With children and parents away from home most of the day, now they’ve gone back to school and work, the bored pets are starting to chew shoes, walls and sofas. They are pooping where they shouldn’t because they haven’t been out of the back yard for a week and energy levels have soared to the point where they’re jumping out of the poorly secured garden. They are barking all night because they are alone and frightened. These pets end up in the pound where they are enthused, because they are unwanted.

What you can do to help out our furry friends:
· Visit Oscar’s Laws and sign the petition
· Foster an animal if you can, it gives them a better chance of finding a new home.
· If you can’t foster donate to those that can. It doesn’t have to be cash, put a couple of cans of food in your shopping trolley each week and give that.
· If you plan on adding a pet to your household; Adopt. Don’t Shop. There are always plenty of animals just crying out for a loving home in the pounds and they aren’t all moggies and mongrels. My Cara is a pure bred Chihuahua, with a little time and effort you can find exactly what you’re looking for and help to save a live.

Read and be outraged. Word of mouth is the best way to pass the message that it isn’t ‘just’ an animal, that they are sentient beings that feel pain, love and abandon.

Bring it on!

2012-01-20T19:13:00.000+11:00

Reading the paper today I came across a story about an App (Grindr) being hacked for all it's user data.

I didn't get past that the part were it mentioned the hetro equivalent. Awesome!

Now commences the year of me. five minutes after signing up I had 12 emails :-)

Law Abiding Citizen

2012-01-19T16:56:00.003+11:00

There’s an article in the paper today about a riot in a Victorian (http://www.theage.com.au/victoria/toothbrush-fury-triggers-prison-riot-20120119-1q73i.html)(as in, in Victoria, rather than in the 1800s) prison. The article states that the reason is the switch from hard toothbrushes to flexible toothbrushes. How would a flexible toothbrush work? I don’t know about you, but I’d be pretty miffed about have to use something akin to an odourless haddock to clean my teeth.

I’m not sure it would drive me to sit on a roof for 12 hours but I know something that would. Over-crowded living conditions. The article touches briefly on this in the 14th out of 16 paragraphs. Maybe, it isn’t a soon enough mention of population explosion.

Of course the comments raise a few eyebrows; broad sweeping statements with no facts to back them up, judgements on the types of people in prison and compassions of prison live verses the great outdoors. Of course this, and the fact my local shops were closed last night because there had been a stabbing, led me to think about how I would reform the prison system in a manner that made people think twice about committing a crime where they could end up there, thereby end population growth.

I would reinstate chain-gangs. Make them work for their supper and toothbrushes. After all, most of this country was built off the back of convict labour, it worked then, why wouldn’t it work now?

Why not get the prisoners working for society it has let down with their unruly behaviour. Can you image the network of roads that would crisscross this wide brown land it we didn’t have to pay for anything except the materials. And the surface of the existing roads would be awesome. It would give them a skill and they’d be so tuckered out at the end of the day they’d be too tired to fight in the food hall and cells.

It wouldn’t just be the roads. Railways, storm drains and parklands would get a much needed boost in maintenance. For good behaviour and well performed duties they could then be rewarded with the good jobs about the prison (laundry, cooking etc.), then television and education. I think anyone would tow the line with the promise of a good steak and a beer.

I understand the logistics of guarding them would be a pain, but we have GPS tracking these days, why not microchip them? Civil liberties be damned, they lost that right when they broke the law. I know they could remove a microchip themselves if they ran away, but put it somewhere they wouldn’t want to dig at with a shiv. It could be removed properly when they are released after serving their term. Or they could just wear one of those tracking ankle bracelets when out working.

Of course I have absolutely no research to back up the feasibility of my ideas. They are just pie in the sky ideas from a person with an over active imagination and a desire to smack someone naughty, why couldn’t they work?

Name Calling

2012-01-18T20:20:00.001+11:00

I was appalled this morning when I heard a man call a woman a 'retard'.

On my way to the platform after I'd purchased my train ticket from the ticket office I was walking passed the automated machines. There are two, side by side. Man had just completed his transaction when Woman, who'd just started hers, dropped some coins. There wasn't a queue behind either of them. As he walked passed her, he spat out 'retard' at her. She flinched. Pick up the coin and put it in the machine.

This exchange took part in the blink of an eye. If I'd been closer to the ticket office or platform stair I would have missed the schoolboy comment. But I didn't. I was in a perfect position to witness the entire thing.

A 40+ year old man bullying a woman in her 30s.

As you'll see from the photo below he's less than a perfect specimen of manhood. You can't see the top of his head, but it is somewhat devoid of shagpile. And yet he felt the need to call someone, a stranger, an inappropriate name. What effect would that one word from a stranger have on her day? Did she already have fragile self esteem; did that word shatter what was left of hers? How would he like it if someone called him baldy or Kojack?

The charming specimen of manhood

I'd rather be called a 'f*cker' than a 'retard'. It true for starters, but it isn't an insult to all those that do have learning difficulties.

I find the whole idea of name calling so unnecessary and cruel. Why did he have to say anything to her, let alone call her names? Clearly they did not know each other. Wouldn't it have been a nicer, more humane gesture to assist with the coin collection? No, he called her names and then sat on the platform for 10 minutes; he was clearly in a hurry to catch his train.

This brings me to my next point about name calling. Said with love name calling, is there really such a thing? I have a group of friends that call each other names. A couple of them call one guy a retard all the time, he doesn't seem to mind, but have they ever asked how it makes him feel? I know that when one was called a 'bogan', she got most upset and pouted for a week. in this case it's deemed to be 'affectionate' name calling, but really, when is name calling ever affectionate? Clearly bogan didn't think it was all that affectionate and yet she continues to call others names.

I was called names when I was at school. Specy, four eyes, teacher's pet, swot, banger (I was into metal music), dumbo (I was in remedial Maths class) and boarder. I went to a school that had day and boarding students. Muv, after my parents separated was the cook, then house mistress in the school. Day/Boarder rivalry was rampant and it was considered a massive stinger to get in a boarder shot, even though I didn't board. Kids hah!?

Having been on the receiving end in my time I'm very reluctant to engage in such behaviour now and this morning I found myself holding back from the man. I imagined the scenario would have gone something like this:

'Morning fat so'

'Excuse me?'

'Oh, I'm sorry, I thought we were greeting people by insulting them now'

At that point I see myself lying on the ground with a black eye; after all, bullies will invariably lash out when challenged or confused.

A sense of belonging

2012-01-12T23:25:00.004+11:00

For many years now I have been a contractor. This means, while I get up and go to a job on a daily basis, mostly, I’m not a full time employee. I don’t get paid leave, sick or any kind of benefits for turning up at the office each day, each week, each month.

Yes, I get paid heartily, but when I’m unemployed between contracts, which has been nearly a year out of the last three, the cash dwindles very quickly. Agent ask me why I only have contracts on my CV, my response is that a contract never gives you three months notice that it isn’t going to be renewed, so the next contract is the one I take. I’d love a permanent position.

Never more so than now. There are staff movements around the office. Supply Management are moving here, HR are going there. I’m being booted out of the desk I have and I won’t have a permanent home in either Head Office or out West. This disturbs me. One squat to another.

I’ve always had a desk before. Somewhere to keep my teabags, somewhere leave my hand cream and giant mug. Somewhere to lock my laptop so I don’t have to carry it home every night. From Friday I won’t have anywhere. I’ll have to ‘hotdesk’ at all times.

A few years ago I did some sums, around work hours and home hours taking into account travel time as work time etcetera and it looks something like this (i resurrected it and edited for today’s lesson);

Over the course of seven days or 168 hours, you send 62 hours at home awake, and 56 asleep (if you get 8 hours a night). You’re at work 50 hours if you travel one hour each way and do a five day week. This all adds up to:

37% of your week you’re awake at home
33% you’re asleep
30% you’re at work

That’s only 7% less time spent at work than at home, awake, doing things. At home you are surrounded by your stuff. Cups, plates, saucers, food, telly, family, pets, interesting things to do.

At work, with a desk, you can have a small piece of your personal life with you. A family photo, a nice mug instead of the manky grey thing from the cupboard, hand cream and a nice neat pile of files for important work stuff.

No desk, no life. No reminder that you have a life, not even a chair that is set up to the optimum seating position for you. Nowhere to keep the paperwork pertaining to you job, your work planning. Just a empty micro desk and a sore back and hip from carrying the laptop with you for that two hours of travel.

Most companies don’t allow for project contractors when arranging seating or when renting/buying office space, they count FTE (full time employees). I’ve been lucky so far I guess. If I can’t join the Sports and Social Club, can I at least have somewhere to put my box of tissues? If I’m going to spend nearly half my waking life in an office, I need a desk

Let the hunt commence.

Proficient

2012-01-11T10:02:00.000+11:00

com·pe·tent (adjective)

having suitable or sufficient skill, knowledge, experience, etc., for some purpose; properly qualified: He is perfectly competent to manage the bank branch.

It’s a nice word. It has a positive meaning unless it proceeded by ‘in’.

In recent times I’ve seen this word many times and today for the first time I have seen 50 occurrences of it in a single column. This column shows that I am now competent in all aspect of being a Marriage Celebrant.

I think I’ll pat myself on the back now, it’s been a long painful road, to get to the roundabout.

Next stop the Attorney General’s Office to register. More hoops I’m sure.

The Christmas Card

2012-01-10T15:39:00.003+11:00

While queuing in the post office today I eavesdropped on the conversation of the two ladies behind me. I couldn’t help it. They had encroached in to my personal space and they weren’t using indoor voices.

They discussed two things during the ten minute wait; the first was how one didn’t have a television (that was weird), the second thing was about how many Christmas Cards each had sent and received. The two women known as L because she was on my left and R because she was, yeap you guessed it, on my right, started talking about it because R, was posting belated cards.

L had sent 78 cards and received 11. A rate of return of 14%

R had already sent 93 cards and received only four. A rate of return of 4%

I had the same issue this year (and years before). I sent 53 cards in the end and nine came to me. Four of those were addressed to my dog. If you add those to me and Cara together we got 16% back. In relation to L and R I got the better end of the stick and I’d been feeling hard done by.

What does this say about the tradition of sending cards at Christmas? Clearly some people are still doing it, some aren’t. Maybe they intend to send them, but just don’t get around to writing them out before mid December. I’m with R, send them anyway. It’s the thought that counts regardless of when they arrive.

There is something nice about receiving that hand written envelope in the mail box. You know it’s a card from some far flung place, is it a friend or family member that though of you at one of the loneliest times of the year (seconded only be Valentines for singles). Is it from a new friend that you randomly added on Facebook so you could play games? Is it from someone that you only really hear from at Christmas? Is it from a company you did business with at some time in the past and now they are reaching out to remind you they exist?

Is it from a relative that has been estranged?

It doesn’t really matter. It’s something for you without anything required in return except a little love. No bill to pay, no insurance to renew, no reminder that you’ve been slack.

Unless of course you haven’t sent any cards...then the person that sent the card you now hold in your hand is wondering...’where’s mine?’

There’s still time to post them for this year :-)

Just Wondering

2012-01-09T12:07:00.002+11:00

I was in the ladies today, washing my hands, when I noticed the sprinkler head poking it’s nose out from the ceiling. As this is my first day back at work after a two break and I’m feeling less than enamoured with being in the office my mind drifted into another realm ;

What would happen if I put flame to a scrunched up piece paper under it?

The image of water spraying out of it like a upside-down sprinkler: The sound of squeals from the office outside; as women in high heels, men in ties, scatter like roaches towards the fire escapes.

I would casually stroll out of the ladies, ask. ‘what’s going on?’ Before joining the exodus down the stairs.

We’d gather in the mustering point in Hyde Park and wait.

Fire Wardens, ‘highly trained’ office workers acting out childhood fantasies rush around attempting to take roll call, but flat feet and bulging waistlines put a stop to that dream years ago. They became desk jockeys instead and try to exert their power now with a clipboard and pen. The missing people have gone for coffee.

Fire engine, men in uniform, the ones that realised the dream of saving lives and property from the ravages of flame. Rush into the building. Only our floor and the ones above and below have been evacuated as only the middle one has smoke.

My fellow workers speculate ‘what could be wrong?’ I sit on the wall and wait, playing my iPhone and absorbing some vitamin D from the dampled sunlight.

After the real deal has extinguished the flame in the bathroom caused by ‘Paper Towel Inferno’, I can see the headline in The Telegraph (it wouldn’t even rate a sidebar in the SMH or Australian) we are free to return to work. We’ve lost two hours of productivity and the use of the ladies bathroom on 11.

It’s amazing where the human mind can take you down a path of thinking that is completely out of character. I would never set fire to anything, except a BBQn for food and logs for heating. Maybe this just shows the degree of satisfaction I derive from my job.

Maybe, I need help.

OuttaTowner

2012-01-08T22:07:00.001+11:00

I have had a week of visitors. First my mate WM came to visit from Canberra. We spent a couple of days drinking wine, eating fine food and Dorising* about the place. We took a drive up into the Blue Mountains for a Cream Tea at ‘The Pie in the Sky’ in Bilpin and a bit of sightseeing.

I like to take people up the mountains for a cream tea because it’s by far and away the best cream tea I have ever found outside of Devon. The guy there, makes the scones and jam on site and he uses the best King Island cream. None of that squirty cream out of a can. Real thick luscious cream. I always have a cup of Earl Grey with it and it’s just about as perfect as you can get. WM enjoyed it, and the beef, bacon and cheese pie too.

After lunch we drove along Bells End Line of Road towards Lithgow while WM looked at scenery. After a bit we came across some lovely scenery over to the left and soon pulled of the road into a small gravel car park. It was the car park for Rock Hill View Point.

As neither WM or I were dressed for a bush walk, we both had on flip flops we asked the little old lady who had just returned, ‘Is it very rough?’

‘Oh no,’ she replied, ‘just a little up and down’.

After we’d bee walking across rocks and gravel for about 10 minutes the path took a detour down. The path suddenly was at a 45 degree angle. We very carefully clambered down.

‘That must be the up and down bit’. We said.

It wasn’t. The path did this several times, before we both became convinced that e were going to break something while attempting the path in our Aussie work boots. So we turned around and head back to the car.

We had Cara with us and we decided to video her running up half the hill we climbed up and down.

It was, frankly hilarious, but I think you needed to be there.

We got back to the car, and downed a bottle of water each. It was after all a perfect Mountains day at 28 degrees with about 70% humidity.

We very nearly stopped in for a refuel at the ‘Pie in the Sky’ on the way but resisted.

Cara's YouTube Video

*Dorising = going out and about with no particular purpose except to get out of the house. Just like the oldies, Stan and Doris.

Spore Harbingers

2012-01-03T11:48:00.003+11:00

I have been referring the kittens, as a collective, as my spore harbingers. Three people have now asked me what that means, so I figure there must be others out there not game to ask, so I shall explain.

The name came about as they have ringworm.

Ringworm is a fungal skin infection, rather than an intestinal worm that sucks nutrition from the body from the inside. Being a fungus, just like mushrooms, to propagate it releases spores (seeds) into the air. They need warm, moist conditions or damage to the affected area to thrive.

spore |spôr|
noun Biology
a minute, typically one-celled, reproductive unit capable of giving rise to a new individual without sexual fusion, characteristic of lower plants, fungi, and protozoans.

harbinger |ˈhärbənjər|
noun
a person or thing that announces or signals the approach of another :
witch hazels are the harbingers of spring.
the kittens are the harbingers of ringworm because they carry the spores.

Are we good now?

Picture: Cat Health Guide
Reference: Definitions from Apple Dictionary

Trolls

2012-01-03T01:03:00.004+11:00

As a child I was told a fairytale about three goats crossing a bridge to get to the lush green meadow on the other side. It's called The Three Billy Goats Gruff.

The first goat was small and as he crossed a big, fat, hairy troll jumps up from under the bridge and stopped him.

‘This is my bridge Goat you dare to cross, for your insolence I shall gobble you up.’

‘Troll, I am but a small, skinny goat, I will make a poor meal for you. There will be another goat along soon that shall make a much better feast’.

Being hungry, the Troll decided to wait and let the small goat pass.

Moments after the kid crossed, another goat came along. This one was bigger than the first, but still quite small. He’d seen what the first goat had done and decided to try the same thing if the Troll were to appear.

Once again the Troll jumped out and stopped the goat in his tracks.

‘Goat, this is my bridge, how dare you cross?’

‘I am but a medium sized goat, Troll. I know that a much larger, meater goat than I shall be crossing very soon, he’d make a much bigger meal for you.’

Being greedy and famished, the Troll decided to wait for the next goat and let the goat cross into the clover filled meadow.

After a few minutes had passed the Troll tummy was rumbling, he was very much looking forward to this large meal he had been promised.

The clippity clop of hooves let him know another goat was trying to cross his bridge. He jumped out from underneath the bridge with a growl. There, standing before him was the biggest, plumpest goat he ever did see. He was a beauty. A lovely long beard and shining curved horns.

‘You dare to step on my bridge Goat!?’

‘I do, Troll. Who are to stop me?’

‘This is my bridge, and I say who goes and I say you cannot pass. You are to be my dinner, for you are nice and fat.

The goat was not happy about this, so he put his head down and charged at the Troll. The goat butted the Troll in the belly with his horns and tossed him in the air. As the Troll came down, the goat caught him again and threw him off the bridge.

The goat looked over the rail of the bridge and couldn’t see the Troll. He was gone.

The goat crossed into the meadow and ate the grass with his friends.

They never heard from or saw the Troll again. Maybe he had died, or maybe he was just too ashamed at being bested by smartest beasts than he, to show his face again.

Thanks to http://www.nydamprints.com/goatsgruff.html

New Years Day

2012-01-03T00:01:00.005+11:00

I started my year with music and photography. I went to Field Day at the Domain.

Of the 31 acts playing I’d heard of three. Moby, Calvin Harris and Gotye. As I was lucky enough to have a photo pass I was able to take photos while wandering around amongst the crowd.

I took advantage of this and decided to do a Street Fashion shoot for Fashion Studio. It was fun, because by 1.30pm most of the 20 something crowd where already a little or lot drunk. Most of the girls were in short shorts and even shorter tops and the boys were wearing much the same.
These Guys support Oscar's Law, so they can't be all bad

I saw two acts that I haven’t seen before New Navy and Spank Rock. New Navy was more to my taste.
Calvin Harris on Stage

I tested the waters with the photo pass and got into the Pit for Calvin Harris. I got a couple of good shots, but the set up of the stage made it hard for me to get the perfect shot. It was fun and so loud I could feel my glasses vibrating on the bridge of my nose. It was awesome, but I really must remember earplugs the next time I do this.

I got taken backstage about 5pm. I hung out with a few friends and met a few new ones…I love meeting new people. At 5.40 I went into the pit again and photographed the Goyte set. Being the type of festival that Field Day is, he played his more upbeat, drum heavy, toe tapping songs. Again my glasses got to jumping, and one of the girls in the front row laughed because I knew all the songs. She’s asked, ‘How do get a job like that?’

I replied, ‘persistence, practice and a little talent’.
'In your Light' by Gotye
I came away from the day sunburnt, but very happy and I got some great photos

Resolutions

2011-12-31T19:13:00.001+11:00

I didn’t make any resolutions last year because I was in such a bad place I couldn’t see the point. At that point in my life I was having issues even seeing myself seeing the year out.

Clearly I’m in a better place this year (despite still being broke) that I have decided to make some resolutions that stand a chance of being seen through.

1. Exercise more.
I’ve been fairly sedentary in 2011. My clothes are shrinking and that isn’t a good thing. SO I hoping to walk more and maybe start swimming again.

2. Photograph more
With three photography gigs for others in 2011, I figure four or more in 2012 will see my record improved. I’m going to offer my services in order to improve my portfolio.

3. Go out and see people
I’ve been out rarely in 2011, so I intend to attend more pub gigs, dine out a little more and go to more cultural events.

4. Pay down my debts
In an attempt to make my goal of working from home come true…I will be ploughing cash into my debts. At least 10% more than each monthly payment is required.

5. Write more
While I really enjoy writing I find it’s often the first thing that goes when other ‘bright shiny objects’ divert my attention. In 2011 I have written just over 110 entries andthat averages out at one every three days. I’m going to aim for once every two days (on average) and that’s about 240 entries. These entries may be in the form of articles, opinion pieces and reviews, plus, in the news round-ups.

I think that will do me for the year. I like to be busy, but any more and I’d have no time for actually doing any of them.

I wish you all a very Happy New Year and that it a great year for you all.

(Anonymous, even though you’re trolling my comments, you have a good 2012 too, it may give you something better to do)

2011: Au revoir

2011-12-31T18:47:00.001+11:00

I’m thankful for few things in 2011.

It’s been an all round shitty year that started with nearly eight weeks of unemployment with a scattering of tour bus trips. While these trips keep the wolf from the door, the black dog crept in through the side door and stayed around for the year. I’m still in the process of vacating him, but at least I’ve moved him stuff out onto the lawn.

Cara. A white dog. She came into my life in mid February and while she was supposed to be a temporary tenant, the little thing got under my skin and become a fully fledged member of the family when I officially adopted her in April. Who knew a one-eyed Chihuahua would have such a big character and influence on my life for the positive.

I learnt how to bake bread and wrote a book of recipes in memory of Muv

I expanded my experience in the photography of events. I worked at the Jurassic Lounge evenings at the Australian Museum and I got to take pictures at a music festival of a prominent Australian artist. These have been unpaid gigs, but very must who you know, rather that what. To those who’s. Thanks :-)

I commenced studying for a Certificate IV in Celebrancy in an attempt to take control of my life and working hours. I’m hoping to get out of the office environment in the next couple of years, so I’m grateful that I’ve been able to identify in myself, despite the need to repay debt, the need for more time at home.

Employment has been fairly consistent since early in the year. There was the mail order place, the construction firm, the government dept and the electricity provider. A bevy of varied contracts, that have offered me a variety of experiences, both good and bad, and a few good friends.

Thank you to my friends for being there when I needed you and still being there when I needed you to give me space (you know who you are, so I won’t name names).

All in all, 2011, I shall not be sad to see you go, but I shall remember the few things that have been good.

Goodbye 2011…bring on 2012, it can only get better.

Never...

2011-12-27T22:37:00.000+11:00

'Never a good deed goes unpunished'

In 1980, Clare Booth Luce, wrote those words in the book 'The Book of Laws'. What do you think caused her to have such a pessimistic outlook on life? She was voted into Congress in the 40s, a pretty good achievement in those times. She was the editor of Vogue and Vanity Fair in the 30s. She was 84 when she passed away in 1987.

A pharmacist quoted her at me today. After she'd sold me anti fungal cream to apply to the ringworm that has sprouted on my left side.

A few weeks I fostered some cats. They would have surely died if I hadn't have done this. The only problem is they brought fungal disease into the house. I've been treating them with shampoo washes, iodine cream and regular hoovering (those that know me will know this is the hardest of the treatments). It takes time to get rid of it and it has a two week incubation period.

This is it for me. I'm done, all tapped out. Once this intake is gone I'm never helping again unless it's throwing money at a problem.

Not-so-much-help desk

2011-12-15T13:20:00.001+11:00

IT guys are generally considered to be smart. They will often have the words, geek, nerd, or egg head banded about next to their names. So you can imagine my surprise when I met one who was clearly smart, but acted in a dumb way.

Yesterday my laptop screen went wibbley. In that it pixalited and the overriding colour changed to pink. I’m not a big fan of pink, but it was the fuzziness that was caused the problem. It made it difficult to read anything on the screen. So I called the ‘Service Desk’ after performing a couple of standard first line support tests. I rebooted it twice and tried resetting the display.

The local Onsite guy came to see me. Apart from being kinda hot, he was useful. He accepted that I had done the first line stuff and went straight to having a look at the guts. Turns out the cable between the guts and screen was damaged, so I had to take it away and see the ‘Acer’ guy, but in the meantime I needed to be given a monitor so I could do some work.

Today I’m working out of a different office. When I got in this morning I had to call James (name changed to protect the idiot) to get a workstation on my desk. I rag him, gave him directions to my desk, twice, and waited. At 10.30 he turned up with a monitor. He plugged it all in and when I suggested that it may be hard to see the screen if I needed to have the laptop in front of me.

‘So you need a keyboard?’ He asked.

‘Yes, please. That and a mouse would be most helpful.’

Half an hour later he turned up with a keyboard. I’m still waiting for the mouse and it’s gone 1pm.

I’m having to use the track-pad. I’ve got back ache now.

People are strange

2011-12-12T22:18:00.003+11:00

The weather is somewhat inclement at the moment for the time of year. This is having a negative effect on the population of Sydney and surrounds. The storm drains are flowing like winterbournes and the temperature gage is barely touching 20 degrees Celsius. With only two weeks to Christmas everyone expects to be sweating in light chiffons, not snuggling into overcoats.

Last night I was woken by heavy rainfall on the roof and three cats and a dog trying to hide under the covers when the thunder rocked the house at 3am. I woke this morning in no mood to play the commuter game. But a meeting in the city at 10am meant I to, and win.

I find myself hyper observant when I'm tired and testy. I notice small thing that wouldn't normally confuse or annoy, today, I'm in uber form. I'd win the gold if observance of human oddity was an Olympic sport.

Why did the woman squeeze herself into the second of two seats when a three seater remained unoccupied?

Why did the three seater remain unoccupied until every other seat in the carriage was taken?

When two people did sit in the unoccupied seats, why did the guy who was clearly not travelling with the girl sit so close to her?

Why did the guy stand next to the spare seat looking at it like it had the lurgy?

This seat was just in front of me. When I had boarded the train the seat I was sat on and lurgy seat had formed a sixer until I flipped the back. There was nothing wrong with the seat, it was clean, there were nothing nasty on the floor and there wasn't even any marker pen graffiti tags on the seat back. It was an inoffensive seat, just waiting to be squished by damp bottoms (from the rain, wow you're disgusting!).

Being of a curious and questioning nature this behaviour led me to hypothesise why people would behave in such a way. I would have liked to have put together a brief survey called 'why are you avoiding that seat', but I don't think it would have been well received. For forty minutes to tossed over various reasons in my head and I finally came up with this theory.

Here's my theory.

People are weird and we'll never be able to guess at what makes them tick because most of the time they don't know why they do things.

End of theory. Damn, another PhD idea blown out the water.

A storm drain in full flood

Helping who

2011-12-10T12:54:00.007+11:00

I may have written about this before, if so and you can remember it, sorry. For everyone else, something new :-)

I'm a sucker. I try to do my bit by being a good person and helping those in need. Whether it be buying the homeless lunch, or looking after animals in need.

My latest helping hand has been extended to four cats. Three kittens and a mum. They are lovely and energetic, but last week they were all diagnosed with cat flu and one of them had ringworm. I was sent away with antibiotics for the flu, twice daily treatments and cream for the ring worm. I have been dutifully administering the treatments.

Today, I took one of the kittens to a vet clinic for rehoming. They couldn't take him because he has now too has ringworm. I was told by the vet the all the cats have to shampooed to kill the ringworm. Not just once either, but three times, a week apart. The cream I was given is of no use and I've been wasting my time. In the mean time she has more than likely infected the other cats and me too.

Giles and Willow, cute but infested

Once again I get royally f**ked for trying to help out. The two affected kittens have to be segregated for the others and treated, the others have to shampooed, 'just in case'.

I've ben told by people (you know who you are) not to help. Why won't I learn? Do I call the rescue organisation and tell them to collect the foster cats, so I then only have to deal with my animals. Look after my own family first and myself? I'm torn into the good vs bad person cycle again.

I had a good day yesterday, I was feeling upbeat, despite my calve muscle still hurting from last weekends activities, I felt like doing things. After today news I feel like taking to my bed again.

But before I do that I have to wrestle at least five cats and dress the ensuing lacerations on my arms and body.

Cinderella Story

2011-12-07T21:07:00.003+11:00

I realized something the other day when I was talking to a friend in the UK over Skype.

I'm lonely and the black dog is waiting in the back garden, just waiting for his chance to get inside; a crack in the door, an open window.

There has been a sequence of events that have led me to this conclusion.

The first being; the embracement of the animal welfare movement. While I've always been pro-animal rights, I've not felt strongly enough about anything to get involved, to march or protest. Once I'd got involved I met some lovely people with a healthy need to help our four legged friends, others with a not so healthy need to help bordering on obsessive. This led my Facebook wall being inundated with invitations, calls to foster, videos that made me ball my eyes out and mild abuse for sharing and consequently, not sharing. I culled my friends list.

Not before the Millie incident though.

I came to the conclusion from that, that one small dog with very few needs (except snuggles) is all I need and can handle on the canine front. Going out to work five day a week leaves little room for a dog with separation anxiety issues.

Knowing this, I found I could help dogs find homes by taking pictures for the rescue groups, but this meant going to the pound. And they don't just have dogs at the pound.

I find myself poopy scooping for five cats at the moment. I fostered four, adopted one. because I went to the pound. Don't get me wrong I'm glad to do my bit to help these creatures find worthy homes but I now know, I acknowledge, I did it because I'm lonely and I was looking to fill that void in my heart.

I’m lacking the companionship that comes with being in a relationship. While a little nookie would be nice, it’s the other more mundane activities that it would nice to share. Digging the garden, having someone hold the ladder while i change the light bulbs, going to the movies, wandering around, going for a drive or sharing a meal. The simple everyday things.

Most of my friends are loved up, in relationships with kids. The one person I’d dearly love to spend that quality everyday time with lives on a different continent and shows no signs of moving back to Australia anytime soon. I’ve been hanging out for that to happen for a couple of years now, unable to move on due the feelings I have. Deep feelings that go to the very core of me. The other day I felt those feelings lessen. I’m not sure what was said, what’s been done or not done that has caused this, but the heart strings are being tugged just a little less.

I’ve tried to date over that time in an attempt not to wait, but I always find myself looking across the table, looking at my date and thinking, ‘but you’re not Mr. Right’. I had thought I’d found Mr Right, but maybe I was wrong. I find dating hard as most of my friends are attached and rarely go out, internet dating has proved to be a bust (do I smell, even online) and I find as soon as Aussie men find out I’m well educated and reasonably successful in my chosen field they run as far as their tatty trainers will carry them.

Maybe I have found Mr. Right, but the human desire for companionship is getting the better of me. Driving me forward after not seeing him for nearly a year. Driving me into the arms of another (when I find another). But would it be unfair to the other? I’ve never found anyone that fills the shoes of Mr. Right in quite the same way. They just don’t fit.

This is my dilemma. I’m lonely beyond belief but I find myself snuggling at home amongst the furkids hoping that one day, my prince will turn up and slip his foot into a perfect fitting shoe.

Dallas Flight

2011-12-07T21:00:00.004+11:00

This is a very nasty accident. It's a tragedy that should never have happened and I really hope she recovers with her sight intact.

But I curious. Why has this made the front page of the newspaper in Australia?

Is it because she's a model/beauty? If it had been me, would it have been reported? Just wondering.

Viral Veronica

2011-12-06T18:46:00.000+11:00

There is a debate today in the paper about whether the recipe for a bird flu virus should be published. This flu has a 60% mortality rate and spreads in the air as easily as the common cold. While, based on recent shock stories of a growing world population and the problem that will cause, it would seem killing off 4.2 billion people seems like a good idea, the thing that concerns me most is in the second line of the story.

‘The question gripping scientists after virologists said they had developed a bird flu virus’

The key word here is developed. The buggers made this killer bug...what were they thinking!?

Littering

2011-12-01T20:59:00.005+11:00

I picked up an empty can, off the street, the other day after seeing three people kick it. It was crumpled and torn and only a few feet away from a rubbish bin. It seemed the sensible thing to do although one woman was heard to exclaim, ‘Eww...that’s dirty!’

It brought to mind two recent interactions.

The first was with a snooty lady in a dog park. I was there with Cara and Millie. Cara being the massive trouble maker that she is was off the lead and following behind Millie, who was on lead, and I. About half way across the pack I noticed that Cara had stopped to go to the loo, so I slowed my pace but kept walking, with the intention of cleaning it up once she was done. A large woman was walking towards me, smoking a cigarette but without a dog, and as she got closer, she inhaled deeply and asked in a very terse tone, ‘Are you aware that your dog is doing a poop?’ Yes, I kid you not, she used the word ‘poop’.

‘Yes, I am’.

‘Are. You. Going. To. Clean. It. Up?’

‘Yes, I am’. I nodded and smiled as I spoke.

‘Then why aren’t you watching?’ Another massive inhale saw a third of the cigarette length turn to ash.

‘Do you like to be watched while you have a poo?’ It seemed a fair question, I know I don’t and I know Cara doesn’t. She gets performance anxiety and tries to walk away from it. It doesn’t work and you end up with a trail of bunny balls. Millie didn’t care who watched, she was quite proud of the massive piles she produced.

The woman took exception at my question, and huffed and puffed away from me, her arms beating the air, no doubt imagining it was me. Then she threw her cigarette butt to the ground before stomping on it. I pulled a small blue bag from my pocket and scooped up the tiny dropping Cara had deposited.

She didn’t hear my say. ‘Are you going to pick up that piece of litter that can take up to ten years to break down, whereas this tiny poo will be gone in about three days if I left it?’.

The second conversation was with the fruit seller guy outside my office in the city. I don’t know how we got away from bruised cherries, and how to squeeze peaches in just the right way, to rubbish, but he said to me, ‘if every person picked up just one piece of litter a day, can you imagine how quickly the streets would be clear?’

I’m not completely innocent of dropping litter, but I will say that I try never to drop something that will not decompose or been take by nature. I had it drummed into me by Muv from a very young age, Don’t litter. I’ll happily chuck an apple core into the bushes, although I mostly eat them down to the woody bit anyway. I’ll pour excess fluid onto the grass or into the gutter and I had no hesitation throwing New Moon out of the car window (it’s paper, it’ll mulch, it’s half-way there already), but plastics go in the pocket or bag until I find a bin. I’ll often turn down bags when shopping, which confuses check-out folks, because putting items in a bag is part of the training.

There have been anti-littering campaigns, signs and fines all around the world for decades. No matter what the powers that be do or say, people are essentially a lazy bunch that expects someone else to clean up after them; ever been in a cinema or theatre after the performance has ended, a sports arena at the end of the game, a picnic ground at the end of the day? Take that packet, drinks carton, pie case and pop it in the bin on the way out. At the very least put it next to the bin as I saw happening after a Rugby Tri Nations game in South Africa. The bins were full, so rather than leaving bottles on walls, by flag poles, smashed on the ground, etc., they made it easy to clean up by gathering it all in one place. Of course, they could have as easily taken it home.

Please don’t litter, but don’t judge those who you think are, you may just find you’re just as guilty in their eyes. Littering is a dirty issue and only we can fix it by taking our rubbish home with us.

An example of littering in Lagos, Nigeria

Landlords

2011-11-21T16:04:00.003+11:00

I’m slightly confused by how dumb people can be. When I say people I mean my landlord.

I’ve lived in the house I’m in for just over a year. When I moved in the fireplace and ceiling fan in the dining room were marked as working. Neither were and I ended up paying $330 to have the ceiling fan replaced and waiting nearly six months for the landlords to pay-up to have the fireplace fixed. We were already nearly two months into cold weather by the time they got around to it.

Now summer is rapidly approaching and the house with no cooling is heating up. So I posed a question to my landlord. Would you consider installing ceiling fans if I paid 50% of the cost? I provided them with three quotes.

I wasn't asking for anything fancy like this little beauty

They came back with the reply of ‘You may install the ceiling fans at your own cost’. Sounds like a bargain to me. Not!

Shorty after this exchange, I discovered that due the landlords having the bills sent here directly I had over paid the water bill by over $520. So I went back with the following suggestion.

‘Please install the ceiling fans by Christmas and you don’t need to reimburse me for the overpaid water bills.’

I’m pretty sure this reads as I’ll pay for the ceiling fans and improve your property with my own money.

Last night at half past midnight I received an email from the landlord asking for my bank details.

Is it just me that thinks these people are clearly idiots to refuse this offer? (Yes, I understand I’m a bit strange for offering, but I really need some cool air this summer) Meanwhile, I plan on buying a kickarse big fan and taking it with me when I move out.

Doing my bit

2011-11-18T23:38:00.002+11:00

I always been a cat lover. Well, not a cat Lover, but a lover of cats...let me start again.

I have always had cats in my life and I adore having them in it. That’s better. I grew up with cats (Jodie and Sorrell, then came Percy), for a few years when I was married I couldn’t have cats, hubby was allergic, but I eventually got them back into my life (Puss and Newk, then later Oren). I enjoy have cats around as they bring me great joy. Of course there have been moments of heartbreak when the dear ones have passed away.

Recently, due to my involvement with animal cruelty awareness (www.oscarslaw.org) and various other rescue groups I have found myself with more cats in my house than planned. After Millie Dogdog came and went from my life in a whirlwind of destruction, I realised that I couldn’t have any dog larger than Cara. I am just not set up for it and despite living a reasonably solitary life, I still have to go to work, so cats it is.

First I adopted a couple of pussy cats that had been in foster care for nearly a year. Jack and Danni. Now I’ve fostered a few myself. I currently have nine cats in my house, four of them kittens between six and nine weeks old.

All the fosters are on behalf of Sydney Pet Rescue and Adoption and are from Renbury Farm Shelter. There is an eighteen month old mum and nine week old kitten. They were surrendered by their owners because, ‘she had a kitten.’ My response was, well, that wouldn’t have happened if you’d been responsible and got her desexed. Mum is called Polly (stoopid name for a cat) and bub is Charley (pictured). Both mainly black with white bibs and socks.

The kittens were dumped by the gate of the shelter in a box. A silver tabby and a tabby are brother and sister are six or seven weeks old. The tabby is less active than the silver, but still mischievous, and the longer I have him, the more he develops. The silver, she’s a little minx. By day they are in large runs, but at night all hell breaks loose...bedlam, but they have a cute factor off any scale that has been devised, so they could pretty much burn down the house and they’d be forgiven.

They tumble, jump, climb, do the sideways fuzzed up crab at anything strange things and at each other, they try to nick Cara’s dinner, they do nick Puss’ dinner, they accept the hisses of the grown up cats un-phased and they make me laugh.

Because they are rarely still it’s not easy getting photos, but I’m working on it in between cleaning up an extraordinary amount of poo. Seriously, for such small creatures they create an awful lot of waste matter. It’s really quite remarkable. If I was a science type person, I’d bet there was some sort of study that could be done on the ratios of waste to body mass.

In the meantime, I shall keep playing and cleaning up after them until they find their furever home (that’s the new cute animalcentric term), and laughing heartily and sharing their antics :-)

Rules Sux

2011-11-17T21:08:00.003+11:00

I’m friends with a random add on Facebook called Piggie VonEspie. Piggie is a corgi that lives in San Clemente, California with her pet hoomans. She likes to spend her time sleeping, window snozzling, going on corgi hill hikes and car rides and hoarding socks. What I love about Piggie (apart for her mischievous nature and playful barking) is that she often has intelligent words games as her status.

Today’s game was this:

‘Let’s play WORD SCRAMBLE – just change one letter of the word before. Today’s word is: SLEEP’

Being based in the US, the word game has often been going for a few hours by the time my small piece of Sydney wakes up. So, SLEEP went to Steep, went to Leapt and so on until I added Realm after Cream. The next word was ‘Please’

Now, I may have spent a small amount of time studying the English language, and I’m pretty sure that Please, could in no way come after realm. For starters it has six letters rather than five, I’d rather not go too deeply into what’s wrong with this...but I’m sure you can see a few things too.

Anyway...my point on this is all about following instructions and rules.

Why is it so hard for people to do so? Of course I speak generally here, but as I drove into work this morning in the pouring rain and low visibility, so many were ignoring the road rule that says turn on your lights in adverse weather...of course you can guarantee that these same people have their fog lights on when there is a clear sky.

Why is it that I always get pulled over by the RBT (Random Breath Tests) because I follow the rules; slow down give room, when I see flashing lights. I get stopped because this is classed as suspicious. If I powered through without a pause, I’d be fine.

There seems to be confusion caused by rules and instructions. We’re told they are there for our own good, to help us live a safe and productive life. Most of the time I would agree that they are. It’s safer to drive with lights on. It’s safer not to smoke in an enclosed space, whiles it’s undoubtedly safer not to smoke at all. It easier if you follow the instructions provided with the flat pack. It’s easier for the next person to place the next word in the sequence if you don’t completely stuff it up. Sometimes however, confusion, frustration and danger is caused because there are simply so many rules and instructions to follow that we forget.

It was so much easier when there were only ten.

Lost Productivity

2011-11-16T17:32:00.002+11:00

I tried to access a website today while at work. When I typed in the name of the site I was rewarded with a red screen and the words Prohibited, contravenes and blocked.

When I couldn’t access the site from my work computer (I just wanted to confirm something that would have taken no more than a couple of minutes) I referred to Safari on my iPhone. Reception of 3G isn’t what it could be when I’m out west working in the demountable building, what would have taken two or three minutes tops on the desktop connected to the network, took getting on for twenty minutes as I waited for pages to load. Then the looking the map up on whereis.com for directions.

I understand this blocking is preserve productivity of employees, so they don’t spend all day surfing the web, but sometimes you just need to check something when you thinking about it, rather than write a note to remind you to look later. I don’t understand how such a tight policy preserve that productivity. After all, I could spend the entire day reading the SMH or chatting with friends on LinkedIn, isn’t that worse than a quick check of the local doggie parks?

Did I mention all webmail is also blocked? Yet when I try to save an external contact (i.e. my agent) to my outlook contacts, it gets deleted each week. So I have to type in three addresses each week to send off my time sheet. Oh...and I can’t extract files onto a USB stick.

I know that companies need to have policies and procedures for the things that they do and do not allow, but it would seem that the company I am currently working for are a tad more paranoid about internet use than they should be. Afterall, we’re not making systems for the countries defence or planning security for the upcoming Obama visit. We are a private company mostly owned by the NSW Government (whom incidentally allow access to Facebook, I haven’t even tried to access that, I think my computer would implode) that has an average tenure of 23.8 years. This is not your regular, everyday internet surfer dude.

I know one senior employee that brings an iPad to work with outside internet access so he can effectually do his job. It’s the only way he can access some sites for research purposes.

I would say this, while it not my place to review your internet policies, I would say, it’s time for a change.

Street Walker

2011-11-08T21:04:00.005+11:00

I’ve come to the conclusion that the human race can be a pretty unhelpful bunch, but I also like that they can be nice too.

I know this, because I have days the same, but I have recognised this in myself and have developed ways to say, ‘Thanks, but bugger off’, without actually saying it.

As a way to develop my photography skills I do unpaid work for a website called Fashion Studio. This involves me going out onto the streets of Sydney and looking at fashion trends. Unfortunately, due to privacy laws, I have to seek permission before taking pictures. This is a shame for a few reasons;

1. Often the best fashionista is having a bad hair/bad handbag/bad ‘breakout’ day. This usually means they look fabulous and to mere mortals they appear to have nothing wrong or out of place on their perfectly quaffed head.
2. They are in a hurry. This is usually a the person mentioned above who has until the moment you approach them been gliding along with ethereal grace, clearly in no hurry to get to their destination.
3. They completely ignore you. Politely, you say, ‘excuse me.’ They pretend they haven’t heard, I like being ignored, it’s gives me such a happy joy-joy feeling.
4. They tell you to ‘f*** off’. This is always very pleasant and will often issue before I’ve even said ‘Excus...
5. They say, ‘would you mind if I said no?’ Pretty hard to argue with. I tried once, I replied with, ‘Yes, I would, terribly.’ She was a number 1, she looked stunning, but she still said no, I let her go.
6. They try to pose, it never looks natural.

This is how I approach.

‘Excuse me, my name if is Jodie and I’m a fashion photographer.’ If this get one of the responses from above, I start looking for the next desirable. If they stop, I know I’m in with a 70/30 chance of getting a picture.

I go on to explain. ‘I work for Fashion Studio, an online magazine that looks at how catwalk fashion translate to street wear. Today we’re looking at xyz and I could help but notice your stunning/fabulous/amazing xyz’.

A lot are flattered, as they should be, some not so, and decline in a variety of ways

They will then ask, ‘Do I just stand here?’ So I’ll suggest a twist of the hip and look at the camera. They like that it slims them down, I like that it naturally get them putting their best foot forward (good for nice shoes) and get them to relax and maybe giggle a bit. Occasionally this doesn’t work and the full length shot looks awful, in that case I’ll take a waist up shot.

After the picture has been taken I give them a sheet that contains details of the site, my name and a URL of the site and tell them they can view their picture in the next couple of days. They go away smiling, enjoying the moment of spontaneity.

Personally if I was approached by a ‘fashion photographer’ and told what I was wearing was the height of fashion, I’d be happy to pose. The whole process that about 3 minutes. I’m not selling anything and not getting you sign up to support a charity with a regular monthly withdrawal of funds. What I notice is, that a lot of people will not even take the time to find out.

If I have the info sheet visible at ‘Excuse me’ I get a higher rate of Number 4, than if I highlight the camera, then bring out the info. Paper = selling in people’s minds.

This is not the first time I have had to solicit. I’ve done market research, I canvassed for the Alpaca Association and recently I’ve started doing voluntary work for an animal welfare group. Never selling, always offering information or offering something for free. So I’ve been on the receiving end of the general public’s wrath for a number of causes, so while I expect abuse of varying degrees, I’m still not used to it. I have learnt not to behave in a rude manner, I either do not make eye contact (the first rule of selling stuff) or I politely decline. If it’s charity, I explain I have my list of five each year and I review at Christmas. Happy to take a leaflet. Of course I do donate to charity, but it’s an ad-hoc thing and it’s rarely the big charities that spend hundreds of thousands on paying backpackers in Martin Place. Often, it’ll just be someone asking directions.

So please give this some thought next time you are approached by a stranger on a busy street.

Ask not what you can do for them, but what they can do for you.

In my case, you might just get a few minutes of fame.

PS. Thank you to the 16 lovely ladies that said 'Yes, I'd love too' today, two of whom are about.

Sharing and caring

2011-11-06T23:48:00.002+11:00

I was taught as a child that ‘sharing was caring’.

In the days of sharing involving a tube of Fruit Pastilles or Rolos, I would completely agree, sharing did indeed indicate you cared.

In these days of social media where sharing with a simple click, can trigger a flaming, is it really caring to share?

There are a few things I am passionate about. One of them is Animal Rights. I do what I can to help, I volunteer with Oscar’s Law NSW and I have a healthy family of cats, a dog and half a dozen chooks (chickens). I also, don’t kill anything that lives outside, such as spiders or cockroaches (I’ll be honest and say they don’t always fair so well if they stray inside, unless it’s a Huntman, they always got put outside).

A few weeks ago I shared an image and a news story about a cat that lost her kittens to what can only be described as a vicious act of cruelty perpetrated by someone that deserves to be thrown in prison with thugs that will do the same to him. The image was disturbing, but small, you could just make out the wounds on the kittens but the look on the mother cats face was undeniable grief and confusion about what had happened to her babies. Cats tend to be extremely attentive and good mothers.

The share caused an outrage amongst my ‘friends’. Mostly my ‘animal loving’ ‘friends’, most of whom I've never met.

I was told to take down the share because it was too disturbing.
I was told it was unnecessary to share such a horrific image and story.
I was told, in a private message, that I was glorifying the act of cruelty.

I was doing none of these things in my eyes. I shared the story because it touched me in a heartfelt way and I believed people needed to know that people still do horrible thing to animals and getaway with it, mainly because people turn a blind eye to the horrific acts.

If the image had been of a human mother and her baby, outrage would have united the people into finding the perpetrator. The police would have been scrambled to the four winds until the guilty party had been found. The story would have been posted on every newsfeed and in every paper around the nation, no stone would have remained unturned. But it was just a cat, so I don’t need to see it’s pain.

I find this double standard unacceptable.

Since then I have chosen not to share stories of distress, cute doe-eye puppies in need of a home or kittens playing with string to entice. And now I find myself being reprimanded for not sharing.
I shall continue to not share out of respect for the friends that ASKED me not too as it was too distressing and they wanted to adopt everything they saw. My true friends who know that with respect for my beliefs comes a respect for theirs.

I shall continue to do my bit for animal right, but I’ll warn you now, I’ve been dicked about by volunteers before and I don’t take kindly to it. You want my help to make a difference…show me a little respect too; it’s not just about the animals there are humans with feelings in this too.

I’m happy to take my ball and Rolos and play in someone else’s garden, anytime, just say the word.

I thought you wanted a short answer?

2011-11-06T19:44:00.003+11:00

Here’s the thing. I’m studying to be a wedding celebrant. I’ve attended the face-to-face part of the course and now I’m about half-way through the assignments.

Today I worked on a few, one about risk management., one about insurances and the other was a 20 point short answer recap on all the other elements of module…stuff about copyright, ongoing professional development and the role of a celebrant in the 21st century.

What is the role of the celebrant in Australian culture in 21st century?

That was easy to answer; My role is to assist people celebrate their special day in a way that is most fitting for them. In the case of weddings I am also there to facilitate the legal aspect of the ceremony.

That about sums it up I think.

Then there were some questions about how many hours of ongoing professional development is required each calendar year (five, in case you’re interested), then this one popped up:

What has been the historical evolution of the role of a Celebrant in both religious and spiritual contexts?

I immediate response was, ‘I don’t care, when did this become a certificate four in philosophy?’

While I believe there is a place for marriage in modern society, I do not believe there a place for God in every marriage ceremony. I also believe that same sex couples have a right to be married (after all why should they be spared the pain of divorce ;-). What I don’t get is how being able to answer this question has any bearing on my being a celebrant, good or otherwise.

I answered it and submitted the following answer:

'I’m sorry, but I don’t understand why this has bearing on my being a good celebrant. Although I would say the evolution has been to take the religious rigor out of wedding ceremonies for those who do not believe in God or are have inter-faith relationships.'

We can only wait to see what the Marker has to say, and I shall be raising this question as inappropriate and unnecessary when it come to course feedback time.

*thanks to Bunbury Marriage Celebrant for the picture

Cats, Dogs and Change Management

2011-10-31T11:18:00.000+11:00

I’ve been thinking about change a lot recently. Actually, I will say, I’ve been thinking about change for about eight years. The only difference recently is, now I have been taking what I’ve been telling others to heart.   I’m listening to my own lessons.

The most recent change that has left me shattered, is of course, the brief but amazing stay of Millie. She swept in and out again in only ten days, but the changes she brought with her affected every being in the household. Puss, the old arthritic codger that he is, ventured into the house only twice when his usual habit of; sunbath in the morning sun, the sleep on Mum’s bed from lunchtime to dinner time, harass Mum for food the second she gets home from work, pop outside for a constitutional, sleep until Mum goes to bed, then sleep curled next to Mum until it’s time for breakfast, was broken by the big black boofa took over the garden and house. He’s slowly coming around to being back in the house, although he still gives me the evil eye.

Oren has been more lastingly affected by, what is now being referred to as, the dogdog incident. Oren has always been verging on feral, but now she’s full time outside. I miss her. She came in this morning and I gave her a hugs, she left shortly afterward leaving behind a thin layer of white hair on my clothes...somethings don’t change.

There are also two other additions to the house. Jack and Danni are two 11 month old cats that I rescued about a week before Millie. They are beginning to settle, but Puss and Oren are still hissing. If only I could reason with them, ‘who would you prefer? Big boofa or two pussy cats, just like you?’

So how does this link to change management.

Watching the animals I have noticed a few of things.

Cats accept change like a 45 year old with 20 years tenure. They really don’t like it. They will resist with all their being and will even go elsewhere if someone will have them (I’m sure Oren now has a secret feeder). You can’t reason with them, and no matter what you say they have to come to the party at their own pace, you give them all the information they require; in the case of cats, food, cuddles and reassuring voices, humans get training, written and spoken word and reassuring voices. Yes, It’s amazing how a reassuring voice works, but only if you believe yourself and aren’t condescending.   It took Puss three months to accept Oren into the house three years ago. Cats don’t trust you, you have to earn their trust and if you break it, it can take months if not years for you to get it back. One mistake and you’re being judged by that for ever more.

Dog accept change like a graduate in a new job out to impress. Excitement is over flowing, they are happy you picked them. They will do almost anything to please you, including checking in with you to make sure you’re still about and haven’t gone anywhere. Loyal to a fault, a dog will accept any change you throw at them, even if it’s to their detriment.

I don’t see these as lack or abundance of intelligence, I see this a establishment of routine.

I can pretty much tell the time of day by where Puss is in the garden or house. In the morning her slowly moves with the sun, always staying just ahead of the shadows. Shadows bring cool air. In the afternoon when the sun is high in the sky, he’ll move inside to the stone floor of the dining room, before moving to my bed. In the late afternoon he’ll be back outside and waiting by the gate when I pull after a day at work. The weekdays and exactly the same. Visitors are considered an inconvenience because they may, and usually do sit where the cat wants to sit at that time of day. New toys, will sit ignored while the cat susses out its intentions, then, only if deemed to worthy and interesting will it get some action.

Dogs will have a routine, but are quite happy to break it for a walk, a ride in the car or visit from a new friend. New things are fun. New toys are to be embraced and enjoyed.

When you disturb that routine, it upsets the balance. Puss will wander around looking at spots. You can almost see the thinking process, ‘is this the right time for this spot?’ if it not, he moves o to the next until he’s found what he looking for.

This same goes for an employee that has a routine. Do you do similar things when you get to the office (in whatever form that is), or even as a housewife/mother. You do things in a certain order. You make a cuppa, you boot the PC, you turn of the voicemail, you say ‘good morning to the person sat next you. Have you ever greeted someone who on annual leave that day? I have.

Ever quit smoking? While your body craves the nicotine, your hands and mind crave the movements. That hand to mouth action is just as hard a habit to break at the chemical intake. It’s essentially a change.

Things happen in our lives that involve change, that we don’t think of as ‘change’. Growing up, illness, family instability, a new person in the office, someone leaving the office. We often write these off as ‘just the way life is’, but they all require a period of adjustment. Sometimes we get warning, sometime we don’t.

With animals, they never get the warnings. It just happens to them. You can tell them for weeks before it happens, ‘I’m going to save a couple of poor kitties from death row, just like you were when we found each other.’ They don’t listen.   Well, actually they do listen, their ears twitch and go back, they tilt their head, but they don’t understand you. It not until the change is upon them that they suddenly realise, ‘we don’t have a choice, but we’re going to fight it anyway’.

Then comes the passive aggressive behaviour; staying out, mewing in a ridiculous pitiful tone but not taking any notice of your reassurances, hissing at the newcomer. This is the same in cats as it is in human resistance.

I watched it, I’ve seen it. Through observation I have developed this theory and I’m sticking by it. The dogs calm down eventually, some quicker than others, but the cats, well you have to work very hard to win them over and it’s never as simple as giving them treats.

No, Really, it's not back pain

2011-10-28T11:12:00.000+11:00

I went to the doctor today. This isn’t an unusual occurrence due to my crappy list of heredity conditions, but what is unusual is that I went to one other than my usual doctor.

Dr. R is quite used to me walking in and hearing the reply to her question of ‘How can I help you today?’ I’m here for more drugs. It means I simple need a new prescription. She knows my background of polycystic kidney, hip reconstructions and blood pressure issues. She’s also helped me scare the black dog away a few times. She also comments on how remarkably self aware I am with what’s going on with my health and body. After years of problems, it helps to be able to explain quickly and succinctly.

On Wednesday night I was woken with a pain in my side. I’d been torturing myself allday about Millie, so I was a tad stressed. This pain was deep in my left side and I knew straight away the pain was in my kidney. I couldn’t sit, lay down or stand without extreme discomfort, so I went with the least painful and paced the bedroom and lounge. After half an hour the pain went away, but my blood pressure was sitting in 149/99. Not ideal.

Yesterday while I was giving a presentation at work, I felt the deep pain again across my entire lower back. I also noticed something unusual in the bathroom.

I called the Doctor. Dr. R is on leave, back Monday. I made an appointment with a Dr. A.

Saw Dr. A this morning. I told him about my symptoms and history. He tested me for back pain saying it unusual that pain should extend across both kidneys. He begrudgingly asked for a wee sample. Was surprised when I came back in less than two minutes. I tried to explain I always drank a bottle of water before a doctors appointment out of habit. He didn’t take my BP, he didn’t weight me. He was surprised that I seemed to have a kidney infection without any symptoms of a bladder infection. He explained that commonly (he objected when I used the word normally) ‘these things start as bladder infection and travel up to the kidneys’. He asked me to cast my mind back to if I had had ‘any pain when urinating?’ He dismissed my concern that a cyst may have burst, which is a genuine concern based of family history, as ‘highly unlikely’ as he smirked.

At this point I was getting a little miffed. I asked, ‘We’ve established that I have a kidney infection. What can we do to clear it up?’

‘Well with kidneys such as yours, you must do everything to keep them clean and flushed at all times. Do you drink plenty of water during the day?’

ARGH! Now I understand why Muv used to say ‘Don’t try and teach me to suck eggs’.

He eventually gave me a prescription for antibiotics, but, boy did I have to work for it. I had to sit through a 10 minute lecture on how to look after my ailing kidneys. Like I needed reminding!? I was told seven years ago by my Nephrologist that without the proper care I could be on dialysis by the age of 45 if I didn’t do as he said. I do as he said. 45 is now only six years away.

I go back next week for a follow up, thank goodness Dr. R will be back from her holidays.

It starts, and ends, with education

2011-10-27T17:32:00.006+11:00

During a short break at work today I took a look at a leading Australian newspaper and it led me to two stories that piqué my interest.

The first was about the death of a 15 year old while she was playing ‘The Choking Game’. According to the article she and her friends had been texting each other about the natural high that it gives. I have a confession to make. I was due to give a talk to a group n Montreal in September, but due to financial issues (they plague me) I was unable to attend. The subject of the talk was ‘Breath Play’; this is where two consenting adults play with the oxygen supply, or lack of. It’s a sexual kink. Autoerotic asphyxiation (playing solo) is responsible for a remarkably high volume of accidental hanging deaths around the world, but often written down as suicide. More often than not, it’s boys or young men looking for the sexual high caused by the deprivation of oxygen to the brain during, self-pleasuring. No one wants to die at this time, but sometimes the complex rigging systems put in place in the case of ‘passing out’ fail.

It's not just teenagers - David Carradine, who died in a Thailand hotel room in 2007 was a well known player of 'the choking game'

While I’m sure the girl in the story wasn’t doing this for a sexual high, it’s never advisable to play these ‘games’ alone. Kids experiment. It’s a matter of fact. Accept it. We’ve all done things alone, that maybe we shouldn’t have. I know I have, many times, (although not recently). The important thing has to be stopping tragedy befalling others. This is one of those things that needs to be spoken about and not brushed under the carpet. When a parent, friend, sibling, or other unfortunate soul finds a loved one hanging, they should never touch the victim or scene and should immediately call the police. When these ‘games’ are being played, schools need to be aware in order to put a stop to them happening. Her parents, bless them, are, in this time of grieving and mourning choosing to send this message. They are to be commended for doing this at such a difficult time.

My thoughts are with her family at this time.

The other story was a resurrection of an old piece of trash talking from a politician, well there’s a surprise!?. This one is about a Queenslander Fiona Simpson saying you can ‘grow out of being gay’. Now she said this in 2002, but now refuses to confirm or deny her current sentiments on the issue. I’m guessing when I say, she’s still a fan of the Exodus Ministries and she still believes what she said nine years ago. The issue here is that she is now a frontbencher and should her party be elected in the next state elections she will have the Community Services portfolio. Not an ideal fit, I would say. But that’s my opinion. You can have your own. I’m glad I don’t live in Queensland, but to be fair NSW has its own twits in power. Equal rights are a right, not a privilege.

And this is why I don’t generally read the newspapers.

That's all I have to say on the matter

2011-10-26T17:39:00.001+11:00

I am a horrible person. It was confirmed today when I took Millie back to the pound. It’s almost certain, unless by chance someone takes a chance on her, that she will be put to sleep next Thursday.

I made the decision this morning after a hell’va night last night. I managed to get Puss inside for the first time since she arrived on the scene. I put Puss in the bedroom and pulled the door to. Millie managed to get in and Puss just hissed at her. Millie barked at him, he ran, she followed, and Puss being slower than he used to be because of his arthritis, she caught him. I caught her as she got him. She let him go and he dashed out the kitchen window which was still open a smidge.

She jumped on the bed three ties in the night. Three times I had to get her down. Each time I lay there listening to her wander the house, wondering what she was chewing now.

This morning, I fed her as usual. Rang a few ‘No kill’ rescues and was told they don’t take surrenders.

I rang the three animal behaviour specialists that I contacted by email on Saturday and that I haven’t heard back from. No answer, and no voice mail.

For the first time since I got her, she lay quietly, just looking up at me.

When I returned from the pound, both Puss and Oren where waiting in the backgarden, but Cara waited for me to let her out the back of the car.

By surrendering Millie the black dog…The Black Dog has wormed his way back into the house. I’m a horrible person.

A Black Dog

2011-10-25T20:03:00.006+11:00

For a while now I have been involved with animal rescue. I have a small four legged family, but I have been resisting adding anything larger than a fat cat to the crew until last Monday.

Pound Rounds on Facebook is a group made up of ladies that go to local pounds in Sydney and take pictures of animals for when they reach the PTS list. They do a great job and are sometimes let down by people not going through with offers of fosters. PTS = Put To Sleep. Most dogs will only have a maximum of 20 days before then are euthanized. Millie Dogdog was due for PTS the day after i picked her up.

I drove out to Hawkesbury Council Pound to have a look at PCC805. A black Great Dane X with something of a mystery. Maybe a mastiff, maybe a Staffordshire Terrier, maybe a Pit Bull, maybe a bit of all three. She was listed as be 3-4 years old, but I now know is closer to a year, give or take a couple of months. She’s covered in scars.

I wanted to foster her until the right home came up, but due to many fosters falling through, the only option was adoption. I still want to foster.

The first day home she was very docile. Doopy almost. Slept indoors, pooed in a couple of places.
The second day I took her to vet because she had diraeorra overnight and a cough. She was well behaved once in, but didn’t like the idea of going into the vet. Slept outside.
The third day a little bit bouncy, howled when I left for work. Attempted to sleep outside but she howled and whinged until I let her in. Slept by the bed.
The fourth day. I had to turn around and go home as soon as I got there. She broken into the house through the side window, broken glass everywhere. Wouldn’t sleep outside and tried to get on the bed several times in the night. Started to eat Cara’s toys.

Fifth day. Broke into the house through the kitchen window, luckily it was already open. I took her out for her first walk. She tried to sleep on the bed five times in the night. Swotted Cara, chased a cat. Continued to eat Cara’s toys
Day six, Saturday. She woke me for the fourth time in the night at 0645. I decided to just take her out for a walk. Mental bouncy. The worms quiet clearly gone, and the cough is nearly cleared up. Walks OK on the lead, doesn’t come when called, does not get down when told.
On the seventh day the sun was out to the tune of 35 degrees. She panted the day away but kept wanting cuddles. She would not leave me alone. Covered the lounge floor with stuffing beans for Skunk.
On the eighth day, I only had have a day at the office. I got home to find shoes destroyed. Tried to work from home, managed a couple of hours because she would not leave me alone. She moves around all the time, doesn’t settle. I took her for a mega walk, she could barely stand by the end. 30 minutes later she’d recovered. Bounce was back.

Today, the ninth day. Only jumped on the bed once in the night, but thought she was going to have Cara for breakfast. Both paws swotted her, and she had Cara in her mouth. Had to take little one to work. I wonder what she’s eaten by the time I get home. Knickers, shoes, bra or maybe a cushion or three. Turned out it was three pairs of shoes and the back of one of my steal toe caps

I have to be gentle in tone with her, she has clearly been beaten in the past. She cowered when I grabbed her collar after she ran away in the park a couple of days ago.
She wants to play, Cara isn’t big enough. Neither are the cats or chooks (yes, she’s had a mouth full of feathers).
She needs attention. Lots of it
She steals everyone’s food and toys

I haven’t seen Puss for two days
I haven’t seen Oren for since day three

I’m at a loss. I don’t know what to do. I can’t lock her out, she breaks in. I can’t lock her in, she chews stuff – in and out with door open, she chews stuff, but doesn’t drive the neighbours to drink.
I’m taking her out for walks every night, but the only way I can exhaust her for half an hour is to run her, that means letting her of the lead, she runs away and doesn’t always come back.

The thing is, I can tell she has a lovely giving nature and will be amazingly loyal to the right person, but I don’t think I’m the right person for her. She really need someone at home during the day, I don’t even come close to that...

I’m worried about her wellbeing and my sanity.

My book, please buy one :-)

2011-10-23T13:30:00.002+11:00

Things Muv use...

...and a few things...

By Frances Carleton

Book Preview

Modern Comms

2011-10-21T13:06:00.002+11:00

I’ve been thinking, about how Oscar Wilde would have liked the new era of digital communications. He was a flamboyant man famous for quotes such as: ‘There is only one thing in the world worse than being talked and bout and that is not being talked about’ and ‘I always carry my diary with me because one should always have something sensational to read’.

I have recently given in and created a Twitter account. I resisted for a long time, but then I realised I was missing little snippets of information from some dear friends, so I signed up. Personally I can rarely think of anything worth twitting, so I’m not a dozen a day poster, but I do enjoy reading others.

Today, just randomly, ‘What would Oscar Wilde post on twitter?’

I know he would have been blogging for years, he’d have his own website (more than likely banned in the more conservative countries of the planet), and I imagine he’d be BBF with Stephen Fry (@stephenfry), but only so he could keep an eye on the competition. But wouldn’t they be FABULOUS together!?

I think Oscar’s tweet (just one of many) today would be something like, ‘So another dictator is dead. I shall miss seeing his arenose black and white lungi on the BBC.’

What's really going on

2011-10-12T13:35:00.002+11:00

Normally when I’m being smothered by the black dog of doom I hide away from everyone and everything, this time has been no different, but I have popped up for a moment to say a few things.

I want to set the record straight about a few things. Put everyone in the picture as to why I’m so low and why asking ‘how’s the job hunting going’ is just rubbing salt in the wounds.

Yesterday I left the house. I had too. I didn’t want too. I don’t want to do anything at the moment. That includes the dishes, and getting out of bed. It’s one o’clock in the afternoon and I sit here with panda eyes because I haven’t yet washed the make-up from my face…and you know what, I don’t care.

I don’t care that Cara has chook on the bed
I don’t care that I have a pile of dishes in the kitchen…I’m only eating what comes straight out of a tin, so what?
I don’t like going out in the car, not because I can’t afford to fill her up (I can’t), but because I’m starting to look at trees, concrete barriers and walls in an unhealthy way.

Yesterday someone called my Muv a fool. In an email. I woke up to am email that called my Muv a fool.

I’m supposed to be on a plane to Rome. Instead I’m having to talk to agents that keep dragging me into the city to ‘talk and find out where you want to go’. I want to go to Rome, Florence, Milan spend time with good friends on a balloon ride over Tuscany. Instead you’re wasting my time because I know you don’t have a job for me, but you have to keep your stats up. Meanwhile I've let TM down monumentally, which breaks my heart because I hate letting people down.

I feel myself on a countdown to homelessness. My rent is paid up until 1st November. After that I have no way of paying rent or any other bill that finds it’s way into the house. Currently there are no real prospects just lots of copies of my CV floating in the job ether.

I keep receiving emails and text messages asking why I’m ignoring them, that they have explained why they pulled out of this or that at the last moment. I’m not ignoring you, I’m ignoring everyone and everything because I have nothing nice or good to say. I’m not capable of saying it’s Ok that you let me down, because it’s not. I needed and wanted you there, to share the experience, that’s why I invited you.

If this leaves me friendless, I’m beyond caring.

I’m desperate and despite talking with friends I know that really no one has even the slightest clue how bad I am this time. It’s not just the complete lack of money, it everything. The chicken coop I order weeks ago arrived today and guess what, you need two people to put it up.

I’m rambling.

Goodbye Vodafone. Forever

2011-10-01T14:38:00.001+10:00

My telephone contract with 3 ran out yesterday and after nearly 13 years with them as my mobile provider, I told them to get lost. Really I wasn’t telling 3, I was telling Vodafone to get out of my life.

Vodafone took 3 over earlier in the year and ever since I have been having issues with coverage, billing and everything that can go wrong with a mobile phone. I had many arguments with the ‘customer service’ department about incorrect bills, tariff increases without approval and no service in the Sydney CBD.

Of course I use the term ‘customer service’ loosely because when you call the Care Line you are diverted to a call centre in India manned by men and women calling themselves Betty and Bruce so they can ‘relate’ to you as they call you by your name at the end of every sentence.

Yesterday I was able to tell one of these Bettys I no longer wanted to be a customer. When asked why, I explained the many and varied.

[Please read the Betty with a thick Indian accent in mind]
Betty: ‘As you’ve been with Three for a while and we’d like you too switch to Vodafone, would that be acceptable to you?’
Me: ‘There is no way on this earth that you could entice me to stay.’
Betty: We would like to offer you a discount.’
Me: ‘NO, unless you could offer me a free mobile service for life and 100% coverage.’
Betty: ‘I’m sorry Jodie, we are not able to offer that level of discount.’

That level of discount!?

They are idiots. I am please to say that I am no longer a Vodafone customer, whether by self-infliction or takeover. I have left them behind and anyone that asks of my experiences as one of their customers I shall shout from the rooftops to avoid them at all costs (and it would cost you $$).

Let’s see how Optus do over the next few months shall we?

In the Words of ABBA...

2011-09-15T16:33:00.004+10:00

...Money Money Money

Maybe I'll quote Sally Bowles from Cabaret instead, 'Money makes the world go around, the world go around'.

I’ve been through my fair share of impoverished times. I’m still coming out of one actually. So it’s something I don’t like being reminded of, day in, day out.

While I am by no means rolling in it, or even dipping a toe into wealth, I am no longer struggling each week, fortnight or month to rustle up the pennies to pay the bills, and I have started to see the worth in paying a little extra for something that won’t break the second time you to try and use it. I no longer HAVE to shop in $2 shops. The spatula lasted three cook offs before the handle snapped.

This brings me to me weekday surroundings. They depress me.

The pavements and waste bins are dirty, not just dirty, but putrid.
There are vagrants sitting in their own filth swearing at passers by.
The ratio of $2 shops to shops that don’t have big flouro hand written sales signs is 100-I don’t know, I can’t find one without any.

I feel like a snob. I’m not, but I just like things cleanish and items and food to of a certain quality.

A very good friend of mine would need to shower more than the 2-3 showers he already has in a day. I’m sure he’d roll out his ‘I see poor people’, t-shirt.

I was in a shop today buying cable ties, those $2 shops are handy for some things, as I was paying, a man, missing teeth and smelling like he had peed his pants three days ago barged to the front of the twelve person strong queue, pushed his way between me and the counter and demanded to know where the watches were.

They were in the cabinet in front of him. ‘I have to buy a gift for a friend and she wants a watch.’ He announced.

I have no idea whether he procured a watch, or how long he had to wait, but I’m guessing his prevailing odour would have seen him served almost as quickly as my twitching nostrils had me out of the shop. This isn’t an unusual occurrence in Ashfield.

Despite being able to drive to work, I think I’d rather be back on the trains to the city. In the city I can run errands as everything is available. If I need to buy a birthday card, I have a choice of something other than Frangipanis for a dollar. If a gift is required the choice of smellies stretches beyond cat pee masquerading as Vanilla and Cinnamon. Lego® instead of Leego and Post-it® not StickyNotes by Bob.

I don’t really want to get used to this. I don’t want to get used to thinking that I deserve to be screamed at by the checkout crone because I have a note instead of the exact change.

I don’t think it’s unreasonable to ask people to pay back a bond loan borrowed from the government, but apparently it is. The government should just keep giving them money…They don’t give me any, in fact they keep taking it, even when I’m in hardship with barely enough to feed myself.

I don’t think I'm cut out to work in an environment where I’m surrounded by a ‘give a battler a fair go’ mentality, when on the odd occasion I’ve really, and I mean REALLY needed help, I’ve been back handed and told to go and get a job.

It’s taken me six weeks to figure this out. I don’t want it to become the norm, I like that the locals still surprise me with how cheap things are, ‘Ohh eight dollars for the Pho at lunch that was as big enough for a family of four, awesome, here have ten.’ I don’t ever want to get to the point where I’m surprised that things are expensive, because in the real world, i.e. away from Ashfield, everything is, but I want to be back in that world!

Confrontation

2011-09-13T12:54:00.003+10:00

I've come to the conclusion that I don't handle confrontation well. It causes me extreme stress that knocks my immune system for six, allowing in bugs and illness to take hold. When illness is already in residence, the addition of stressors just helps the illness settle in for a longer stay and even bring his mate Cujo to stay as well.

After my weekend of strolling to the lavatory on a regular basis and either sitting or bowing to Harpic of the Bowl I really wanted to spend Monday resting at home and fully recuperating. I was still very weak in the morning after having only managed to add half a cup of dry cornflakes to my extremely tender tummy.

Due to work commitments I didn't have the luxury of having that extra day, so I arranged to go in a little later than usual and wrote the Key Message Comms document that was required by the end of the business day. I was a struggle because talking to the people I needed assistance from were extremely busy.

At 5pm I handed the document to the requester. 'It needs detail!'

So my question is this: If you're asked to provide Key Messages or Points would you submit, bullets or detailed paragraph?

I spent the next two hours trying to flesh out my bullet points and most of today working on it. I was and am particularly unimpressed. This isn't the first communications breakdown that I've had in this role and I have a feeling it may be the last.

I'm not going to pass all the blame, I may not have asked enough questions, but not being able to ask them has made that difficult. Of the six one-2-one I'm supposed to have had, I had one. I've been given seven projects to learn about in my short time. I have a pretty good learning curve, but I think I've found my limit.

Tomorrow will be a telling day. He wants to 'talk about your work'.

House of Horrors (no graphic details)

2011-09-12T16:01:00.003+10:00

I had an interesting weekend. I found out to my detriment what happens when you eat food that is one or more of the following:
• Prepared in an unclean kitchen
• Less than fresh
• Reheated to the incorrect temperature
• Kept in the wrong conditions
• Anything else that makes food bad for you

On Friday I had prawns and boiled rice for lunch at about 1pm in a little noodle house a couple of doors down from the office. It wasn’t the first time I’d eaten there, but it sure as hell, will be the last.

About 3pm, I started to sweat.
Half an hour later I went to bathroom, all was not well.
I left the office at 5pm after being to the bathroom a further two times.

The car ride home was forty five minutes riddled with tension. I needed to pass wind, but I wasn’t game.

I got home and immediately went to the bathroom. I didn’t even bother to chase Cara out for a wee, I just had to trust she’d know what to do. She did. Of course Puss and Oren followed me and started asking for dinner. Food was the last thing I wanted anything to do with.

I fed the animals at arm length, put a log on the fire, then sat on the sofa, feeling considerably better and thinking it was over.

At six o’clock the violence began, and continued until four in the morning. At this point I was exhausted, I wanted my Muv, while I didn’t need anyone to hold my hair, I would have like someone to rub my back and tell me it would OK.

When I have a migraine I want to be left alone. I don’t want anyone telling me to keep my fluids up or asking me if I’m still alive.

When I’m sick, and I mean SICK, while I don’t really want anyone to see the indecision about whether to sit or bow, but I would like it if there’s someone outside the bathroom waiting to tuck me back onto the sofa or into bed and tell I’ll live to see another day. I would love to have someone else tell the cat not to try and sit on my tummy and this weekend I’d have loved it if someone else could have got log in and kept the fire going. Those buggers are heavy when you haven’t eaten for two days.

Saturday I spent sleeping and drinking the Powerade that had been brought in to replenish my electrolytes (Thank you SI). I failed to keep the first bottle down, but then it was over. Healing time.

Now began the aching, the muscles pulled for unusual activity of the non fun type. Shoulders, back, neck and chest. It hurt to drawn a deep breath and anyone calling to ask me how I was, was asked not to make me laugh. The restless sleeps invaded by dreams of jack-knifing trucks and being stuck in a bubble on the roadside unable to escape. It’s a classic for me, been having it for years and a true indication that I’m anything but well.

On Sunday I started to feel somewhat human again, but I didn’t venture out and a tenderised tummy kept me on fluids only until I braved half a head of steamed broccoli and a scrambled egg about 7.30. It was too much and I couldn’t eat it all.

This morning I had a cup of cornflakes without milk for breakfast. Weakness is the word to describe my current state. Ohh and about 5kgs lighter.

I find it remarkable how being sick can reduce even the most independent person into a blubbering child that wants their mummy, because MuV always knows best and exactly what to do.

Muv would have tucked me into bed.

Muv would have popped to the shops and brought Ribena or Lucozade.

Muv would have almost certainly made me dry toast with Marmite.

Muv would have cleaned the loo up and taken the bin bag out when it needed to be done.

Muv would have stroked my back and told me it was OK to cry.

And after two days Muv would have told me to ‘get up now, have a shower, start moving around, it’ll make you feel better.’

It’s a weekend I don’t wish to repeat anytime soon, but I know there where people out there that suffered worse than I, Tradie Trady being one of them and SI with a gastro bug.

But for the record, to ensure no one else goes through this I have reported the Noodle House responsible. I’ll keep you posted.

14/9/11 Update - The New Taste Noodle House was closed for lunch yesterday and it's looking shut up right now. Someone asked me yesterday, 'Did you close down the Noodle House?' My response was, 'No, they did, by not having a clean kitchen or food handling practices.' Not guilty, I still have a dodgy tummy!

Get Clucked

2011-09-12T09:34:00.002+10:00

As I lay here recovering from a nasty bout of prawn poisoning I can hear the chickens clucking. I can tell at least one is in the process of laying a egg by the distinctive drawn out sounds.

I've been considering asking my neighbors if they find them to to too noisy.

Then the sound of the barking dogs over the back fence comes to forefront of notice. My senses have managed to develop a drowning out mechanism for the sound of two overweight bull masstives barking at each other and every loose leaf that flutters to the ground.

I think I'll wait until the neighbors come to me

Gold Plated Chooks?

2011-09-09T10:22:00.004+10:00

So, due to demand for home grown eggs from work colleagues and friends I decided to add a couple more chickens to the flock on Saturday, making the total six channels on CatTV.

The flock is called CatTV as a collective because, Oren, the cat can spend hours watching them. Whether they are locked up in the coup, or roaming free in the garden, she’ll watch, faux stalk and run away when chased. The last one happens more often that you’d think.

The first four where first purchased on the day Jeff Conaway finally lost his battle with drugs and alcohol, I thought it would be fitting to call them Rizzo, Frenchie, Jan and Sandy. I called the new additions Marty and Channing (having run out of female character names and I didn’t think Waitress was very nice as a name).

Fittingly enough, the Pink Ladies took exception to the new additions and decided to show them who was boss. The pecking order is very fitting as Marty and Channing really have had a stressful few days.

I first noticed the wound on Marty’s foot on Tuesday. It was red and open, not dissimilar to a cut you may get from a nasty scratch. I took her inside and bathed it. I didn’t get a chance to look at the wound on Wednesday, and yesterday I made a point of looking in the morning. Her toe was black.

I went to work, and on the way I made an appointment with the vet. Luckily it was pay day.

When I got home to put up Marty, I notice a small scab on Channing’s cheek, so I put her in the box. Better safe than sorry.

Both birds had a shot of penicillin, Marty had part of her toenail cut away to see if the limb was dead already, but a spot of blood showed that it was possible it may just be saved. Channing had a blood clot on her face. I was informed that production anaimals are pretty hardy and cope with this sort of thing quite well. While it may not be visually pleasing as a pet, we can't just put them down for any old thing. I never intended to have them put down unless they were suffering. I don't allow suffering in my house. I paid the bill...cough, clear throut, we shall speak of this no more...

Fallout, no eggs can be used until the foot is healed. If Marty has septicaemia, then it can be passed into the eggs, and that wouldn’t be a good thing to eat.

I have to keep a close eye on both birds until their check up next Thursday. Puffiness, not eating, sitting and no walking are all bad things

This morning I let the Pink Ladies out in the rain for the day, giving the sickly duo a day in, on their own to potter about the coup, have a bite to eat and generally have a day off. I’ll do the same for the next week. As I was leaving both were eating and moving around.

Wish them improved health and that other leave them alone.

So Not a Morning Person

2011-09-07T10:18:00.001+10:00

I have often been told that you can train yourself to be a morning person.

I would like to refute that nasty piece of propaganda.

After many years of having to rise at 0600 in order to catch a train to London, I never once went to bed with ease before 10pm and I never, ever, ever woke up before my alarm.

To this day, and during periods of unemployment, as I often have due the fickle nature of being a consultant, I research the natural sleep patterns of my body.

1. I need eights or more hours of sleep
2. If I don’t get a minimum of eight hours, I have a week before I NEED to catch up that sleep deficient
3. My body will fall into a rhythm of bed at midnight up at eight or later.
4. I snore

When working I often have sleep to catch up on by the time the weekend comes around. This weekend will be no exception, but this week through no fault of my own.

I am fortunate at the moment in that my job allows me the luxury of rising at what I consider to be a fairly civilized time. I rise between 0730 and 0800. Shower, sort out the family feeding requirements and drive to work. I still arrive between 0845 and 0915. Almost, the perfect arrangement, perfect would be being able to work from home.

So as you can imagine, I was somewhat perturbed this morning when I was awoken, not by the sounds of harps coming from SleepCycle® but the bleating of trucks reversing down my street, followed by crunching sounds of tarmac being scraped into a digger bucket and blokes yelling instructions. When the cockatoos screech I can block that out as it is classified in my head as a ‘sound of nature’, not so with trucks, tradies and tossers at 0600.

I went to bed at midnight last night.

As I was up, I tried to leave early. I couldn’t because the road was blocked. I had to wait before I could get my car out of the driveway.

I asked one of the men in flouro if anyone had thought to let the residents know that the perfectly good road was going to be dug up.

I was informed that a letterbox drop had been done a week ago. I assured them that I had received no such warning and neither had my neighbours and that perhaps that the powers that be should speak to the person responsible for said drop to find out where they had dumped the flyers. I know my neighbour knew nothing about it because I know that the local gossips would have been having a field day on something happening in the street and when I’d been caught outside weeding on the weekend it would have been mentioned. I know about Lisa from round the corner having a baby with webbed toes for crying out loud and I don’t even know (or care) who Lisa is!

I’m working on six hours sleep today. Could be interesting

Chicken Gizzards

2011-09-07T09:54:00.000+10:00

I’ve been at my new job long enough now, to be able to make what I believe, to be fairly sound comment on the working environment.

The office is in a part of town that is renown for it ethnic leanings. Most shops on the main street are labelled in Chinese before English. Being a big fan of dumplings, noodles and adventures in food land this isn’t really much of a problem. Where it does become a problem is if you want or need to buy anything (apart from food) of quality. The local shopping centre has a Best Buy, Franklins, and a Dick Smith (remnant warehouse). All the other shops, except the Post Office and leased out to market stall type shops that sell jewellery for a dollar and fry pans for four. The local butcher sells gizzards, skin, feet (of chook and pig) and the best cut of beef is blade. No Scotch Fillet for my dinner. Having said that, it does mean I can’t spend on M.A.C make-up (I’m sorry, did you say one dollar for the eye-shadow?) or clothes.

When I am at work, I have delays in computing. They are doing a roll out of new PCs, which is good, because when the machine can’t keep up with my typing speed you know there’s and issue. Stop. Plus I think I have the tiniest screen possible, it reminds my of the old DOS days when you have a massive off-white brick on your desk with a screen no bigger than a credit card. In my line of work, which currently involves extensive Copy/Paste activity I am really hoping I’m next on the list. However, I have feeling I’m going to have scraped the documents together only to find a geek standing at the end of my desk saying, ‘I’ve come to replace your tower’.

I’ve never been to so many meetings. Seriously. I swear they would have a meeting or ‘workshop’, … and I have put quotes around workshop because, often they have a ‘workshop’ to discuss things, but don’t actually have any workshop activities. I’m getting really close to widely distributing the definition of workshop.

Back to point. They have meeting for everything. So far I think I’ve been to three meetings that actually proved to be useful.

I do have a nice big desk.

Cara can come with me and be stealth, as she is today.

I can drive to the office in less than 45 minutes.

The people I work with are a nice bunch…I haven’t found any stand-outs as yet, but they are pleasant enough. I don’t have to work with the woman behind me, so she has no affect on me except I feel I need to channel warm, happy feelings in her direction. Being in such close proximity I haven’t seen any glimmer of smile crack, I am afraid though that I may cause damage if she does smile….so maybe I should stop that?

All in all, I don’t have a problem getting out of bed each morning at the moment. I even thought about putting my swimming cosie in the car for an after work swim at Homebush, then forgot this morning.

Things are on the up! :-)

Hell’va Weekend

2011-08-31T16:00:00.005+10:00

My weekend felt like it started on Wednesday last week. Not because I wasn’t working, but because my Sister, Little, arrived from Melbourne for a few days. Her flight landed fifteen minutes early, just to keep me on my toes.

We haven’t stopped, since. She, even though she has a cast on her left wrist, due to a DIY accident last weekend, clean my house from top to toe on Thursday while I was at work. She was supposed to put her feet up in the sun drenched garden and read, but she decided to clean the windows in the kitchen instead. Incidentally, you have to stand on the bench tops to get to my kitchen windows. D’Oh! And that’s all I have to say about that. Except, thanks for cleaning Little.

On Thursday night, we popped to OfficeWorks to get new school stuff. Pencil case, pens, highlighters and Post-its®. Just like we did as gals. Muv would take us to WHSmith before the start of the new school year and stock us up with the required goodies. This may be where I got my love of stationary from, by the smell of new pencils, rubbers (erasers) and the sight of protractors and set squares are like heaven to me. Anyway, we stocked up on things to write with and in.

On Friday we caught the train to North Sydney and commenced our training to be Wedding Celebrants. There were 14 of us in total in the class, four boys, ten girls and the teacher. I was, quite frankly, the most exhausting weekend I have had in a very long time.

We listened, we shared, we role played, we conducted ceremonies. I got married twice, held the hands of a stranger and Little was my son. It was weird. But we passed that part of the course.

Now begins the paperwork part.

Reading, writing and filling in online forms.

But first, I need to catch up on my sleep because 12 days with no weekend is taking it's toll.

Poor Service

2011-08-25T13:53:00.001+10:00

I have been confused by the apparent lack of ‘service’ in Sydney. Being somewhat service orientated I am often surprised that business manage to survive, let alone thrive, considering treating their customers as an inconvenience rather than a precious commodity to be nurtured in order to keep them coming back.

I experienced two such examples today in a 45 minute period.

The first was a SheepSkin sales place that have the rather lovely heeled Ugg Boots. When I went in to ask the price last week I was told, ‘two fifdy’ by the Asian lady behind the counter. I went back today to try on and purchase, ‘two seventy nine’, I was told, less than a week and they had gone up in price by $29…pretty good inflation rate.

As I have been looking at them for so long I requested to try them on…’you lean’. I was told, ‘no seat for try on’. So I found myself perching on the sideboard removing the shoe and sock from my left foot. This is no mean feat for someone with the balance of a wobble toy. The shoe that I had selected (my size) was tiny, I couldn’t even get my heel through the ankle part of the shoe. When I asked if they had a larger size, she yelled to the guy in back in Cantonese, he appeared, looked at the boxes lining the wall behind me and said to me, ‘no big feet shoes’.

I replaced my own sock and shoe and left.

The next incident was in a discount store, I needed a small box for people to put money when they buy eggs (I have chickens, I sell the eggs at work). I knew the discount place had those little gift boxes, which are perfect for my need.

I selected a box, about 10x5x5cm and took it to the counter. The girl scanned it, the machine bleeped and she turned to the Indian guy on the phone next to her. He snatched it from her, placed it on the shelf behind him and said, ‘no sale’, completely ignoring the dumbstruck customer (me). The girl informed him that a customer wished to purchase the box. He yelled at her, ‘we don’t know price, we might get wrong, no sale!’

I was a little ticked off by this and said, ‘you can’t do that, the product was for sale, I wish to purchase that box and there are no others like it or even that size.’ He tutted and waved his hands at me as if shooing a fly away. I decided to ignore him and deal with the girl. I paid $1 for the box. Seemed fair to me considering how rude the manager had been.

These are two stores I shall not patronise again. I do that you see. Provide me with woeful service and I take my money elsewhere.

Just like there are plumbers, electricians, and petrol stations I will not frequent.

I don’t understand how in this time of a record decline in retail sales why every shopkeeper isn’t doing everything their power to lure and keep customers. Think people:

happy customers = good word of mouth recommendations = good sales = you don’t lose your livelihood

Facebook

2011-08-17T14:29:00.002+10:00

Facebook has it moments.

Moments of annoyance; such as when you click on a video that you friend posted, only to find it’s actually a virus that is self replicating, and you realize you have to warn all your friends not to click on the video you just posted.

Moments of sadness; when you read that a friend has lost a loved one. Even ‘friends’ that you have never met, you still feel a pang of grief, because inside you know what they are going through, but you know you can never express how you feel for them.

Moments of jubilation; A baby has been born, a child has graduated, the test results where negative (in the good way), the rescue puppy has stopped peeing on the carpet. These are time when you happily click the ‘like’, because you genuinely feel a glow inside.

Moments of hilarity; that picture your friend posted made you laugh so hard, you wet your pants slightly. pmsl has never been more apt.

Moments of disappointment; when you realize that ‘random’ you added because they made you laugh on other friends profiles, turns out to be a God-bothering psycho that is just trying to convert everyone.

Moments when you just want to delete your profile; no-one has commented on anything you’ve posted, for HOURS!

And then there are moments when if forces you to reflect. A status update today gave me such a moment.

What my Mother taught me:
Religion: ‘You better pray that comes out of the carpet’.
Logic: ‘Because I said so, that's why’.
Irony: ‘Keep crying and I'll give you something to cry about.’
Wisdom: ‘When you get to my age you'll understand’.
Justice: ‘One day when you have kids, I hope they turn out just like you’.
Repost if your mother taught you right

I added, Discipline: ‘You’re never too old to be put over my knee’, because it felt right.

Here’s the situation where each of these (or near as) happened to me.

I was given some silly putty as a gift for Christmas. I decided to take an impression of my hair crown because, as it’s on the back of my head, I had never seen it. The silly putty got so stuck in the hair, nearly two hours of combing, Surfega, sunflower oil and finally diesel, saw it out. But at the beginning of the two hours Muv said to me, ‘You better pray this come out or all you’ll be left with is a tuft of hair.’

‘Why shouldn’t I shave my legs Muv?’ ‘Because I said so, that why. Plus, do you want your legs to feel like this?’ Quickly followed by a hand being run up her stubbly leg.

When I started my periods, I bit*hed and moaned about the pain and cramps. ‘Keep crying and I'll give you something to cry about.’ I kept crying, so Muv took me to have my ears pierced. That hurt much more.

I like to think I understand a lot more now I'm the age she was once. Life does indeed suck, and yes, you will die.

I’ve never had two legged children (as discussed in other posts) but my fur and feathered kids, sleep like me, eat food like me and love me to bits. Even the chookens. So in many ways…they are just like me.

When I was 18, we where having a laugh about something…I can’t remember what it was, but clearly I over stepped the bounds of the Mother/Daughter freedom of speech act, because she said the line. Despite being a couple of inches taller and wider than Muv, she could still say the words, 'You're never too old...', and I knew it was true.

So I had many moments all rolled into one today, and for that I an thankful to Facebook and a random add friend that didn't turn out to be a psycho, God-bothering or otherwise.

Moral Compass

2011-08-16T11:20:00.006+10:00

There have been a few items in the news recently that have got me thinking about my own level morality.

I like to believe that I was dragged up by the scuff with quite a high moral grounding. My Muv and Dad instilled in my brother and sisters a belief that lying was bad, stealing was wrong because you have to earn the things you have and being a pyromaniac, while it fun to watch flames licking around logs in the fireplace, it’s not good burn things that aren’t in the hearth.

We were also taught to respect your elders, even if they are being a git. Smile and move on.

Don’t put your feet on seats, in public or your own home, you don’t know what you’ve stepped in. I never really understood this one, I got the public part, but I was pretty sure I didn’t have mud (or dog poop) between my toes. So I often engage in feet on sofa heresy, but never with shoes on.

***

I recently read that with the hike in banana prices in Australia, people using the self serve check out are putting bananas through for the price of carrots, or whatever is seasonally cheaper than $17 per kilogram. The question the press was asking was, is this stealing?

I say a resounding yes. It is stealing.

But when surveyed, the general public leaned more towards no, it’s not. The reasoning was that they had been paid for, even if not the full price, therefore it was OK. Before I read about the banana switch, it hadn’t even occurred to me that I could just press a different button in the check out. Even now it has been planted in my mind, I find the idea deplorable. I know that big business will bear the brunt of the theft, but do I know what other the consequences are?

Will the check out chick who’s supposed to ensure the self serve checkouts aren’t abused retain her position, if not job? Will prices elsewhere in the store rise? Will the banana farmer be screwed down on price? Will the truck driver who delivers them to the store be expected to drive that little bit quicker to ensure timely delivery…did I suddenly get into the Butterfly Effect?

My point here, is: I don’t do it, because it never occurred to me in the first place, but when I think about it, it makes my brain hurt.

***

Meanwhile, in the UK, scumbags where rioting in towns across the small island. One victim was Aaron Biber, no relation to Justin. The 89 year old barber survived the Second World War only to see his shop ransacked by looters, just for the hell of it. He didn’t have anything of value to steal, no plasma telly on the wall, no expensive hair product and even his scissors and certainly his door curtain, would have been older than most of the vandals.

Why would people do this. To me, and most of my peers, it’s unfathomable. We simply cannot comprehend the idea of trashing a place just because.

Don’t get me wrong, I have felt the rush that illegal activity gives you, but I’m a firm believer of ‘Make love, not war’. ;-)

It’s a thrill, but running through the streets setting fire to things, stealing things, smashing, just to smash and worse, running someone over that was trying to protect their property, leaves me scratching my head in a way that could leave scars.

Where these people not taught basic morality in their formative years? Video of a boy being helped with the right hand and being robbed with the left hand makes me think not.

Can we blame politics for taking away the rights of parents to give their kids a good clip round the ear? I had many, and worse, and it never did me any harm.

I know several people that have been too afraid to speak up in adverse situations for fear of harm. Instead, they have put their head down and kept quiet, unnoticed.

Are adults now being bullied by children in a passive aggressive way? Sometimes that’s how I feel. I have been on trains where teenagers in a group have had their feet on the seats, I desperately what to tell them to put their feet on the floor, but simple eye contact has lead me to think that I would be smacked or verbally abused if I dare to say something. Isn’t that bullying? We’re too sacred to stand up and say, enough is enough.

In the UK, they have. We used to complain about CCTV camera popping up all over the place like mushrooms. ‘It’s an invasion of privacy,’ was a common cry. Now they are being praised.

People are taking up brooms to battle and clean. It’s fabulous. In some ways I wish I was on the tiny island right now.

From a few nights of bedlam a mighty uprising of good has occurred. I hope this continues. People of all nations coming together to improve relations and the moral fabric of society.

I would never dream of saying my moral compass faces a firm North, but I do believe in thinking about my actions and the outcomes before I do them. I hope we can all learn a lesson for the last few weeks, think about the outcome of your actions. You’ll be surprised how often you cease to do what you were about the do.

Thank you to the following for the images:
Compass
Aaron Biber (this is a good story too)

Missing Kids

2011-08-15T19:42:00.000+10:00

They have charged a 41 year old father of three for the murder of 13 year old Daniel Morcombe, that went missing nearly eight years ago.

I’m very pleased to hear that someone will finally pay for this shocking incident.

The parents have appeared on every news program this evening and some reporters have been saying by way of introduction to the story ‘For a parent, it’s the worst nightmare…’

Why does it just have to be the worst nightmare just for a parent?

Aunts, uncles, grandparents; are these not close enough to be affected by a child or family member going missing?

Un-frinkin'believable

2011-08-10T18:46:00.001+10:00

It was my day off between gigs today. I went to the doctor for a check-up and blood test. While I was waiting to see the delightful Dr. Rosemary, I got a text message from the mole;

‘Hi, sorry to bother you but I can’t find the updated training report and I need to provide it as part of the handover. Can you tell where you saved it? Thnx KB.’

So I did tell her and that I was at the doctors.

I went into the doctor’s office and had my blood pressure taken. 131/90. She wasn’t happy with that. My phone blipped again. I looked, like a fool.

‘Hope u r ok.When you r done, can you send me your network password and I will retrieve it. KB.’

MY NETWORK PASSWORD!! Are you frinkin’ kidding me!? No way in a million years!

My doctor took me BP again. It had gone up to 142/110, all from a simple text.

This is what I put up with for four months, the woman contacted me, an ex employee, who for once in her career had not left an employer with the words ‘If you need anything, call me.’ I couldn’t give a rats bottom where the document was, despite spending 2 hours updating it and including all her nit picky edits.

My Doctor expressed concern over my weight gain, then immediately said, ‘but if you’ve had that for four months, it will drop off now you’ll stop comfort eating’. What a wise woman!?

Anyway, after my appointment I had a blood test, so now have a bruise like I’ve been shooting up.

I got another text, ‘Unfortunately the last version on the shared drive was modified on 5 Aug. That’s why I need to retrieve it s I don’t think it saved.’

I ignored it, but rang my friend Bling Bling. ‘could you please sort this out?’

I’m pretty sure she did, because I didn’t receive any more texts or emails. But seriously, who the hell does KB think she is.

After that, Cara and I had a nice day wandering around town. I brought myself a book that reminded me of my childhood, and a t-shirt for the little lady. We popped in to see the Chocolate lady, but after being told by the doc I had gained 6kgs I declined the kind offer of some free Rocky Road.

Tomorrow I start my new job.

Exit stage right

2011-08-09T14:39:00.001+10:00

It’s my last day in the land of the mole. I would like to say that not everyone here has been awful...just the mole.

Bling Bling gave me a very nice leaving gift of a scented candle and a bling bling peacock, which I have called Homer, after the actual peacock that I had a few years ago.

Knitter had a good ole giggle when I demonstrated the noises that CatTV make when they laid the eggs I had just given her.

Mr Benefits and the rest of the office near me enjoyed the truffles I made on the weekend, they ate the calories I cooked and will no doubt be glad when I am gone, because there will no longer be anyone cooking sweet treats in the name of research.

I finished up the couple of documents I had to do, cleaned out my inbox and bequeathed RubberBandBall MkII to Bling Bling and Knitter. It left it at 62mm in diameter; I hope it continues to grow. I buried a small note beneath its layers, it said: ‘A symbol to those left behind, you too, can escape’

As I was coming in from lunch, I saw mole. She smiled, and i hoped it was the last I’ll ever see of her. Some people just bring out the worst in me.

Have fun in my absence.

Growth

2011-08-05T16:35:00.001+10:00

Getting there. 51mm in diameter and growing. Two days to go until I leave it behind as my legacy :-)

Same designer you think?

2011-08-04T19:29:00.004+10:00

images from www.imdb.com

A night at the museum

2011-08-04T14:15:00.005+10:00

On Tuesday night I was lucky enough to attend the 2011 season of Jurassic Lounge at The Australian Museum.

A few weeks ago I put my name forward as a photographer for an evening or three. I was asked to come along on opening night and snap away.

This I did. I went in not really knowing all that much about the event, but really it a marketing vehicle to encourage people who wouldn’t normally go to the museum to go. Having been to the museum, I was familiar with it, but to see it lit differently with games, activities, bands, DJs and artists or the painting and performing types amongst the exhibits, the whole place came alive, which was nice, because it usually has a kinda stuffed feel about it.

I would encourage you all to get along to one of the evenings if you can, it was really fun.

Burlesque eyelashes

Pluck those strings

Create your own 'zine

Skeleton gallery

Mayor Clover arrives

Self portrait by funkyfotobooths (careful, this site has music!)

More photos can be found here, including a few more of mine :-)

That’s not real!

2011-08-02T13:14:00.006+10:00

Next week I shall start my new job with a government agency. I’m looking forward to it.

I preparation for the start, my new agency are asking me to fill in all sorts of paperwork. That’s pretty normal. What isn’t normal is being asked to complete an online learning module about OH&S.

I used to teach this going back a few years, so it’s not that I know nothing about the subject it just strange because in all the year since I taught it, I have never been asked to sign an agreement that I understand my obligations under the work place safety act.

While doing the module I came across a couple of things that made me think, ‘That’s not a real thing.’ But it turns out they are both real, only one is completely the wrong use of the word.

The first was during the page of information about wrist rests. It says, ‘Wrist rests should not be used while typing or mousing – only while resting’.

Mousing, what the crap is mousing? Oren does mousing, Puss sometimes helps. Cara plays with Mousey Mousey and I use a mouse. Being the curious bunny that I am, I looked up the word ‘mousing’ and found that it has nothing to do with the use of a computer mouse, but more to do with fishing.

Should I tell the agency that their eLearning module is wrong?

The second thing was Occupational Overuse Syndrome. WTF!? RSI has been renamed it appears. I don’t know when this name change occurred because it hasn’t been communicated to anyone but the internet and quite frankly, it sounds rubbish. Everyone knows what RSI means. It’s called what it is, a repetitive strain that has caused an injury. This makes sense to me.

It sounds made up, like runcible. When Edward Lear made that up in the 1870s he was ridiculed, and it still get picked up by spell checkers despite being in the dictionary, now it appears that making things up is fully acceptable. Benifer, sexting, mousing and OOS...please stop making names up for things that already have perfecting good names.

It makes me smile, because it’s given me something to do for twenty minutes and I enjoyed reading about the life of the master of nonsense.

Thank you to this site for the graphic image of what my cats think mousing looks like.

Creative time wasting

2011-08-02T11:26:00.006+10:00

I realised today, as I added another 40 rubber bands to RubberBandBallMkII that I have become a master of killing time on the job.

I am usually a very productive employee, but on occasion there are times when a lull in work causes the use of imagination to look busy. We’ve all done it; we take advantage of the slow days to refresh the brain for the onslaught that is bound to happen due to poor time management (by others and yourself). Having said that, I don’t think the following has every interfered with me actually getting something done on or before the required deadline.

The following are a few of the things I have done to occupy my time during the hours of 9 – 5.30 Monday – Friday.

- Internet shopping (I curse Amazon.com)
- Make Christmas cards (yes, I actually made cards one year, many moons ago)
- Read novels (with the advent of e-books came the chance to read a saucy novel in .pdf format that looks like a business document)
- Complete Uni assignments, and therefore my Masters degree (I know I’m not alone with this one)
- Write blog entries :-)
- Make paper clip necklaces (one colleague actually wore one out)

It takes a somewhat active imagination to do some of these things...but I’d be interested to know what you do to kill that down time when you can’t just get up out of your seat and walk out and do something more interesting.

Incidentally, RubberBandBallMkII is now 47mm in diameter.

Liar liar...

2011-08-01T16:53:00.001+10:00

...pants on fire.

Last week I went to see a tax agent to submit my income tax for 2010/11. I had spent a large proportion of the weekend going through receipts, calculating percentages and generally going around in circles. Numbers are not my forte.

I presented the agent with three pages of spreadsheets, salary summaries and contributions to health fund. All she had to do was plug the information into the tax offices systems and it should have all been done. An hour and a half later, several explanations of why I claimed this, and why I claimed that, I signed the return, paid my $125 and left, thankful that it was done for another year.

Today, I received a call for Roman (name has not been changed to protect the douchebag), he explained that he was overseeing my return and he was ‘not convinced’ that I was eligible to claim certain items.

‘Are you calling me a liar?’ I asked.

‘No, I am just trying to clarify if you are claiming a home office as a convenience?’ he said.

I won’t go into the following conversation, but I ended up walking into the office, stating in a loud voice that I did not appreciate being called a liar, and demanding that all my paperwork be returned to me.

It’s been a while since I have been so offended. I don’t offend easily, but to be called into question about deductions that have been a repeated item for some 10 years, really p*ssed me off. I don’t claim charity donations (I could) and I don’t claim car expenses (I could). I have never in all my life tried to avoid paying tax, despite the fact I seemingly get very little in return for the 43% I pay.

To have some jumped up git who has no idea who I am, what I do or understand my circumstances doubt my honesty, well, let’s just say I was remarkably kind.

Park Life

2011-07-31T22:37:00.003+10:00

I've had a very busy, productive but good weekend. This has facilitated by the fantastic weather we have experienced considering it's still winter. On Saturday it was 21degrees. I had what I consider to be a Ferris Day on Saturday, I got so much done, you can look at it and think, how!? especially as I didn't even get up until just gone 10am.

I took some lovely photos of the family, see ‘Back to Front’ below.

I went into town to pick up a camera flash; I’m still replacing bits from when my bag was stolen in Kenya. Cara got to walk on George Street and didn’t freak out.

We went for a walk in Lane Cove National Park, well next door really as dogs aren’t allowed in the park. We relaxed and chilled for about half an hour.

We popped into Eden Gardens for some garden stakes.

Went home and started digging a veggie patch. CatTV got to eat fresh worms, Cara got to roll in cow manure and Oren stalked the chooks. Puss, being wise old man that her is, just lay in the sun and supervised.

I wasn’t feeling great on Sunday, but pottered about in the veggie patch and planted the seedlings I had. About four o’clock I went inside, showered and sat and watched Food Inc. while I was eating a sandwich. This is a disturbing documentary about the food industry in the US. While it isn’t directly related to what goes on in Australia, I’m sure there are some similarities.

Footage of cows being unable to stand and being folk lifted to the killing floor made my think of the recent ‘live export’ footage of Malaysia and the uproar that that caused. Do similar things happen here in a bid to grow food fatter, faster, and cheaper? I’m sure they do.

One thing the movie did do, was reinforce my choice to buy meat from my local butcher and fruit and veggies from my local market. I really don’t need images of thousands of naked hanging chooks flying about an air-hanger sized warehouse on a conveyer belt, in my mind when I tuck into my grilled chicken salad. And did you know, that much raw meat in America is treated with ammonia or chlorine to kill off any potentially harmful bacteria, such as e-coli and salmonella (at least it was in 2008 when the film was made).

After the movie I gave Cara a bath, and then we cuddled up in the warm house and watched the evening movie, Iron Man 2. It was a good weekend.

Back to front

2011-07-30T12:26:00.007+10:00

It's such a beautiful day in Sydney today. The sun is shining, the animals are all outside and I'm soaking up a few rays myself. A hearty dose of Vitamin D before the sun has the power to fry me in 30 seconds flat.

I had my camera with me and I managed to get a few snapshots of my babies, but I decided to show you a different side to each of them...

This Is Rizzo. She is the Leader of CatTV, and one of four chooks that roam around my garden at the weekend, and currently, the only one laying eggs.

This is O-Ren. Youngest in age of the four legged children, and the one that causes the most heart-ache. Loves to climb trees, hang out under cars and keep CatTV on their toes.

This is Cara, also known as 'The Killer', not because she vicious, just because. She's the smallest in the house. She like eating, sleeping, and the occasional walk on the beach, oh and sleeping.

This is Puss. The oldest, biggest and grumpiest. He's my boy in a house of girls.

New Friends, yet to meet

2011-07-29T11:21:00.001+10:00

I noticed a while ago that I now have six followers here. This pleases me.

Four of you I know well.

Two of you not at all. I shall ask you a couple of questions, be honest, open up, you’re amongst friends.

I’m curious, how did you stumble across my random ramblings?

Which post inspired you to click the follow button?

Thank you, please leave your responses in the comments ;-)

The perils of Winter entertaining

2011-07-29T10:57:00.005+10:00

Many years ago, when I first visited the shore of this wide brown land, I decided to go to the movies. My host asked me, ‘Why tonight, it’s raining?’

I was confused. In my native land of Britannia, if you didn’t venture out wearing an over coat and wellies you would never leave the comfort of your home. It rains much of the time in England, it still amuses me when folks back home say, ‘Where did summer go?’

Really!? Just except it, Great Britain never has and never will have a reliable summer; Global Warming has not changed this fact and never will. Anywho, I digress...

Winters in Aussie tend to be kinder, with chilled days and clear blue skies. This year has been a bit strange. It appears that Al Nino has decided to throw us a curve ball and make it cold, wet and windy, all at once. Facilities Management doesn’t know what to do, turn the air-con off, heating on, then back on with the air-con, then off again. So we have, for the first time since I’ve lived Down Under had a proper winter.

It takes months of grey skies and early darkness before a weather hardened Pommie starts suffering the winter blues, in Aussie it’s a matter of days. Seasonal Ambience Disorder hits here and hard. A nation that spends months in the sun and heat, the slightest dip below 10degrees and you’d think the end of the world is nigh. Doors gets locked, coats come out and social lives go into hiatus until the sun come out again and the world defrosts.

The Tupperware party I have booked for tonight has become a victim of this. In fact, I’ve started to refer to it as a Tupper-where party. Because where are my guests? It didn’t even start out as my party...I agreed to have it at my house for someone else.

Many are suffering from ‘Blurgh’. While not technically an illness, it is a reason to stay at home and recover. So they shall miss out on the mountains of funky plastic storage wear and me being the hostess with the mostess.

Others simply got a better offer.

I’m going ahead tonight as I have made food and cleaned my house, and the Tupperware Lady said four including the hostess (that would be me) is a nice number. I think she’s being kind. I was hoping for more than just a Tupperware party, I was hoping for a girls night in where we would continue after the TL lady had gone.

I have learnt my lesson and will never attempt any kind of entertainment in the winter again. I too shall hibernate and get with the Aussie winter program and embrace the feeling of Blurgh! Bring on BBQ season, I say :-)

Get well soon.

First picture from here, funny article to go with it.
Second picture from here.

News Flash!

2011-07-28T16:02:00.002+10:00

Yesterday I was lucky enough to secure a new contract. This means I can I exit stage right from my current nightmare and start afresh in the hope that a new location and different environment brings better mental health.

In the mean time, of course, I shall continue my current general admin duties, I have been collating training documentation today, and in my considerable down time I shall blog and continue to develop the lifestyle of the rubber bands on my desk.

RubberBandBall MkII hit the 35mm diameter today, and as you can see, there is plenty more weight just waiting to be added.

Ps. The Pink Lady apple I just ate was really tart!

Embryo

2011-07-26T16:58:00.002+10:00

I had a plethora of rubber bands on my desk after collating several training documents today. What to do with these poor lost souls of the latex variety?

I decided they needed a purpose in life, so I have given them a calling.
In an attempt to stave off madness and to kill time during the next couple of weeks I have decided to start RubberBandBall MkII.

Watch it grow, from tiny seeds, mighty RubberBand Balls grow :-)

Last time I did one of these was in 2007...amazing how things come back into vogue.

Club 27

2011-07-24T22:42:00.005+10:00

Amy Winehouse died over the weekend, at the age of 27. It makes her eligible to join other famous singers that have passed away at the same age. Kurt Cobain, Janis Joplin, Jim Morrison, Brian Jones and Jimi Hendrix. Current speculation is that it was a drug overdose, there has been no official cause of death released.

I’m not sure it club anyone would aspire to be a member of.

Amy Winehouse was an undeniable talent that deserves to receive the tributes she will receive. If the news was a contest there would always be a more deserving case in someone’s eyes. But I would like to say, every life lost is a tragedy, no matter what the circumstances. If a death is proceeded by years of addiction, eating disorders and every wrong move being reported in the press then I hope peace has finally been found.

But what has really interested me about this death, while tragic, she was after all a woman in her prime with a talent that a lot would kill for, is the online reactions of some people on groups, social networking sites and in the comments spaces under online media. Frankly, I’m disgusted.

It appears that it is completely acceptable to write derogatory comments about the way she lived her life. Apart from I have gleaned from the media coverage of her career and troubled private I wouldn’t dream of assuming that I know anything about what was REALLY going on in her life. Therefore, all I can say is:

Rest in Peace, Your music will be your legacy.

I wish others could have been as neutral, but sincere. Comments such as ‘Glad she’s dead, hope Lady Gaga and Beiber are next’, are simply uncalled for. The amount of, ‘she wouldn’t go to rehab, no, no, no’ is astounding, and the number of folks saying she choose a life of drugs and alcohol and she choose her end so she deserved to die, makes me think that they were probably puffing on a cigarette as they typed.

I have seen this before and it always annoys me. People hiding behind their computer.

Whenever a posting from NSW Police tells of a death on the roads, posters start blaming the driver that died. I’ll never forget the day that the wife of a truck driver had also posted early on in the thread saying her husband was driving that route that day. She would have been alerted every time a nasty comment was posted, because so many don’t read earlier posts, he’d crashed into a car and all had died.

I have a personal policy. If I wouldn’t be prepared to say something to the originator’s face or the family of the victim, I don’t post.

Isn’t this one of the cardinal rules of Netiquette?

Please people, if you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything.

Pinched the image from here

Seek and you shall find

2011-07-22T11:19:00.004+10:00

I don’t have a full time job. As in, I’m a contractor, so not on anyone’s books from a payroll point of view. In the past this has caused issues due to extensive periods of unemployment, but in line with attempt of finding the positives in everything and my new mantra of ‘Mah Na Mah Na’ I have found the silver lining of being a contractor.

I have made many lasting friends.

Goddess, The Director, Tiger, Bling Bling, Knitter, Cat Lady, Pho, and a couple of others I can’t think of witty nicknames for right now. Of course I do have a few other friends that I have met through alternate means: interwebs, friends of friends and talking to strangers.

So despite have moments of desperate financial distress, I have become rich with friendship

Thanks to this site, for the image

Recommendation

2011-07-22T00:07:00.000+10:00

I had dinner with a good friend tonight. He came into my life as an employer and boss, so it comes in handy to be able to give his number when I need a reference for a new contract.

Agent: And what would you say is Jodie’s weakness?

PH: She doesn’t like or handle being micro-managed very well. I found it best to give her a task and point her in the direction you wish end up in and you get results better than you expected.

The Rules

2011-07-21T11:21:00.001+10:00

Yesterday I had the privilege of presenting to a Communications group about keeping presentations simple, but engaging. I think it went well, at least 18 of the 20 strong audience took a card, I figure if I’d been boring, they wouldn’t have taken a card, but then they are very spiffy cards.

I took them through my 10 rules of creating a MS PowerPoint presentation, it took an hour, they asked questions, they laughed (very important), I said OK a lot at the beginning (always do, it’s the nerves) and they left feedback, but didn’t nick my post-it notes. It was good.

The issue was I had to get back to the office in a different suburb. I’d already had a two hour lunch break, so I decided to get a taxi rather than take the train. It would save me about half an hour. Ohh how wrong can you be?

My driver was a middle aged Asian man, fairly standard for Sydney, who had little grip on the English language, also fairly standard for a Sydney taxi driver. After he had run over more than his fair share of cats eyes, I asked him if it was knocking off time soon. Change over happens at 3pm, it was about two fifteen. He pointed at his face, shook his head and said ‘nose’. I had noticed he’d been sniffing, but that wasn't my question.

We got onto the Warringah Freeway, barely mind you, he had to swerve to avoid the concrete barrier. At that point I decided I would ask him to let me out at the first possible stopping point. 30 seconds later, I realised he wasn’t following the rules. The Goddess of Driving Rules (an American friend of mine) includes a rule that states, ‘You can never drive faster than the car in front of you’.

Clearly my driver did not know of these rules and tried to drive faster than the Lexus in front. He realised what he was doing and slammed on the anchors, unfortunately the extremely wet weather outside the vehicle made the stopping process somewhat slower than normal and we hit the shiny silver Lexus in the backend at about 30kph.

Having been on the receiving end of a couple of rear-enders (get your mind out of the gutter JH) I know that bracing for impact is the worst thing you can do, so I exhaled, relaxed into my seat and did my very best impression of a jelly.

The following 45 minutes involved a woman in her 50s wearing more labels than a rally car and a face that looked like a leather handbag that had been stretched out of shape, shouting at a tired Chinese man that shouted back. Neither of them understood each other.

I got back to the office later than if I’d have caught the train and I even had to pay the taxi that picked me up from the side of the road.

New Rule: If you err at taking a taxi...take the train.

Today, I feel like I’ve been run over by a bus but I’m riding high on Voltaren flowing in my veins. I know it’s muscular pain only, nothing broken or sprained. Another hot bath tonight, so can someone please remind me to buy bubble bath!

With age

2011-07-15T11:56:00.000+10:00

There are many sayings about age and wisdom, most ring true, some not so.

True:
Boys will be boys, and so will a lot of middle-aged men.
Kin Hubbard (1868 - 1930)

Wisdom is what's left after we've run out of personal opinions.
Cullen Hightower

Could be agued:
Wisdom doesn't automatically come with old age. Nothing does - except wrinkles. It's true, some wines improve with age. But only if the grapes were good in the first place.
Abigail Van Buren (1918 - )

I’d like to add one.

‘If you’re a woman a few things happen with age. You get breasts, the ability to have children and a desire to build a nest. You also learn to control your emotions. No one tells you you’re going start sprouting hair from your chin and you’re going to need a plastering qualification to fill the cracks next to your eyes. That was not in the advertising materials!’

It never rains...

2011-07-13T16:28:00.004+10:00

...but it pours.

In good times and bad. As you’ll no doubt be aware I’ve had a pretty rough few years, well it seems to be changing, at last.

I’ll whisper the next bit in case the Gods of the Short, Sharp, Shafting with a Big Stick hear, but I’ve have four job offers in less than a week. Five if you include the part–time photography gig and six if you include the wacky Board of Director thing for a community radio station.

Fingers crossed this good fortune continues, I have placed money trees at my back and front doors to help with my feng shui, so maybe it could :-)

Picture borrowed from here. Thank you!

It's been a while

2011-07-12T11:18:00.002+10:00

I have been travelling by bus lately. I like it because it slows down the inevitable arrival at work. Last night I was sitting my favourite seat (back row right). I was nearly home for the evening when the driver hit the curb for the sixth time on the journey.

‘Dude, stop hitting them, they’ve always been there.’ I muttered under my breath.

The guy sitting two seats away starting giggling.

I looked over at him, he looked back and said, ‘Hi’.

He looked like he should have been wearing school uniform. He had short wavy hair on the top of his head, a silly mullet thing growing out of the back. He was wearing jeans and casual jacket with trainers on his leg ends.

We started chatting, he had to take a bus and two trains to get to his job in Marrickville, he was a storeman.

He asked me about my job, I told him I was a corporate trainer, he asked me ‘what’s that then?’ I explained.

He asked why I didn’t drive to work, I told him I liked taking the bus because it meant I could read.

He led the repartee, when I fell silent he’d think of another question to ask. Being polite, I replied and tried to engage in the conversation.

Then I asked why he didn’t drive. ‘I’ve just got my Ls. I’m 17.’

My stop arrived.

As I climbed off the bus I heard, ‘I catch this bus every day, hope to see you again.’

Women!

2011-07-12T10:19:00.004+10:00

Over the past few days I've been giving consideration as to why there's an issue with the woman I work with. I can't even begin to guess what's going on in her head but I do have a clear insight into my own.

While others support me by saying things like, 'she's insecure because you're better at your job than her' and 'she's a skank', yes, someone (other than SI) said that and while I tend to agree, not really all that helpful, but thanks.

My thinking and over-analysing has led me to this conclusion.

I don't work well with women.

History has taught me this, not just the current issue. Every time I've ever had an issue at work, it's always been a woman. Except once, when I worked for a guy in his 60s and he told me women should stay at home to cook, clean and have babies. That was 1999 for you.

Back to the ladies. I don't think like a girl. I've been told this by many a female and male acquaintances. I have no burning desire to prove myself capable of being able to hold down a full time job. I don't live to work. I work to live, but it needs to be a job I enjoy with people who know how to relax.

I'm pretty sure I've never manipulated anyone to do something they didn't really want to do. In any part of my life.

I don't have and have never wanted babies. I like other people's kids 'cause you can give them back when they start crying. I'm a sucker for a broken animal though.

If I have an issue with the way someone is behaving I try to address it. I do not passive aggressively try to control the situation. I wear my heart on my sleeve and deal with it, if it can’t be dealt with I will extract myself from the situation at the first possible opportunity.

Which brings me back to my point.

I speak up. And as I said in my last post, I internalise a lot.

Let me explain the history of working with ladies in reverse. Only a couple of things per person, I don’t wish to bore you too much.

LC: was supposed to hand over all project work and move to another project. Hasn't, is still directing me to do admin tasks, took me aside and bollocked me for doing what I'm supposed to be doing. Got me to do 'urgent' report then told me the data I'd been working from was incomplete and I had to number crunch again. Constantly chases me and makes a point of saying, 'GOOD MORNING', while looking at her watch.

RA: After 3 years of employment I started to report to a new manager. This one completely rewrote everything I wrote and started to check where I was. Luckily, I left before this one started to really became an issue.

DJ: gave me Whooping Cough because despite being really sick considered herself indispensable and coughed on me for two weeks before proudly announcing the doctor had officially diagnosed her. When I got back from three week sick she had a go at me for being behind in my work. She clock watched. She knee capped me in a meeting, I handed in my notice 20 minutes later.

Of course I always second guess myself and think I'm imagining this behaviour, am I just being paranoid? Until someone else spots it and brings it to my attention, I’ll torture myself that it’s all in my imagination, because what could they possibly be getting out behaving in such a manner? On the occasions that I have confronted passive aggressive behaviour, it just gets worse in the following days, such as yesterday's phantom report that prevented me from attending a training session for the project I'm working on.

I've never had these sorts of problems when working with/for a guy. I find if guys have a problem, they just tell you. Men are upfront. 'You're crap! Because of X Y and Z' and this conversation is likely to take place at lunch, in a pub.

Women, especially those with children, start talking to you as if you have an IQ of 10. They always do this in front of people. I apologise if you are not such a woman, this is from MY experiences in horror employment.

'Oh, well done, Jodie!'

Condescending Biatch!

They explain things to you as if it's a completely new concept to the world.

'Now, I'd like you to make up an address label for this box, addressed to XYZ and then, get a trolley and take it up to the mail room for posting'.

Really, I need to let the mail room know where I want it to go? Why don't I make the address label up for someone completely different, surely ESP will get it to the correct person?

Supercilious Biatch!

Now granted, I've got an attitude about this, but despite getting sick to my stomach with stage fright, I'm a good little actress when I need to be. I take it for the sake of reducing chances of escalation. Confronting it, always, leads to escalation.

I'll bide my time, perform like Sandra Bullock in The Blind Side (and maybe a bit of Miss Congeniality) at any up-coming interviews and get the hell outta Dodge and remember, work with men.

Thank you to this website for the image :-)

Mangy Mongrel

2011-07-07T11:17:00.003+10:00

For nearly 15years I have suffered bouts of depression. It’s what my doctor refers to as ‘reactionary’, meaning that something triggers it rather than it occurring for no apparent reason.

For the last few years I have constantly struggled to get the black dog to back off and leave me alone. Six months ago I resorted to trying to kill it with a daily dose of 50mg of Zoloft, but I figured something out last night. The mongrel really doesn’t like being slowly poisoned to death, it knows you’re trying to do it, and it bites back. Hard.

Being brought up with a stiff upper lip and not showing emotion in public I have developed a stoicism that often leave completely in the dark as to my mental state until I crash. I’ve crashed. I want to retreat from the world, tell everyone to get lost and stay in bed surrounded by the family that gives me comfort.

Unfortunately, one of the reasons this black dog is following me my every waking moment is money worry. Nearly 18 month of unemployment in the last three years has made a massive dent in my finances that I am desperately trying to claw my way out of. This month, I’m going from fortnightly to monthly pay, after all my bills got paid the day the cash hit my account, I now have just $100 to last me until the end of July. Just another reason to retreat.

I was doing OK until yesterday, my brave face has held up mostly, but an incident at work yesterday, sent me sliding down the spiral into the jaws of the pi*sed off dog.

I got told off for doing my job by a woman who isn’t even supposed to be working on the project anymore.

I know it sounds insignificant, but without going into the whole long, back story, you’ll just have to trust me that it’s just another thing from a long line of controlling behaviour by a woman who thinks she owns me.

While I acknowledge I have quite a dominant personality. I really don’t have a competitive bone in my body. I just want to do a good job and go home at the end of the day. However, I have come across the odd colleague that sees me as a challenge. They win of course, because I don’t have the fight in me, I can’t be arsed. It’s not that I can’t fight, I have in the past I just find it’s not that important to prove I have the biggest testicles and that I can be a wife, mother and high-powered executive. I don’t care, no, really. I simply do not care. I really just want to do MY job, do it well, get paid for doing said job and go home to my life. So when I come across someone who wants to control me, by clock watching, checking up on me and generally limiting my ability to do my job effectively it has a profoundly negative effect on me. It makes me not want to get up and go to the job. It makes me not want to do anything while I’m at the job and it really makes me wanna bitch-slap the biatch that’s making me wanna bitch-slap them. Of course I do get up, I do do stuff once there and I don’t resort to physical violence.

While dominant, I’m fairly mellow, good natured and generous (time wise and financially when able) to those that treat me well, even those that I don’t know are gonna turn on me and stab me firmly in the back when I turn to pay for lunch. Once you F#ck with me at work (I’ll always try to find out what’s going on with friends), I shut down. I become uncommunicative (for a Communications specialist this can be an issue), I become withdrawn and I will not engage with your behaviour. I will not confront you, it’s what you want, fight. I will moan to others (sorry others), but mostly I will internalise. And we’re back to the dog.

Time has come for me to withdraw from the world again. Heal. Deal with the shemozzle that is my life for the next 36 sleeps (my dealing with the dog breeder ends in 12th August), I need to focus on securing a new contract, and sorting out my house. Once the black dog moves in all facade of houseproudness flies out the window. I need to sort out my tax paperwork.

It’s likely you’ll still see me around, but it won’t be out and about town, it won’t be Farmville and it won’t be at any social events organised through work because I can tell you I can hear that fake laugh at 1000 paces, see the annoying hand gestures through concrete walls and most of all I can feel my air being polluted by it’s breath.

I will continue to smile. Never fear, I have a fur family that would miss me too much.

Anniversary

2011-07-05T22:47:00.005+10:00

Yesterday saw the third anniversary of a day that affected my life in a way that cannot be described. I became motherless. Clearly I had a mother, but on the 4th July 2008 mine, Sally, ceased to exist in this world and moved into one where she could wear red shoes all the time, drink G&T with more more G than T and cook up a storm at any time of the day.

In memory of my Muv, I finally figured out her Bread and Butter Pudding recipe, I think.

The weather wasn't rainy in Sydney, in fact the sun was shining, but I thought I share this picture of Muv and me on the Isle of Wight in the early 80s, because it reflects the feeling in my heart on the day that marks her death. Rain, muddy knees and a desire to stop waiting

MasterChef

2011-07-05T22:31:00.002+10:00

I've been taking in the odd episode of MasterChef this year and I've enjoyed what I've seen. I saw this episode the other night and I absolutely love this recap, because it's true. It's all taken so ridiculously serious by so many people :-)

Bus Vs Train

2011-06-29T10:54:00.003+10:00

I have a well known loathing of public transport. It is of course a necessary evil that gets me to work and saves me from paying astronomical sums of cash for car parking.

I usually travel by train, which at my new abode it not as simple as it used to be. Once I had a three minute walk to the station and a train straight through to my destination. Now my trip to work looks something like this;
1. Drive to the vicinity of the station and park as close as possible. 10-15 minutes.
2. Walk from car to station. About 10 minutes, depending if I parked outside number 8 or 15 and anywhere in between.
3. Wait for train, could be up to 15minutes if I have just missed one.
4. Travel to Epping. 5 minutes.
5. Change trains at Epping, can be up to 14 minutes and involves going down two very long escalators and waiting.
6. Ride train through the Tunnel from Epping to Chatswood. 25 minutes of blackness outside and usually a flickering fluorescent inside.
7. Walk from station to office, 5 minutes.

This is of course done in reverse order on the way home. So I travel for up to an hour and a half each way, with a number of changes and loads of waiting. I find it very hard to do anything on my trip, such as reading, because I’m not really settled for very long in any particular place. I find it hard to read on the stations, because frankly, I just try to stay warm, which is not always possible when the platforms seem to be a wind funnel.

Today I tried another option to see if it was a better way to travel. I took the bus:
1. Walk to bus stop. 6minutes. Today I stepped straight onto the bus, but there could be up to a 5 minute wait.
2. Sit on bus for an hour and watch the world go by.
3. Get off bus and walk to office. 3 minutes.

This is a 70 minute option. It knocks 20 minutes off the trip, plus I don’t have to fight for a seat or do the escalator shuffle. I’m going to give this a go for the rest of the week to see how it goes. I arrived at work feeling marginally more relaxed than when I travel by train despite the constant stop start to let passengers on and off and the driver locking us all in while he nipped to the loo at Macquarie Uni.

What I like about the bus is that you get to look around. The world passes you by just a little slower and you get to see things you would normally miss. You travel down roads you always wondered where they led. This morning I saw the side of Eastwood I have never seen before and discovered there is Rice Cake shop there. Love rice cake :-) Also, no travelling backwards on a bus...backs of heads only, sometime an ear if you're near the sideways seats in the disabled bit.

You still get inconsiderate passengers of course. No feet on seats, but some woman did get on with a pull along suitcase and proceed to put it on the seat. It had muddy wheels.

I’ll let you know how it goes.

Head over heels

2011-06-25T20:59:00.001+10:00

Also known as arse over tit when you're falling over rather than in love.

I had such a tumble on Thursday whilst walking into a work site on my way to deliver training. I stepped on a manhole cover which gave way and my right foot disappeared down the hole. I tried to right myself, but as these things go, it happened very quickly and I ended up in a pile on the gravel ground. My right knee and palm caught the brunt on the damage but my left elbow impacted too as I attempted to stop the bags I was carrying from hitting the ground too hard. Cara was in one of them. She's fine.

The two big tough construction types out for a smoko saw me go down with the grace of a fairy elephant and came to my rescue. Meanwhile I was the colour of my coat.

I have a tiny graze on my palm, a bruise on my elbow and a tenderised knee. Considering the minor nature of my booboos the rest of my body feels like it's done ten rounds with the current heavy weight champion. I hurt.

The last time I feel over was in Coles about three years ago (I slipped on flower water). I didn't think I'd fall over again so soon.

It's true what they say, you really do fall harder the older you get, but only because you're not used to it and you don't bounce like you used too.

Interesting...

2011-06-22T21:32:00.002+10:00

and true. I've been on the receiving end of some strange comments and even been called selfish.

OMG!

2011-06-21T09:45:00.003+10:00

Today's word de jour is yarely. Possibly not a word you would see on Sesame Street, but a good word none the less.

For me, it ranks up there with betwixt and comely as underused and sorely in need of a revival. These are good words harking back to the days of cummerbunds and bustles. When ladies and gentlemen dressed for dinner and barbers offered 'something for the weekend'.

Many words are over used. Awesome!

Many words are abused. Should I really? Phrase it a different way and I may be more inclined to acquiesce to your request.

Many words are underutilised. Berate, admonish, and chide all sound fabulously better than a good telling off.

I like words, all words, with possibly the exception of Hate. Don't like that one so much. They have a power over me than can’t be described. They have the power to make me feel dumb or eloquent, alas I fear that some will simply disappear. Others will fade into the pile of balderdash that is also known as the acronym.

Everybody

2011-06-14T12:42:00.001+10:00

'The best way to become acquainted with a subject is to write a book about it.'
Benjamin Disraeli (1804 - 1881)

They say everyone has a book in them, I tried to find out who ‘they’ were, but failed so I decided to quote a once UK Prime Minister instead, the quote seemed fitting.

I have wanted to do something to remember Muv for a while. I thought about a sunflower tattoo, but decided against it, when I couldn’t come up with a design I liked. I starting collecting copies of The Scarlett Pimpernel by Baroness Orczy because it was one of her favourite stories (I have eight editions now). Recently I have been cooking.

I have decided to write a book about The Things Muv Used to Make. I’ll self publish because I will include anecdotes about her and words of wisdom that I carry with me. So far on the list:

1.Bread and Butter Pudding
2.Steak and Kidney Pie
3.Prawn Vol-a-vont
4.Salmon and Sweetcorn Quiche
5.Asparagus Quiche
6.Parma Ham/Cheese/Fig Pasta
7.Cottage Pie
8.Shepards Pie
9.Lemon Butter
10.Good Cuppa Tea
11.Tea Cosy
12.Gin and Tonic
13.Coffee Cake
14.Rum Truffle
15.Stew and Dumplings
16.Prawn Wontons
17.Chicken Liver Pate and Melba Toasts
18.Christmas Pudding
19.Fruit Cake
20.Almond Slice
21.Banana Custard
22.Soups (Leek and Potato etc.)
23.Sherry Trifle
24.Rhubarb Crumble
25.Lemon Meringue Pie

This is a brain dump, so it is in no particular order or preference, it may also be added to and have thing taken away. I will more than likely divide it into one of the following categories. WD and AD which stands for With Dad and After Dad, her cooking expanded into the more exotic after the divorce, or the classic, Starter, Main, Dessert and Seasonal. As this is a work in progress, this will be decided later. Of course, I may even decide to just make it completely random, just like her cooking style.

I have signed up for an account with www.blurb.com.au to put the book together and as yet there is no release date as I have to somehow figure out how to make these things considering there are no recipes. I’ve come up with a few, I remember a few, but some things elude me, such as the spongy bit on the almond slice and the binding agent on the Bread and Butter pudding. Barb-a-rub Crumble may be a challenge as I don’t think I’ve seen rhubarb for sale in Sydney.

I look forward to the challenge, after all I don’t have any at work at the moment.

Creamed Leek and Potato Soup

2011-06-13T12:33:00.002+10:00

This would have to be one of my favourites, running a close second to Pea and Ham.

Vegetarian - serves 4 - 6

Ingredients
50g of butter
1 small onion
2 good sized leeks
4 medium potatoes
1/2 pint of water
1/2 pint of vegetable stock
salt and pepper to taste

Cream
Parmesan Cheese

Method
Chop the leeks into 1cm pieces and the onion into small pieces
Melt the butter and soften the leeks
Add the fluid
Add the chopped and peeled potato
Add the salt and pepper
Bring to the boil stir then lower the heat until the pot is simmering.
Simmer with the lid on for 40 minutes

Allow to cool before blending to a smooth consistency. Of course you can leave it chunky if you like, it just won't be creamed ;-)

To Serve
Stir in 1/4 cup of cream
Garnish with grated parmesan and freshly ground pepper

Bells of St. Clements

2011-06-12T15:39:00.007+10:00

I have a very healthy and productive lemon tree growing in my garden. For a few weeks now it's been dropping fruit all over the garden and me being me, I hate to see them go to waste. So I've been making squash instead of buying it. It's remarkably easy and tasty.

Lemon Squash

Ingredients
1 pint of water
500g of caster sugar
1.5 pints of lemon juice

Method
Dissolve the sugar in the water, do not let it boil.
Allow the sugar water to cool
Add the juice and stir.

Add water (still or sparkling) to drink, sparkling water and you have lemonade.

I've started freezing the mix now as I have over 10 pints. It'll be nice in the summer :-)

Now I have to figure out what to do with the darn mandarins and oranges.

The Bells of London

Gay go up and gay go down,
To ring the bells of London town.

Oranges and lemons,
Say the bells of St. Clements.

Bull's eyes and targets,
Say the bells of St. Marg'ret's.

Brickbats and tiles,
Say the bells of St. Giles'.

Halfpence and farthings,
Say the bells of St. Martin's.

Pancakes and fritters,
Say the bells of St. Peter's.

Two sticks and an apple,
Say the bells of Whitechapel.

Pokers and tongs,
Say the bells of St. John's.

Kettles and pans,
Say the bells of St. Ann's.

Old Father Baldpate,
Say the slow bells of Aldgate.

You owe me ten shillings,
Say the bells of St. Helen's.

When will you pay me?
Say the bells of Old Bailey.

When I grow rich,
Say the bells of Shoreditch.

Pray when will that be?
Say the bells of Stepney.

I do not know,
Says the great bell of Bow.

Here comes a candle to light you to bed,
Here comes a chopper to chop off your head.

Chop chop chop chop
The last man's dead!

Ginger Slab Cake

2011-06-12T13:30:00.000+10:00

Ingredients
225g of softened butter
1 cup of caster sugar
1 cup of treacle
3 eggs, lightly beaten
1 cup of milk
3 cups of plain flour
1 teaspoon of ground cinnamon
1 teaspoon of grated nutmeg
2 teaspoon of ground ginger
2 teaspoons of bicarbonate of soda

Method
Preheat oven to 160 degreesC. Grease and line a 23cm square cake tin.

Cream the butter and sugar until light and fluffy. Slowly add the eggs until well combined.

Heat the treacle and milk in a saucepan. Allow to cool before stirring into butter and sugar mix.

Sift the flour, spices and bicarbonate of soda together and then fold into other mixtures.

Spoon the batter in the prepared tin.

Bake for 60minutes or until you can insert a skewer into the middle and extract cleanly.

Allow to cool before turning out of tin.

I knew it!

2011-06-11T20:10:00.000+10:00

Thin isn't always best :-)

Memories are made of this

2011-06-05T18:39:00.002+10:00

Having had a houseguest for the last week I’ve been playing kitchen goddess all weekend. I baked up a storm, but sweet things rather than bread.

I decided to broaden my horizons and rolled out the oats, brown sugar and treacle plus a few dried fruits.

At one point I noticed I now have a rather fully loaded pantry. It reminded me of Muv. I had a pang of sadness as I had a realization that I even have glaze cherries in the fridge. I’ll eat them later and I won’t tell myself until I come to make something next weekend then be annoyed and tell myself I’m disappointed in me. That will really bring back the memories :-)

Figgy Fingers

2011-06-05T17:55:00.001+10:00

Ingredients
125g of butter
1 cup of soft brown sugar
1 cup of desiccated coconut
2 cups of rolled oats
1/2 cup of dried figs
1 tablespoon of golden syrup

Method
Preheat oven to 180 degree C. Lightly grease a 20cm slab tin.

Melt the butter and golden syrup in a saucepan.

Chop the dried figs and discard the hard stalks

Combine all of the ingredients and then press into the tin.

Bake for 20 minutes or until golden brown. Leave till cool, then cut into slices or squares.

Frannies Not-so-Fancies

2011-06-04T22:40:00.001+10:00

Ingredients
100g Butter
1/4 cup of castor sugar
1/4 cup treacle
1 cup of plain flour
2 teaspoons of baking power
1/2 teaspoon of salt
80g of rolled oats
20g of flaked almonds
1/2 cup of sultanas
1/4 cup of glaze cherries

Method
Preheat oven to 180 degree C. Lightly grease and line a 19 x 29cm slice tin.

Gently heat the butter, sugar and treacle in a saucepan until butter has melted and sugar dissolved.

The flour, baking powder and salt should be sifted into a bowl. Stir in the rest of the ingredients in and then stir in the butter/treacle mix.

The mixture will be thick and sticky. Press it into the prepared tin and bake for 20 minutes.

Allow to cool before cutting into slices. You should get between 16 and 24 depending how big you cut them.

I heart Bread

2011-06-02T18:01:00.000+10:00

I do, I really, really do. I like bread so much that I even learnt how to make it. I can make plain white bread, olive bread for those days when you just fancy bread and cheese and I recently added mulit-grain and wholemeal to my repertoire.

I also like pasta, cakes and biscuits. But nothing comes quite as close to being as good as fresh bread with butter and honey.

I do however have an issue. I really shouldn’t eat bread. While I am not Coeliac, my body doesn’t like to overdose on the wheat products and take it from me, it’s in nearly everything bar, meat and veg.

Of course, when finances are tight, bread becomes a staple because rice, while nice and easy for home, isn’t so easy for work. The accompanying sauce tend to have strong odours that don’t always go down well in an office environment. So I’ve been eating bread, making it, then eating it.

Yum!

But now, after a few weeks of having a wheat rich diet I’m starting to feel the effects. I’m tired, all the time. My skin is terrible, spotty, grey and itchy. And I can’t blame the dog anymore. My insides are constantly churning, I feel bloated and only get a moments relief when I release some of the gaseous build-up. I need to do a de-tox. Badly.

So, rice and corn it is. No more wheat based products. Corn and rice cakes (aka coasters) instead of yummy bread. No afternoon tea biscuits, only nuts and seeds. I’ll have to invest in a fruit basket so I can have my daily three (I really miss walking past a fruit and veggie shop on the way into the office) and I’ll have to make soups, canned one have flour thickeners.

I can still make bread, but for friends only.

I must rid my body of these toxins!

Run away life

2011-05-31T15:23:00.000+10:00

Have you ever had one of those weeks where life has taken control and you find yourself on a roller coaster going up and down, round the corners and through the tunnel of turmoil?

The last seven days have been like that for me. I’ve been travelling for work, organised a photo shoot for work, I’ve been on the radio, I’ve added to my fur family, I’ve had a house guest and I sold a bed on eBay.

On Friday I went to Port Macquarie for work. Flew there in the morning gave a half hour presentation and then climbed on a prop for the trip home at 5pm. It was a 12 hour day, (four in airports, one and three quarters on aeroplanes, driving driving to and from airports, two and three quarters sat in a management meeting listening to gumph about road building and my half hour) all for half an hour in front of the room showing some slides and doing a bit of talking. Daft beyond believe, but I did get to pop into Cassegrain Wines on the way back to the airport.

Last Wednesday night I was on the radio. Yes, actual radio. Ok, so it was community radio with a radius of 10 yards, but radio none the less. I was on the Uncle Mike and Mama Carol Show on Flame FM 100.9 (or Auburn and Bankstown Regional Radio as it’s know while the licence request goes through). Uncle Mike was off watching rugby (State of Origin, a big thing for those in NSW or QLD) so I got to fill in. Carol drove the control centre while we chatted, played songs, did Bing Bong (read out Overheards for the free commuter newspaper) and generally brought the whole community into disarray. It was an absolute hoot. At the end of it, I was offered my own show. Mad!

I added three chickens to my fur family at the weekend. I wanted some for a while, they are cheap and easy to keep and they give you eggs. Plus, as an added bonus in my house they keep the cats entertained. Oren has decided they are better than TV. She sits and watches them for hours. She follows them around as they walk around the pen. Cara is interested, but as they are outside and prefers being inside, in the warm, she takes a quick look on her way back in after toilet breaks. Puss has seen it all before and simply ignores them as he does with anything he deems not worthy of his attentions.

My house guest arrived on Sunday, but the prep had caused a minor frenzy of activity. Cleaning, making up his room, going to IKEA to purchase a duvet and pillows (thanks goodness for the ‘As-Is’ bin, saved $40 on the pillows). I also made bread. Then as a last minute thing, I decided to use the lemons bombarding my back lawn, by making lemonade. I had no idea it was so easy to make what is essentially a lemon cordial/squash. I made much more than the recipe suggested due the overflowing bowl of lemons and by the end of it I had three bottles of lemon squash for the price of a bag of sugar.

I sold a bed on eBay. Those of you that know me well will know of my general distaste for eBay. But, as I had a double bed cluttering up the hallway, I decided to bite the bullet and get rid of it. The guy that brought it came to pick it up in Sunday night. He had hired a van and hadn’t taken the sizes provided into account when hiring, so he had to dismantle it in my driveway, using my tools. Idiot! It was dark, I was busy, I left him too it. My house guest N. was kind enough to sort out the boys with the bed. My distaste for this selling medium comes from this sort of stoopidity that comes with folks wanting a bargain. I have yet to have a reasonable selling experience.

The photo shoot for work turned out OK, but the start of the day wasn’t looking too hopeful. It was raining heavily and it was supposed to be an outdoorsy shoot. We had hired talent for the day, a photographer and organised a construction site to be available. It had to be done the day it was booked for. We managed to get a couple of breaks in the weather where it wasn’t throwing buckets over us, but we still needed to put plastic bags over the flash units and an umbrella over the photographer.

I have a message for the planet. Please stop, I would like to get off for just a short break.

It's just a name

2011-05-24T12:03:00.003+10:00

I had a dream last night about something that got me to thinking this morning about names. I can’t remember the dream, but I pretty sure it involved someone knocking on my door. Of course someone may actually have knocked on my real door, but seeing as it was still dark at the time, I’ll consider it a dream and not a desperate plea of help. Anywho...back to my point...

Many years ago I saw Disney’s 101 Dalmatians. Apart from Cruella deVil being one of the scariest villains ever, I always recall seeing the scene where Roger and Anita walk through the park and see all the dogs that look like their owners. The long coated Afghan cantering with a lanky hippy, the bulldog with a pumped up fighter and the small fluffy with a well dressed girl in pink with ribbons. Like for like is what they were saying, I think.

So the name thing can also be like for like. I know a Mr. Gumm, he’s a dentist. He wasn’t my surgeon, but Mr. Andrew Bone worked in the same building as my orthopaedic doctor. Mr. Kidney is a nephrologist on the list of specialists that my Doctor looked at when she was looking for a consultant for me. A guy I worked with was called Mr. Trainer; he’s the Learning and Development Manager and was a school teacher.

The same goes for addresses...I live on Rope Crescent, those that know me, know I have a passion for knots.

Can you imagine though, standing in an elevator, ascending to the 13th floor and noticing that the maintenance company for said lift, lists their address as Ricketty Street

Muffin stuffin'

2011-05-21T23:07:00.001+10:00

A couple months ago I did a bread baking class. I got me to thinking…I like cooking and I’m not terrible at it.

So after spending a day in the kitchen last weekend, kneading dough and making a Lamb Shank Casserole for dinner, I decided to make savoury muffins on Tuesday. My first attempt at this recipe turned out a bit flat, I was copying it from the book 'The Baking Bible', but I misread so I used plain flour instead of self-raising. I also used tomato paste (as the book tells you too). The result was a bit stodgy, but tasty, so I decided to fiddle with the recipe and make it my own. This a quick dish that could be rustled up for those surprise guests that just 'pop in'. I give you:

Pesto and Cheese Muffins

Prep time: 10 minutes
Cooking time: 10-15 minutes

Ingredients
2 cups of self-raising flour
½ tsp of salt and pepper (mixed)
1 egg
¾ cup of water
1.5 cups of grated cheese (I used Vintage Cheddar)
¼ cup of pesto

Method
Pre-grease your muffin trays.
Put all the dry ingredients in a large bowl, gently combine with a folk.
Add the egg and water and combine with folk until all the ingredients are together. Mixture will be firm but sticky.
Spoon the approximately half the mixture into then tins.
Add one teaspoon of pesto to the top of the mixture.
Add the other half of the mixture to cover the pesto. Too much pesto and the top will not stick to the bottom and seal the pesto in.
Sprinkle a little grated cheese to the top of the muffin (I used Parmesan).

Place in the preheated oven (200degrees) and bake for 10 minutes or until golden brown.

Eat while warm and you'll eat them all. Eat the following day and you'll be able to pace yourself, but barely :-)

As an afterthought I decided you could pretty much use any pasta pesto for this recipe. I have a nice roasted capsicum (pepper), cashew and chilli paste in the cupboard, I may try that next.

Tick Tock

2011-05-20T11:09:00.002+10:00

In the last 24 hours I have pulled two ticks off Oren (for those just joining us, Oren is my second feline child). One was attached to her lacrimal punctum (the bit a human would put eyeliner on) and one on her lip. They were both small, but they were paralysis ticks, and they are renowned for being nasty little buggers. While the native wildlife can sustain many at a time, imported critters, such as cats, dogs, sheep and cows, tend to have a nasty experience with them and often die.

She is two and half now and these are the first ticks I’ve ever found on her. It means I have to search her daily now to ensure she gets no more and if she does, get them off as soon as possible.

I may even need to keep an eye on Cara (first canine child). While she doesn’t spend any extended time outside, she so small, if she was to pick one up I’m sure it wouldn’t take long to have an effect on her.

Puss (first feline child) used to get a lot of them when I lived a little further north and he was more of an outside explorer. Now he’s nearly 12 and a tad arthritic, I’m not so worried about him, but there was a time he nearly died for tick poisoning, so I’m very aware of the dangers of not finding them quickly.

I found him lying on his side, half under the bed, breathing laboured. I rushed him to the vet, it took us half an hour of searching before we found the offender. It was a female, engorged to the size of my little finger nail, sucking the blood from the inside of his lip. The size of the sucker, she would have been there about five days, it's more than likely his continued exposure that meant that he surrived as long as he did with one attached. He had a dose of anti-venom, but it was still touch and go for a while. He vomited pure green, fitted, spasmed and drew the blood of the vet. I cried at the thought of losing him. He had a two day stay at Auntie Anna’s (the vet) I had a large bill.

I’ll be body searching my kids daily from here on out.

1st April, again?

2011-05-20T09:30:00.004+10:00

I was on the train travelling to work when this email popped up on my phone. It's from the office manager where I work. I really did have to stifle a snort of laughter upon reading it.

I came into work this morning with the intention of finding out what the term ‘planking’ amongst social networkers means. This was prompted for 2 reasons:

• About 50% of our Corporate Office personnel are young and I feel the need to remain in touch with the ‘lingo’.

• Media vehicles are concerned about the increased number of personal injuries and deaths reported in the past week.

For those of you who don’t know, some rather interesting sites define ‘planking’ as the ‘ART’ (???)of challenging our body physically by trying to balance it on or between objects and it appears that the more extreme the idea the better.

I have been made aware that ‘planking’ is being practised in our own office.

Please be advised that ‘planking’ at work goes against our ‘safety above all else’ value and the practice is unacceptable.

I'm definitely gonna stick to Teapotting after this email, it scared me off being a planker. :-)

The Joy of Honey

2011-05-19T10:21:00.008+10:00

At the request of my current housemate, I made dessert. I didn’t have anything fancy in the cupboard, but thanks to the recipe on the side of the Kellogg’s Cornflakes I was able to rustle up a treat or four.

I had Cornflakes, honey, butter and sugar, but I didn’t have cup cake cases, so I rolled out a few ramekins. It meant I had supersize Honey joys and only four, rather than 16.

They were yummy, crisp and buttery :)

Kellogg's Honey Joys

Ingredients
90g margarine or butter (I picked butter:-)
1/3 cup sugar (I went half/half white and raw)
1 tbsp honey
4 cups of Kellogg's Cornflakes

Method
Preheat oven to 150 degrees.
Melt butter/marg sugar and honey in saucepan until frothy.
Add Kellogg's Cornflakes and mix well.
Spoon into paper cupcake cases.
Bake in slow oven for 10 minutes
Allow to cool.

I'll keep working on my food photography :-)

It's not our policy

2011-05-18T11:11:00.000+10:00

Yesterday I misplaced my fortnightly train ticket. I searched all my bags including Cara's and to no avail. Gone. I have no idea how, it's a total mystery.

I did however have the receipt in my wallet. $62 (that converts to US$65.86, 40UKPounds, 5,716 Kenyan Shillings, 10,267 Nigerian Naira and 187.66 Turkmenistan New Manats)

After being sent to the Station Master by the ticket seller I was told my ticket was considered lost as if it where cash.

'If you lost a fifty dollar note you wouldn't expect it to be replaced' he told me.

I immediately came back with, ‘If I lost $50 I wouldn’t have a receipt’.

‘It’s not our policy to replace tickets based on a receipt’.

After a little sweet talk from me, he very kindly gave me a blue replacement ticket until the 23rd (same as the lost ticket). But I still walked out of the office thinking how ridiculous it is to give receipts but them to mean nothing. Every other business in the world has to honour the receipt, why not Rail Corp?

Stranger things have happened

2011-05-17T14:54:00.001+10:00

I confess, I can’t think of many, but I’m sure they have.

The weather has turned cold in Sydney. Those of you that live here will know what I speak off, those that reside in other, far flung place, may not. On average Sydney gets seven days of temperatures below five degrees overnight in Winter. We’re still in Autumn and we have clocked up nearly two week of frosts. FROST! In Sydney. It’s almost unheard of.

Now, I’m not really one to complain about the weather, I like cold days with sunshine. Not too keen on wind or rain, but those lovely crisp days when the sun shines and the flowers still smile, make my heart sing. Thanks to a southerly coming up from Antarctica we’re getting those kind of days.

When I moved in November I moved my belonging into a house with a real fireplace. One you put logs in. I was told when I took up residence that it was in good working order, I found out on February, that it wasn’t. The baffle (the think steel plate just below the chimney hole) was melted through and it was missing several insulation bricks. After much tooing and frowing, the Landlord finally decreed that they would pay for the repairs. Of course, this was just as every man and his dog also wanted their chimneys and fireplaces serviced. So I’m on a list...he’s coming on 21st May.

The cold snap has been here for a few weeks now and the house was becoming as cold inside as outside. It was inhumane, to me, my housemate S and the animals. When you can see your breath inside, it’s too cold. So I lit the fire.

After three days the baffle snapped in half and fell out.

Fan heaters didn’t do a bad job for a couple of days, then the temperature dropped again. On Saturday, I’d had enough of not being able to feel my fingers so I lit the fire. Baffle and bricks be damned...I needed heat.

The smell of the wood, the heat that filled the room, the gentle roar and the glow in the house brought out the domestic goddess. I baked bread, I cooked lamb shanks and I felt like making biscuits. I never really want to cook. I’m sure it was the influence of the real fire burning in the corner. Maybe it’s a primal instinct to make home and nest. Maybe, and I think this may be it, it was the years of a real fire as a child when we’d spend time in the kitchen in the colder months (most of the year in the UK) baking cakes, Muv made a mean Victoria Sponge, making sweeties (rum truffle or clotted cream fudge anyone?), Yum Yum Pie, Bread and Butter pudding and all manner of other goodies. Muv was a regular Barbara Good. There was always a cake in the cupboard.

The bread has gone and due to lack of ingredients the only sweet treat I could make was Honey Joys. I had sugar, butter, honey and cornflakes in the cupboard, but as I didn’t have any paper cases I made giant ones in pate ramekins. It was a bit of fun.

I’ve been out and purchased baking things...almonds, castor and icing sugar, vanilla essence, condensed milk, and a couple of things to try a Jamie Oliver recipe. I’m even thinking of doing what Julie Powell did, but unlike her, rather than a book of savouries’ and general Frenchieness, I thought I'd work my way through the Baking Bible.

Wiring

2011-05-17T12:28:00.001+10:00

Why is it when we a presented with a circle we work clockwise?

A picture: Start at the top, move to the right and work your way around the bottom and back up the left side until you reach the top again.

A Cricket Oval: walk to the left and work your way around. If you were being watched from above, you’d be going clockwise. I tried walking to the right, but it felt strange.

I don’t know about you, but I also look at images in clockwise. What’s the first thing you notice about this image?

Then where did you look?

It’s just a theory of mine, but it could just be me. Feel free to debunk this generalist view if you like.