Intelligence

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


After the roof, she moved into a tree.

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

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

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

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


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

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

...unless they fancy chicken for dinner.

Karma?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Crepuscular Light

A few years ago I read ‘The DaVinci Code’ by Dan Brown. I followed it with ’Angels and Demons’. I enjoyed them both for what they were, adventure novels that kept you turning the page because of a good fast paced story. Our hero moved across continents, religion got a bashing, people died or were badly injured, but in the end the good guy came out on top. When during Uni classes these books where held up as bad examples of writing I would always jump to their defence with the argument that they have got people reading. Surely, I’d follow up with, any reading is good reading?

In May last year I was readying myself for a trip back to the UK for an extended period. I needed reading material. A visit to my local bookstore saw me purchasing the first three of the Twilight series by Stephenie Meyer. I liked the look of the covers and the blurb had me sold. I like a good vampire yarn.

I read the first book and got a tad irritated with being told Edward was amazing, Edward is luminous and Edward is gorgeous. I wanted to slap Bella for being such a big girl’s blouse. I did however make it to the end of the first book even though I wished it would hurry up and get on with the story already. I wasn’t in a hurry to know what happened next though. There was a four month gap before I started reading the second book at Christmas. Just after the Twilight movie came out.

I saw the movie in the cinema and found myself thinking, ‘where’s the fast forward button?’

I only made it half way through the second book and came perilously close to throwing it out of the window during my Christmas road trip. I knew what was coming, it had been hinted at so many times, but the author never seemed to want to tell us anything for sure. Was Jacob a werewolf? Of course he is, so why not just bloody tell us, it’s not like we can’t work it out for ourselves by page 10.

A friend of mine borrowed the books from me and loved it. She said it was like a soap opera, she had to know what came next and as such kept turning the pages.

I don’t watch soap operas. I don’t watch Eastenders, Neighbours or Days of our Lives. Maybe this is why the slow pace annoyed me so much. I don’t want to wait six weeks to see the main characters have their first kiss. The duh duh duh music at the end of an episode rarely leaves me on the edge of my seat. I like them to just get on with it, if it’s going to happen. Sexual tension and threats are all well and good, but if you know it’s never gonna happen, what the point in having it there in the first place?

Maybe if I was 16, as I believe is the intended audience age for these books, I would have persevered. Maybe if I needed a lesson in abstinence and the consequences of loose living (as I believe are revealed in book four) I would have enjoyed them more. As it is, I see people (both men and women) on the train, heads buried in book three or four and feel like giving them a round of applause for making it so far.

I now see where my fellow students were coming from. It’s not a case of any reading is good reading. Only good reading is good reading. Bad reading only dims the lights further.

News Smooze

I’m not generally a big reader of the news. I find it fires my blood and makes me angry, so I avoid it. I don’t buy newspapers except to read book reviews and I’ve stopped that with a subscription to ABR. Unfortunately using Yahoo! for my mail means I get news in front of me everyday. I try to avoid clicking on the teasing little titbits but I’m not always successful.

I find news reporting seems to be about sensationalising what little is happening. OK, so there have been a few things happening in Australia recently; the policeman who found his own son at the scene of a car accident, the body in the suitcase, the election and the mother to be miscarrying her baby while waiting to be seen. All of these things suck, big time, but the reason I mention them is because everyone else seems to being blamed for these tragedies.

The father was blamed for his seventeen year old son driving with too many passengers and after curfew. DOCS (Dept of Community Services) were blamed for allowing a mother to kill her son before stuffing him in a suitcase and throwing it in a duck pond. Doctors and nurses have been blamed and well, we can blame democracy for the elections, I’m sure the press will.

Now, today I read about a guy in Russia who has just been convicted of killing more than fifty people by luring them to drink vodka with him, then getting them drunk before beating them to death. He has shown no remorse and has even said that his first kill was like falling love.

Who are the press going to blame for that one; the vodka company?

What’s Up with Managers

After the kafuffle this week with Sally, I’m a bit down on managers just at the moment. So when Edna rang to tell me earlier that her manager had called a meeting for 5pm on Friday so the team could be thanked for all their hard work, all I could think was.

F*ckers!

Spit and Felt Tip

I may be showing my age or maybe just my old-fashioned upbringing but I need to vent.

For the first time in months I brought myself a copy of Cosmopolitan magazine. It had a pretty picture of Eva Longoria wearing white on the cover and promises ‘Celeb Sex Shocks’ and apparently ‘the Best Fashion idea for my shape’.

So picture me, laying in bed (as all good Cosmo read happen, I hear) browsing the pages of a girlie mag. I was looking at pictures of shoes, handbags, skirts, shirts and more shoes. I was revelling in the photos of girls dressed in the latest upcoming fashions and thanking my lucky stars I was old enough to have my own style (jeans and t-shirt/blouse, thank you very much!) and didn’t feel I had to conform to pinafore dresses in plaid over spotty shirts or skirts with enormous, useless buttons.

On page 53 I was looking at the Quick Tips from the fashion editor. There were just three;
1. Holey tights? Blast with hairspray to stop a run.
2. Revamp a tired headscarf by adding a cute brooch
3. Use a black felt-tip pen to freshen up scuffed shoes

USE A FELT TIP PEN TO COVER SCUFFS!

What the hell happened to polish your shoes? Surely I’m not the only one my age who still partakes in this archaic practice. I know Miss Eudoxia does, after all it’s a requirement of her new truncheon wielding position. I know Hubby doesn’t polish his, ‘cause I do them. I know my dad does and so does my mum, after all they’re the ones who taught me.

Help…please let me know how you keep your shoes looking their best.

(284 words)

FreeWay to do what you like

So, picture this. You’re driving along a three lane freeway at night, there a virtually no cars on the road with you, do you;

A) Sit at approximately the speed limit in the left hand lane minding you own until you have to overtake someone
B) Sit in the middle lane going twenty kilometres slower than the speed limit with your headlights on beam and your fog lights on
C) Sit in the right lane going nearly thirty kilometres slower than the speed limit (so you appear to be stopped) and don't move when someone approaches
D) None of the above, just don’t drive at night 'cause it's scary

Well, if you were one of the pillocks out tonight you would have be doing B and C when they really should have been doing D ‘cause clearly they have no idea how to be safe night-time driving!

What's the Problem?

A week ago I said I would shave my head to a number one for the Leukemia Foundation. A couple of days later while asking people to cough up cash in sponsorship someone asked ‘so you’re doing a Britney are you?’

I had no idea what he was talking about but continued to gather sponsorship. In fact I have just over $1000 to date. Anyhow, I finally got around to looking for pictures of Britney this evening and I have to ask.

Why is everyone so upset about a twenty year old shaving her head?

I’ve been watching Britney for a while. I love her music and like the way she has grown up. Not sure about the marriage thing, but then I don’t think anyone was except for her. But now, I look at her, twenty with two kids, a divorce pending and paparazzi just waiting for her to f*ck up. Has anyone thought this poor girl may be suffering from post-natal depression? If not post –natal, just good old fashioned depression, prehaps?

Today, I heard the news reporting that her manager and family are concerned for her career. Who gives a flying f*ck about her career, she’s got years to get that back. Please think about her mental health now or even her life and that of her kids. Leave her alone, let her get on with stuff and maybe get her some help.

I’ll get off my soap-box now…;-)

Something to See

OK, a couple weeks ago I mentioned that my in-laws are coming to town. A couple of days ago my eldest sister announced she would be in town the weekend of the 17/18 Feb. That also happens to be the first weekend that that In-laws are here.

There are now things to see. Hubby and I had our first (of many I’m sure) argument about his parents. My sister does not like his Dad, they met at our wedding and I haven’t seen my sister for seven years or even met her husband, whom she married three years ago. Hubby seems to think that by me not spending my time with him and his parents I’m being selfish, but is quite happy for me to say to my sister, ‘Sorry, I can’t see you after you made the effort to come to Sydney ‘cause I have to spend time with my in-laws.’

Who’s being selfish?

(155 words)

PS. This is my 200th entry.

Coastal Shopping Hell

I have had the luxury of spending most of January at the house in the bush. Now I love the quiet, undisturbed peace that resides in the bush. The boys, Puss and Newk have enjoyed the holiday too, Newk has lost a little weight, Puss has lost a lot.

Today, I had to go to the local shopping centre for sustenance, a duvet cover and to post the Alpaca newsletter. The rain (first for weeks) had brought all the freaky locals out to play and the car park was completely full, so I had to park in the mail zone first, then on the concrete end of a row a spaces. Thank goodness for all wheel drive.

Tuggarah has been the shopping centre that I’ve used for over four years. I’ve always found it to be a bit dodgy but recently I have started to notice how completely rancid it is. The last time I was there I had lunch and had the pleasure of seeing a heavily pregnant woman wearing yellow having a smoke and the guy sitting behind me had arse cleavage that you could park a bike in.

Today I saw a rather large lady wearing not enough clothing to cover a rather small lady, a spry chickie parking in the disabled spaces and gaggles of old and aging smokers gathered around the doorways but out of the rain. I dashed into the fruit and veggie shop and was stunned by the lack of urgency. Not that I was in a hurry, but a ten minute queue to pay was frustrating. I rushed away so quickly I forgot to buy cat food.

I also popped to Spotlight to buy a duvet cover. I picked one quickly, a miracle in itself ‘cause normally you can’t find anything, the place always looks like a bombs hit it and a shower is nearly always required after a visit because it’s so dusty. Anyway, I needed a duvet cover and a varnish brush and they sell ‘em cheap. I picked what I wanted an got in the queue. Twenty minutes later, the two older ladies had paid for their purchases and I made the mistake of asking how much the paint brushes were.

The girl behind the counter looked at me blankly, then at the brushes, she picked one up and scanned the barcode, then in a flash to ‘Little Britain’ she said ‘computer says no’ Apparently the brushes I had picked were not registered in the computer and she had to go find the price. A few more minutes and a queue snaking its way through the store and she was back.

I had a desire to drive really fast afterwards, away from the people, away from the coast, but I didn’t I resisted as I realized that deep down I like the hustle and bustle of the city. I need the speeds which operate there. I’ve been bush for too long and starting back to work on the 29th will not be a minute too soon.

(509 words)