It's Begun Again

I know I’ve mentioned this before, but I have to say it again. Don’t call me between 7.30 and 8.30pm on a Tuesday night. My program will be on.

Americas Next Top Model Cycle 11 has begun, just one week after the end of cycle 10. Incidentally, Whitney won that one, she was a plus size model. Rock on Girl!

This year there are three girls called Brittany, one Asian (half Japanese/Korean), one African/Native American, one blond chick that looks like she’s out of Gossip Girl, one lesbian vegan, one from France, one with a boys name and one with a boys bits and a couple of other that don’t have anything to make them stand out.

Frame your face and look fierce people!

My Second Degree ...

... sunburnt right leg.

Last week I fell over in Coles. I slipped on some water from the flower buckets as I made my way to the checkout with a fresh cooked chock for lunch. I bruised my ankle, my knee and twisted my hip. I was sore.

When I got back to the house J made me sit down and rest in case I had done more damage than at first visable and I choose to sit outside, but in complete shade. I sat down and read my new issue of Empire and then went in to house to shower. Later, I was watching telly and my leg was itching a bit, so I scratched it a bit. It hurt an lot.

I looked and my leg was scarlet from the ankle up to the knee and across my shin. I can't figure how it happened, I was in the shade!

It's the worst sunburn I have EVER had. A wet towel over my leg the first night, keeping my leg out of the shower until this morning (five days later) and aloe vera lotion until a couple of hours ago. Ouch!

Alone Again

The visitor has gone. After ten days of having someone in the house with me day and night, it seems really empty and quiet. We didn’t really go out and about that much apart from the functions that had been booked, but we did drink wine and Long Island Iced teas from Hell, talk about girlie crap like shoes, the fit of bras and how f*cked up we are right now. We ate bacon and egg sandwiches, cheese, beans on toast and generally chilled out.

There are some things I won’t miss though. I won’t have to worry about Puss taking a chunk out of someone other than me (how's the toe, J?), I won’t have to bother putting my dressing gown on when I come out of the shower, I will be able to dine on crisps and I won’t have to boil the kettle several time a day for tea. I will also be able to fart when and were I like.

That said, I now have a new respect for the dancing possibilities of trance music. Anyone for the kangaroo boop?

Visitor

Got a mate staying with me at the moment. It’s really nice having the company. Puss is good, but it’s pretty hard having a decent conversation or even a silly one about nothing much, with a cat.

And because I have a guest, I have to entertain. Well I don’t HAVE too, but I like too. So over the weekend we went up to the Central Coast to see the pelican feeding at The Entrance but ended up going to the Forest of Tranquillity instead. It was very tranquil.

Yesterday we raided Coles and brought up their stocks of decent cheese and crackers, did and emergency stop outside the Cheesecake shop and picnicked at the Polo in Windsor.

Conspiracy

In recent days I have been watching a lot of telly. My house is spotless, my linen cupboard has neat piles of towels and bedsheets and I have no ironing to do. I’m not working and having issues filling my time. Telly is my comfort.

Or it should be.

There seems to be an inordinate amount of movies and telly programs about the loss of a loved one or movies that remind me of my childhood.

In No Reservation a young girls loses her mum in a car accident, goes to stay with Auntie Catherine Zeta Jones and worries that she’ll forget her mum.

Carousel always made me cry, especially the bit at the end when Billy Bigalow’s daughter and wife sing ‘You Never Walk Alone’. I really shouldn’t have watched that one.

The Nanny, an old favourite, happened to show the episode were Maggie (eldest daughter) has an issue with Fran and Mr. Sheffield relationship because she thinks they were having an affair when her mother was still alive.

It seems I’m being forced to think about my Muv at every turn. I even had a dream about her last night. I had the worst nights sleep for an age mainly because the dream showed me that she was really alive and had watched the whole funeral process with her arms crossed and shaking of her head.

I need to come up with something other than cleaning to occupy my mind. I’m thinking too much (and leaky eyes) and quite frankly if I don’t get a job soon to keep my mind off the last few months I’m going to turn into a gibbering wreak.

I may be going to the polo at the weekend. That will be nice.

Too young

I was sitting on the train the other morning going into the city for yet another agent interview when a young Japanese girl got on and sat in the seat directly in front of me. She looked to be in her late teens, but could have been I her twenties. She had her hair in braids in a very Miffy way. She sat there preening herself for about ten minutes without a mirror. I had my iPod plugged in and watched her as I listened to The Offspring describe The Worst Hangover Ever’ and asking to be ‘Spared the Details’. I was thinking about my worst ever hangover that happened while in New York when I noticed sprouting from the top of her head a single course white hair.

I watched as she fiddled about for another few minutes…but the hair was firmly in my focus. I couldn’t stand it anymore. I dug into my bag and tapped her on the shoulder. I handed her my compact. She thanked me profusely with little bows that where restricted by her seated position. Then she looked and sorted out her hair until the light caught the hair. She gasped. Grabbed the hair and tugged. It came out clean. She handed my compact back to me.

As she got off the train at Central she turned to me and said, ‘I’m too young to go grey.’ I smiled and remembered my first grey hair. I was 24. I haven’t seen one since.

Black and White

Since Puss and I moved into our new place in March there has been a black and white menace. We don’t know what his name is, but he torments Puss and occasionally gets in a good shot that leave Puss with a scab on his nose.

Since I’ve been back for the UK I’d been noticing that Puss had amended his eating habits. He cleaned his bowl and ate all of his biscuits. At least this was my thinking until the other night.

I was sitting on the sofa with Puss curled up at my feet when I heard noise from the kitchen like Puss was eating. I checked my feet, yeap, Puss was there, so I turned my head to see the Black and White cat from next door sitting at Puss' feed station tucking into his biscuits.

A couple of nights later, it happened again. So I chased him out of the house and saw Puss curled up fast asleep on his chair on the porch.

So now I have a problem. It would appear this has been happening for a while. He's so bold he does it even when he can see me sat on the sofa. He knows Puss is pampered and get better food than he does. How do I keep the little shit out without punishing Puss but keeping him locked in?

Updating

I spent the best part of my evening sorting out pictures of places I visited while in the UK and uploading them to my Facebook. I realised that I didn't take full advantage of being there for such a long time. I have by no means finished sorting, but I'm a good way through.

In between the sorting I interviewed two housemate candiates. There is the 6'4 Dutch bloke with a name I can't pronunce who has a girlfriend and went a little wide eyed when I mentioned my writing of Erotica. Then there's the 5'8 bloke who sky dive on the weekends is an outdoor smoker and freely informed me he used to go to Fetish clubs at the mention of rudey nudey stories.

Anyway...a few pictures...

- Tintern Abbey in South Wales

- Chepstow Castle on the border of Wales and England

- Caerphilly Castle near Cardiff

Job Hunting

There's been little excitement lately except trying to sort out the Housesitter fallout. I've been spending my days looking at Seek and MyCareer then going into the city to visit agents. Ohh yeah and I've caught up on my movie watching and ironing.

A Moment

After a rather rotten day of visiting Recruitment agents being told my CV was too long, I was too experienced or not experienced enough for the role I applied for, I was too expensive or too cheap I got on the train home. I was listening to my iPod when I had a Muv moment. It may have been the music I was listening too that set it off, but I figure this is one in a long line of moments were water spontaneously leaks from my eyes and strangers avoid eye contact.

This memory was one from when I about 7. We were walking up Guildford high street and I said to her ‘you can never do anything to embarrass me.’

She promptly stuck her finger up her nose and I melted into a embarrassed pile that was begging her to stop.

The moment passed and I changed my tunes to something more upbeat…something in the form of The Offspring.

Air Travel

I changed my header quote today in direct response to my journey back to Aussie from the UK. Flying was always pain, but these days it’s a bitch.

I’ve never liked flying. I don’t like the small confined space you can call your own for the duration of the flight. I don’t like the boredom I always experience, even with a really good book. I don’t like the other passengers because they only think of themselves (seat back anyone?). I don’t like the pain I get in my ears when landing, ok it’s not as pain as it was before I had my wisdom teeth out, but it’s still there. Mostly, however, I don’t like the noises a plane makes. The subtle creeks and moans that wings make after take off and during landing and the time between. The noises the wheels makes as they clunk down and then clank and shudder back into their housing for in-flight stowage.

And of course now, thanks to a few religious zealots we have the process of getting on the plane. If you will indulge me for a moment I would like to talk you through my trip back from the UK from a purely flight focused point of view.

First it took 30 minutes to get into the car park at Terminal 3 at Heathrow. Then a further 10 minutes to get a lift down one level (stairs emergency only). Then I waited 25minutes to check in where I was allocated a middle seat. I checked my suitcase and showed my carry on luggage to the lady (a wheelie mini suitcase and an umbrella). I walked up to security, said my goodbyes to my sister and her hubby before queuing again to have my luggage scanned. I put the suitcase on the belt but was told I would have to surrender the brolly or check it (incidentally I took this brolley on a flight from the US to UK as hand luggage). I was escorted back downstairs to check the brolley. Back upstairs I had to queue again. When I got to the x-ray part again I had to remove my watch, my belt, my coat and shoes. After collecting my bags and getting dressed I had to have my shoes scanned again. I then walked for 20 minutes to get to my gate.

10 hours of flying between two Korean gents who didn’t speak English was not at all entertaining but Kung Fu Panda and The Bank Job was. The Korean lady in front of me (who didn’t speak English) thought I was causing trouble when I pushed her seat back up when she put it back the second the tyres left the tarmac. I spent the first twenty minutes after the seatbelt sign had gone off trying to explain that I really didn’t have an issue with her seat being back, just the timing.

Got off plane and walked to Transit area of Inchon Airport. Three hours to kill. No problem, the first 30 minutes was taken up by getting through a security check. Once again the belt, watch and shoes removed. Did a little shopping for gifts then went to gate lounge. Fell asleep, nearly missed flight call. Gave boarding pass to lady, went down escalators only the have to have carefully and precision packed bags opened, riffled through and checked before boarding plane.

11 hours of flying stretched out across three seats made the second leg pass very quickly.

Passport Control was good, Welcome Home.

Baggage pick up carousel 5, brolley at the big stuff pick up bay at the other end of the baggage hall. Picked up suitcase, then copped attitude for baggage bloke for waiting for an umbrella ‘when you could just buy one at a two dollar shop’. Joined queue to get out of baggage hall through the green channel. But you don’t just walk through a green or red channel anymore, you have to have ALL your bags scanned unless a nice lady/gent green stamps your entry card. A nice lady green stamped my card and I was out.

The food was good.

Hmmm...I wonder?

I was in a lift yesterday travelling to the 27th floor of a building in the heart of Sydney. Is it just me that thinks the when OTIS, the manufactures of the lift I was travelling in (and I'm sure hundreds of thousands around the world) should have given a little more thought to the locality of their Sydney operations?

Ricketty Street

Coming Home

I'm leaving the UK on Wednesday.

As soon as I changed my flights and decided to stop trying to make thing work here, my eye stopped leaking. Weird, but I suppose, I call Australia home.

My eyes...

... keep leaking and I'm having trouble getting out of bed.

A Scattering of Ashes

Last Saturday a select few, myself included dragged our arses to the top of Kingley Vale to scatter the last of my Mum’s ashes. It’s complicated, so here goes.

On the Friday after the Crematorium service (14th and 18th July respectively) my mums husband wanted a quiet scattering of ashes, as she had requested on the top on Kingley Vale in West Sussex. Only he’s 72 and not really capable of walking to the top, in fact he didn’t even make it to the base from the car park until his legs started playing up. We got to the first copse where I scattered and he watched in silence.

I really wanted to do a more fitting tribute, so I keep a few ashes back (roughly her feet) and arranged a seconding scattering at the summit.

So, on the 16th at 1pm, my sister Helen, her husband Chris, Marky my first love/very good friend and I met I the car park just north of West Stoke and commenced the climb to the top. I know you are thinking this all sounds very mountain climber speak when really it’s just a leisurely stroll up a hill. It is a leisurely stroll, if you go the right way. However, if the only person who’s done it more than a dozen times is in a green plastic tub, the second most familiar person hasn’t done it for nearly twelve years and the other three didn’t even know where Kingley Vale was until two days before, it’s very easy to go the hard way. And we went the hard way. For fifty minutes with clambered up the side of the hill at a 35degree angle, slipped in mud and nearly lost footing. But to the top we got, huffin' and puffin' except Marky who's related to the Enegiser Bunny!

At the top we were rewarded with 360 degree views of Chichester Harbour and the South Downs. After getting our breath back, we found a stick to act as a dibber and we planted sunflower seeds, had a gin and tonic, a laugh and a rolly. Then we scattered the remainder of my mum’s ashes. Helen held the tub with me and we all marvelled at the surreal nature of the whole day that had started with Big Mac’s for lunch (My mum loved Maccas, and no one ever really got it, except me). We even left a G’n’T in the bushes for later.

The path down was much easier.

Just this morning my sister said again that it doesn’t feel like she’s really gone, and I have to agree. Maybe it was because we lived in different continents, maybe it was because we would go without talking on the phone until we actually had something to say to each other (2 – 3 weeks), maybe because we’re both still in denial. Whatever the truth of this, I still think I have the realisation to come and when it does…it’ll hit hard.

Sydney Calling

Last night I was dreaming about emptying the bed pan of my ex (don’t ask) when the phone rang. 3amish I made it, but knowing it was more than likely an agent calling about a job in Sydney I rolled over without opening my eyes and answered.

‘Hello’

‘This is so and so for blah company, tell me, why are you interested in our Communications Manager role at this time?’

‘Err…’

All I was thinking was…I’m not interested in anything but sleep right now, lady.

I explained to her that it was early morning and that I didn’t have access to a computer at this time. She seemed to be surprised that she’d made an international phonecall and told me she’d email me. She hasn’t.

Music

What has my life become?

Tonight I have been chatting online with strangers (plus some mates) while watching 'The Top 50 Boybands' introduced by the Backstreet Boys. Ok so I got to see such gems as Take That, Milli Vanilli and Wham. aHa take on Me was number bythe way...but I also sat through New Kids on the block and several I'd never even heard of before.

All the while my sisters dog (Rosie) the seventeen year old black and tan jack russell laid at my feet and farted.

You call this Summer?

It’s Summer in the UK, or so the propaganda will have you believe.

For the last two weeks I have been wearing my Ugg boots and my UTS hoodie to keep the chill from my bones. I swear it hasn’t got above about 18 degrees during the day. I’ve been drying washing inside on a clothes horse, so it actually dries and doesn’t get rained on.

People have often asked me in Aus why I moved there and I say I have two reasons. Family and the Weather.

Then they ask…’ohh have you got family here?’

‘No’ is my reply.

So not having a satisfactory answer to the family question they ask about the weather. They ask if I miss the green fields and country lanes. I say, that yes I do miss the green fields, but they are only green because it rains so much. It rains all the fricking time!

With the rain come the ‘breeze’. Breeze my butt. The breeze here can knock you of a bike and make you lean into it like an Australian gale.

I watched the weather forecast last night, the map was covered in little 16s 17s and 18s and the colour of the map…orange! Doesn’t orange indicate that it’s warm and toasty? In Aussie those temperatures would be green, bordering on blue :-)

OK…soapbox going away.

By the way, I may be back earlier than first planned…what with it being Summer holidays here…jobs are proving elusive.

Happenings – Part Three

A funeral is never funforall. On the 14th July I was present at the cremation of my Mum. I read a eulogy that I had written and caused problem by using a certain word even though it was my Mum favourite saying. I also wore red. At her request I might add. She loved red!

Anyway, my Grandmother still isn’t speaking to me and I’m not completely sure what to do. Leave it, after all once I return to Aus it’s unlikely I’ll have much to do with her or write her the letter I have roughly composed in my head?

Ohh yeah...and what was with putting purple and lilac flowers on her coffin, my Muv figging hated purple and lilac?

Anyway, thought you might like to see the eulogy…feel free to ask question about bits that you don’t get.

Sally was known to many people by many different names, the old boiler, Big Sal, Daughter, Sister, Auntie and sometimes the cow. But to me she was simply Muv. Although there was nothing simple about her except maybe her talent for Maths and spelling. She cooked up a storm, sewed items of clothing that Vera Wang would be impressed by and tendered a garden Geoff Hamilton would be proud of. When it came to all things domestic, she rocked!

Her love for animals was legendary, she tendered injured pigeons and rabbits, but often dreamed of doing injury to the chickens as they dug up her veggies. But she with be most remembered for her love of cats and dogs, her furry children. First there was Lady, Jodie and Sorrell, later came Ben, Percy, Harry and little Freddie. No amount of love, time or attention was spared especially for walkies.

When it came to helping others she was always there, if it required salmon and sweetcorn quiche, pate, springrolls or death by chocolate all the better. I often asked her if I could have her reciepe for her amazing bread and butter stodge cake, but she also said, ‘Nope, I’m taking that to the grave.’ And she did.

We’ll always remember Muv for the mark she left on us. It may be her cooking skills, her caring nature, her ability to doris, her flirting, her dry and often sarcastic or perverse wit or maybe it was simply that she was too young to die.

I’ll always remember her for her amazing fashion (on a budget), her sage words, often about boys, her harsh truths and her ability to completely let her hair down even when she’d lost it all to Chemo. But most of all I’ll remember her as Muv.

The woman who gave me birth to me
The woman who gave me three dads
The woman who made me laugh and cry
And the woman who died just as she was starting to have some fun.

Muv – May you rest in peace and don’t let the bastards grind you down.

Happenings – Part Two

I’ve got a new Car. It’s a 199something Rover 112. Basically a Rover Metro. It’s British Racing Green, always good colour.

I had to get insurance and because I haven’t lived here (UK) for nine years I had trouble. The only company that would insurance me and my little runabout changed me more than I paid for the car. A whopping 395pounds for one year of insurance.

I’ve call her Doris. Why Doris, well, she sits really comfortably at 50mph and moans like a bitch if you get to 70.