Who Gives a Hoot?

There are bush fire raging in Southern New South Wales, taking out houses and lives and yet the headlines is 'Nicole's Make-Up Mishap'

Is it just me that thinks that is just a bit screwed up?

2009 – A Year in Review

On reflection 2009 was a considerably better year for me than 2008. After all, I wasn’t forced to move, I wasn’t unemployed and no one died. I managed to wedge in some fun between the work days and a couple of momentous occasions. All in all, I think it went pretty well. Here was I thinking it was rubbish, that’s why it’s been so long since I posted anything.

January: Enrolled in a Masters of Education at UTS
Movies: Role Models, Underworld 3, Gran Torino, The Curious Case of Benjamin Button
Places Visited:Sydney Wildlife World

February: Dropped out of Masters of Education at UTS, Started working back at the RTA and moved the Alpacas for the last time.
Movies: Slumdog Millionaire, Zack and Mira Make a Porno,
Places Visited: None

March: Walked in the Sydney Gay and Lesbian Mardi Gras in support of friends, went to a fancy dress party as Dolly Parton and added a new pussy cat to the family.
Movies: Watchmen
Placed Visited: None

April: Finally had a house warming party, one year and one month after moving in.
Movies: The Boat that Rocked
Placed Visited: None

May: Went to a Nutcracker ballet at the Sydney Opera House courtesy of a friend with a free ticket.
Movies: X-Men Origins:Wolverine, PS I Love You
Placed Visited: The Top Gear Australia studios to see a filming of a episode

June: Started a 14 weeks drive around NSW for work. Had a lovely long weekend in Ballina and Byron Bay, saw snow for the first time in 12 years and sent a birthday card to a dog
Movies: Terminator Salvation,
Placed Visited:Newcastle, Port Macquarie, Grafton, Ballina, Tamworth, Narrabri (split wine down my front), Dubbo, Bega, Cooma, Wagga Wagga, Narradera, Parkes, Orange, Yass, Goulburn, Broken Hill

July: Held my own minutes silence on the 4th, Attended and passed the St John First Aid course
Movies: Transformers: Revenge, Harry Potter 6, The Hangover, The Proposal,
Placed Visited: Wollongong,

August: I was burgled. Was told I had lovely, healthy white skin at the Skin Cancer Clinic, passed my Learners licence for Motorbike and started Yoga classes.
Movies: Inglorious Basterds
Placed Visited: Sydney Cricket Ground to see the Sydney Swans play Brisbane Lions

September: Filed for divorce, started seeing a personal trainer, attended a Stand-Up comedy course and delivered seven minutes of funny stuff in a comedy club
Movies: Funny People
Placed Visited: Mount Tomah Botanical Gardens, Warragamba Dam

October: Took my dream bike, a Triumph Bonneville 750 for a test drive, rode over 600kms to Molong in country NSW, , won a phot compition at work, started Photography and Meditation classes and started playing Farmville on Facebook
Movies: None
Placed Visited: Nambucca Heads, Coffs Harbour

November: Won $24 on the Melbourne Cup (exactly what I had staked), went down to Melbourne to see Dad who was over from the UK, saw sisters as well. My divorce was finalised on the 7th
Movies: A Christmas Carol, The Invention of Lying
Placed Visited: Emerald and Marysville, VIC

December: Went to South Africa for five days, had a lion attack my handbag, saw a clairvoyant and had my first ever paid article in a full colour magazine (Dec. Two Wheels)
Movies: None so far, but it's only the 14th
Placed Visited: Johannesburg

Here’s hoping 2010 is as good

Fight or Flight

I learnt a few things in the last seven days.

1. Not all insurance assessors are horrible. Of course I haven't seen the result of her assessment yet, but so far this seems to be true.
2. You can't always trust your 'friends' to support you in the decisions you make.
3. Some things still shock me.
4. It's hard to take a guy called Jeff, talking about English Literature seriously when he's dressed in drag.
5. The weather in Aussie still makes me smile, I put my washing out at 10.30 pm and it was dry by 8am the following morning and it's still winter.
6. Bok Choi flowers if left in the pot, as does broccoli
7. Eating raw cabbage makes you fart
8. Motorcyclists out for a weekend ride are very friendly towards other motorcyclists out for a weekend ride
9. A cat that has been in fight, and then has the flight reaction can release an awful lot of poo.
10. A poo covered cat doesn't protest too much when shoved under the shower.

Self Sufficient

Today I received an email from a job agent that made me laugh. With being robbed on Monday I needed it.

‘This is P. from Sussex Arthur, you talked to Ruby back in February this year about a trainer role.

Ruby wanted to know how you were doing and if you are currently in a role?

When you last talked you had a cat that you could not leave for lengths of time, is that still the case?’

The last sentence was the culprit, what does she want to hear, that Puss is dead. I replied, then deleted most of it and sent;

‘Thanks for thinking of me. I'm currently working at the Road Place in North Sydney and about to have my contract renewed for 12 months.

I now have two cats that can't be left for long periods of time ;-)

Hope you are both keeping well.’

What I should have written and sent was;

I no longer have a cat that needs my assistance, as just after we spoke last he grew opposable thumbs and can now feed himself and his new flatmate.

(the names have been changed to protect the dumbarse)

Scrabble

I’m a big fan of Scrabble, but being a lady of the single persuasion I rarely have anyone who wants to play with me. So I have Scrabble on my mobile, which I used to while away the many hours I spend sitting on public transport.

The other day I was having a quick game where you are shown four sent of tiles and you have to make the best words you can, you play against the game.

I can’t remember what words I made, but I do recall the final set of tiles being all vowels. I tried a few words with only vowels and was told I couldn’t have any of them, including AI, IOU and eu. It was worth a try. I passed on the final round and the game won.

The words it won with were;

CITO
TERCELS
SPODDY
EUOI

Now, I didn’t know any of these words so I wrote them down. According to Dictionary.Com, only tercels is a real word. It’s a small male hawk, and a plural at that. The other words where not found. And, Yes, I know it was a bit sad that I wrote the words down, but I had to know if I had finally cracked.

This is the first time I’ve wondered if the machine isn’t just making stuff up, often I put in words and it says ‘Not in the Dictionary’ then proceeds to put something down that I have no choice but accept or cancel the game.

I don’t know if I should consider deleting the game from my phone or just carry on playing and learn some made up words I can use to score good points. I’ll most likely do the later, I’ll just have to remember that I can’t use them when playing a human.

Blood to caffeine ratio

Today I have had two cups of Earl Grey tea and one large Latte. And I’m a little concerned.

I never used to drink drinks with caffeine in them. I was a herbal tea drinker, you know, a strawberry infusion or peach melba fuzzy. Rarely, if ever caffeine, mainly because I didn’t like the taste.

Now I love Earl Grey, his wife ain’t bad either.
I’ve upgraded from the occasional cappuccino that would make me so wired I’d be running around the office like a nut bag to a Latte that barely registers

What’s changed?

Am I older so my taste buds have mutated to except the bitter liquid? They did with olives, so maybe that’s it.
Am I sleeping less so need more caffeine to stimulate me during my waking hours? Unlikely because I pretty much get eight to nine hours a night.
Is it like the G&T thing where from the moment my mother died I got cravings for it? Spooky, but maybe.

I really don’t know, but just like with many things in my life at the moment, I’m just going with the flow and not standing up and waving too much.



- My mug at work. 475ml of Earl Gray goodness

The music will live on

A couple of weeks ago a musical icon passed away before his time. The press have loved the renewed opportunity to lay into him, fans have been lining up to pay their respects and communities have popped up all over the internet singing his praises.

Personally I never believed he did the things they said he did. I think his naivety of life and the lack of someone to say no to him lead him down a path of easy to make errors that had dire consequences. So I continued to listen to his music and enjoy it as I always had.

Now, I’m over it.

It reminds me of how I felt when Def Leppard released Hysteria. It was an awesome album, but the manager in Fosters, where I worked as a Saturday girl played it non-stop from opening at 9am to close at 5.30pm every Saturday for several weeks. I had spent my hard earned pennies on that album, but couldn’t bear to listen to it because I was SO sick of it.

The same goes for the music of the recently deceased. I’m having a really hard time at the moment because I know he was a genius musician and moved like no one else ever will, but enough already…

Just let him rest in peace and music companies, stop trying to make a buck or millions out of his passing.

Leave It OuT!

Today is bin day. At some ungodly dark hour this morning a man in a truck drove down my street and tipped the rubbish that I, and others, had gathered over the last week into the back of his rather noisy vehicle.

Last night I pulled the general rubbish (food scraps, dry cleaner wrappers, pizza boxes etc.) out to the road side, followed by the recycling bin (tins, paper, cardboard). Garden rubbish goes out next week, if there is any. The roadside is about seven feet from my front gate, it is a pretty manicured grassy area which I mow or have mowed on a regular basis. I look after it.

When I left for work this morning I left the bins out, I'll pull them in when I get home. My morning schedule doesn't have room for faffing about with wet rubbish bins.

However, I know that when I get in my bins will be sitting on my front lawn. They will have been moved from the roadside and put on my front garden. I can't explain why this p*sses me off. but it does. Every time it happens. And it happens every week!
It has been suggested to me that it's harmless.
It has been suggested to that whoever does this is trying to be helpful
It has been suggested to me that it helps the streetscape look it's best

I don't see it in any of these ways.

I see it as interfering
I see it as rude and unnecessary, in fact I see it as trespassing, GET OFF MY LAWN!
As for the streetscape, I see several other bins in the street as I walk home waiting for owners that have the misfortune to work during the day. Plus, the neighbours to my left haven't mowed the lawn or roadside for months, so the streetscape is pretty much stuffed before my bins sits there for a few hours after being emptied.

I won't say anything of course...

But, really that's because the culprits wouldn't understand a word I was saying anyway.

Too Quick?

Clearly not.

The bird on the radio advert says, 'men who are coming too fast, SMS 'TRY', that's T.R.Y to 1800 xxx xxx to make love last for longer'

Now, is it just me who wouldn't want a man who couldn't spell TRY?

And if you think about it, is it really important that it's spelt correct?

After all this is a sport obsessed culture, so surely even a Tri would do, because if you really think about, if in bed even a touch down would leave you with a smile on your face.

It's Back ;-)

35 girls where whittled down to 13...

Tyra says ‘The first name I’m going to call’

Aminat – aged 21, 6’1 in her stocking feet plus another 6inches of afro
Natalie – aged 21
Fo – aged 19, claims to be blackican (a mix of afro American/Mexican) has freckles and loves them
Alison – aged 20, has a weird fascination with nose bleeds and the big wide eyes
Tahlia – aged 18, a survivor of massive burns to her belly and upper thighs when she was little
Celia – aged 25, white and blonde and the oldest in this years compition
Nijah – aged 18, prom queen, need to say more?
London – aged 18, a religious nut that preaches in the street
Teyona – aged 19, Tyra said she looked like she was caught in a wind tunnel, but in a good way
Kortney – aged 24, this year’s only plus size model, which means she’s a size 10
Isabella – aged 19, suffers grand maul seizures
Jessica – aged 18, thinks she’s all that and is proud to anouch it to all she meets
Sandra – aged 19, moved to Rockville, Maryland from Kenya when she was 8

Damage

I wonder what the decibel volume is, inside the cabin of a SAAB 340 turboprop?

I’d had a sleep, which happened between Sydney and Dubbo. I fell asleep pretty quickly after take off because the cloudy, rainy weather made the plane move in some interesting ways. My body went into auto-shutdown to prevent the other passengers hearing me up-chuck the whole way.

During the Dubbo – Broken Hill leg (yes, this flight sets down mid way to let off and pick up) I got to thinking about the propellers that keep us in the air and the almighty racket they make.

I’ll give you an example. When Tracey, the flight attendant asked me if I would like a snack, I had to ask her to repeat her question. She was standing less than a foot away from me. Finally on the third asking, I understood and nodded the affirmative.

So I ask again. How many decibels in the cabin? The flight attendant couldn’t answer the question, and neither could the crew, when I asked. All they could say was it was within legal limits. Incidently I had to ask a couple of times, even after Tracey had put her hand to her ear while saying, 'sorry, these planes make you a bit deaf'.

I had been seated in the single row of seats on the left of the plane. The ‘A’ row. The right hand side has two seats, and the seat markers look like a date line:

1BC 2BC 3BC and on upto 11BC

Tracey counts her passengers on and off.

Really it a bit like being on a school trip. Actually, thinking about it, and as you know I’ve been doing a bit of thinking lately, it’s a lot like being on a school trip. Only, instead of the noise being produced by a bunch of kids who really don’t want to see Fishbourne Roman Palace again, it’s the two, shiny, four bladed propellers on the outside.

PS. I really would be interested to know the answer to the decibel question if anyone knows.

Boarding Call

I arrived at the airport just after 8am this morning. By 8.15 I was supping a Boost Juice (Orange, Carrot and Ginger) and scoffing a Bacon and Egg McJodie in the airport lounge. I don’t like flying much. Turbulence makes me sick and I generally find the whole process a monumental waste of time.

Having said that, I do enjoy reading between the line of the announcements.

‘This is an urgent call for Mrs Jones (or whatever name it may be). Your plane is fully boarded and is awaiting your arrival for take off. Please make your way to gate lounge X immediately.’

You just know that the polite lady on the other end of the speaker wire is making faces and hand jestures as she really wants to say something along the lines of, ‘Oi, Mrs Jones. Stop shopping and get your arse in your seat. You’re holding everyone up!’

Collective Nouns

Written 20th June 2009

It’s not something you think about on a regular basis. You are taught that it’s a flock of birds, a herd of cows and a gaggle of school girls. If you are really lucky you have a parent or teacher that tells you about a murder of crows.

Yesterday I got to give this subject a closer examination as I drove at 110kph along the Hume Highway toward a looming black mass. As I got closer I saw it was, what it was could only be described as a ‘swarm’ of sparrows.

Yes, I know it’s supposed to be flock, but you know what, I saw a swarm. There were hundreds, moving as a single entity before dividing into two as the car passed through them. Not a single bird was damaged. To my left, wandering around in the paddock, was a flock of sheep.

How can that be? A flock of sheep, a flock of birds. Surely it should be a herd of sheep, after all they have four legs and no wings. How got to decide these collective nouns?

I’m pretty sure when Hitchcock started working on ‘The Birds’ he wasn’t thinking flock of seagulls, he was thinking murder of seagulls. Seagulls are so much more intimidating than crows, despite the latter being black, they sound so much nicer than seagulls with their ugly craw. You can bet Janet Leigh was screaming blue murder.

When you spend as much time alone in a car and in hotel rooms as I have lately, you get to thinking about this sort of pointless crap.

A Breath of Fresh Air

Written 15th June 2009

I’ve been driving around NSW for a couple of weeks now. Mostly I’ve been stuck in the car, foot to the floor and an eye on the speedo. I’ll confess to having strayed over the limit, but I pull it back pretty quick.

Last week I drove nearly 1400km in four days. My back aches and my concentration levels are dropping by the minute. I need to step back, Doris a bit and let some of the local air into my lungs. I was able to do just that yesterday.

I left home at 1030 to drive to Bega, the heart of cheese country. It took me six hours to complete the drive with a couple of stops to rest, stuff my face with fish and chips and take pictures. One such photo opportunity came as I was driving past the lakes about half an hour outside Bega. I was shooting along a winding road, rolling round corners and letting my eye drift over the lovely scenery around me. Around one such bend was a sight that caused me to do a quick rear view mirror check and then a hard slam on the breaks.

I knew his was a once in the life time chance to get this photo. The scene before me would never be the same again. The clouds would be different; the sun would be a tone lighter or darker. Every thing about it would change.

The car came to a halt with a small slide as I hit the gravel of the lay-by. I slammed the gear stick into P, grabbed the camera of the passenger seat and jumped out the car. The air surrounded me with a soothing chill, the scent of eucalyptus and cold soil filled my nose. I was sent back to my teens. I wasn’t sure why so I shook it off and took my photos.

I stood next to the Princes Highway, camera in hand, starring at nature displaying itself in all its glory. It was open, raw and stunning. I knew that no matter how many pictures I took, I would never be able to show the beauty of it. A car whoosing past reminded me where I was.



As I walked back to the car, I realised why the smell had triggered a memory trip. The cold air and smell reminded me of walking the dog with my Muv. During the winter months in the UK, Muv perpetually had a hankie with Olbus Oil on it.

I climbed back into the car with a smile on my face. I like that I can now think about Muv without it brining tears to my eyes.

Serena Vs Brian

Written 4th June 2009

I brought a Garmin Nuvi a few weeks ago and after a bit of a wrestle over updating via the internet with speed alerts and school zones it’s worked out well. It’s even providing me with a little entertainment on my journey.

I selected the female voice called Serena to narrate my trips, she tells me when to turn and can pronounce town and street names like Woolgooga.

The speeding and school alerts come with a default male voice. I’ve called him Brian. He sounds like a Brian.

The maps are not the most up to date and with all the recent road works on the Pacific Highway things are changing rapidly, so today Serena got a bit confused a couple of times today.

Near Maelstom a new, improved section of the Pacific Highway has recently opened up, it diverts slightly from the old route and it resulted in a string of Serena calling out…

‘Recalculating’

‘Recalculating’

After a couple of minutes of this I heard a male voice in my mind, it sounded an awful lot like Brian. I pictured Serena and Brian having a barny.

‘You silly bint, it’s over there. Can’t you even follow a map!?’

That Bloody Big Banana

Written 3rd June 2009

I’ve reached the third hotel at the end of the third day on my state tour to deliver training in a rather dry procedure. I driven over 500kilometres up the east coast from Sydney, past the Central Coast, the Nabiac Motorcycle museum and the Big Banana. I’ve delivered nearly twelve hours of training to more than 40 people. For the third time in three day I’ve just dined alone in a restaurant full of couple, salesmen and groups of ladies that dine. It feels a bit weird to be honest.

The first night I had a steak and ribs. It came with a side salad and some roasted sweet potato. Lone Star in Tuggerah delivered the goods as always. I arrived just after 5.30pm so there wasn’t much competition for a booth. I was gone by 6.15.

On the second night I needed a break between leaving Newcastle and arriving at Port Macquarie. I stopped in Buladulah at the Plough Inn Hotel for a quick bite. I ordered grilled barramundi with chips and a cuppa. It was cold in the dining room so I kept my cardigan on while I watched Country Music telly and Keno. My fish was dry when it arrived, but tartar gave it a bit of life. The chips where awesome.



My solo dining experience was earned after driving for more than three hours. I went for a walk. I fancied a drink, so driving to food was not an option. I ended up in a little place attached to a another motel called Zack’s on Bent. It was decorated in a simple way but that only highlighted the great art on the walls. There where linen table clothes and polished silverware, I too a seat at a table that gave me a view of a particularly fine example of colour use. I ordered a glass of Oxford Landing Sauvignon Blanc and sticky braised pork belly on brocolini with macadamia, nut crumbled sweet potato, mustard fruits and ribery jus. Sounds flash eh?

My dinner arrived at the same time as my second glass of wine. The waitress delivered it, then produced the biggest pepper grinder I have ever seen, after a giggle and an impromptu photo shoot, I started eating dinner. It was too sweet. I couldn’t taste any mustard on my fruits, which included glace cherries, pineapple, apricots and melon. The pork was good once I’d scraped the fruit off.

The Hotel Curse

Written 1st June 2009

I’m travelling about NSW for work. This is the first day of winter. This is the first night of many were I shall be staying away from home in a hotel.

After driving from home to Woy Woy on the Central Coast, then presenting one afternoon session of training, I drove to Newcastle.

I checked into Travel Lodge. It’s just around the corner from the office where I will be training tomorrow, so it’s perfect. I was given room 411. A nice low number, on the forth floor. I went out to the car to get my suitcase, camera bag and travelling electronics (iPod, GPS and laptop). I stepped out of the lift and started walking, looking at door numbers. The corridor stretched out before me, orange carpet, ecru walls interrupted by ecru doors with small silver numbers, halogen bulbs dropping pinpoints of light.

I realised after passing several doors I had been struck by the hotel curse.

Whenever I have stayed in a hotel, I am ALWAYS, without fail at the furthest point from the lift. It happens every time.

I console myself with the fact that clearly the best rooms are at the end of the corridor.

I can live to dream ;-)

Listen very carefully…

…I will say this only about six times.

I’m delivering training at the moment at work. In fact until the 13th July that is pretty much all I will be doing. I’ve already delivered five of just under 60 sessions to be delivered in that time frame. Already I want to scream at people.

FOR F*CKS SAKE, THIS ISN’T HARD!

I stand in a room, full of people looking at me. In front of them on the table they have a document, if they have bothered to read the instructions before coming along, about 30% don’t have one, so I make them share. They also have a folder of handouts. I either have slides projected on the wall behind me, or I don’t, depends on the room. I talk about a fairly dry subject for 150 minutes. I try and include a little humour, I try to include examples, I even try to get some kind of response out of the participants. Mostly they just stare at me blankly.

Is this what it’s like teaching high school?

People who have worked for the company for twenty odd years give examples that are out of date and try to argue why they shouldn’t have been replaced (the examples that is, not the person. I would argue, it’s the person that sometimes needs replacing). These pointless and off topic examples take time, they eat into my precious time. I have to skip points later. I have to get them back on track without causing too much of a stir. I have to be nice.

It’s hard to be nice when your feet hurt, your back aches and you’ve already said the same things at least a dozen times.

I’m thinking… calm blue ocean, calm blue ocean.

____________________________

I wrote this at 1338 on 26/5/09 in Parramatta. Haven't had internet access until today to post it.

My Favourite Things

Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens
Bright crimson high heels and feelings of smitten
Being outside watching veg grow in spring
These are a few of my favourite things

Listenin’ to music and wild meeting doodles
Fresh warm bread smells
And laksa with noodles
alpaca that run with the herd, what that brings
These are a few of my favourite things

boys in white t-shirts with blue demin flashes
Make up and costume that match fake eyelashes
memories of childhood and all that, that brings
These are a few of my favourite things

When the cat bites
When the bell rings
When I'm feeling sad
I simply remember my favourite things
And then I don't feel...so bad

Sing to the tune of My Favourite Things from the The Sound of Music by Rodgers and Hammerstein.

When...

…does graffiti stop being a simple defacement of property and become art?

I’ve asked myself this question many times over the years, because I get enjoyment out of walking along and suddenly being stopped in my tracks by a word or image that requires my attention, sprayed across a wall.

I enjoy standing there and working out want it says. Sometimes it’s a simple word, sometimes it’s more complex. I enjoy spotting the details in the background and sometimes a treat in the foreground. The colours and technique with a spray can never fails to stun, how do they manage to get no runs?

I know from a past relationship (a friend at school would do such work) that these works aren’t just produced in the blink of an eye during an evening of boredom. They take weeks of pre planning, sketches, gathering materials (e.g. spray cans), they even need a look out sometimes. These are public works of art that need careful planning and thought, and of course nerves of steel. For being caught, means arrest, arrest could mean a stint in prison and a criminal record.

I have a certain admiration for the guys that put this much effort into their art.

That said, it’s all spoiled by the ‘taggers’. People with a marker pen that feel the need to write their name or initials or ‘tag’ on any flat surface they come across. Train seats and windows, walls, public benches, toilets doors, you name it and it will no doubt have a tag on it. Or at the very least the smear that shows someone tried to clean it off.

So where is the line between public nuisance and public artist?


- An example from Smith Street in Surry Hills