On the Up?

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

Down

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

fingerfriend hugs by FCImages

Karma?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Social Media

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The religious and lifestyle ones always make me smile

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

I really don’t think they would bother.

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



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

Dining

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

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

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

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

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

Anyway, I digress.

Where do you eat lunch?

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

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

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

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

# separated from the work process

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

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



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

Just when you thought...

…it was safe to go back into the water.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I find the imbalance between human and animal rights disturbing.

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



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

Bad for you?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

How does your sitting to exercise ratio stack up?


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

On a lighter note

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

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

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

Lennox

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

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

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

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

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

Frankly it’s rubbish.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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





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

Wasted

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Animal Ethics

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Will

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

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

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

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

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

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

I stepped on the train at 8.44.

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

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

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

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

Are you really sorry?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

Lottery Win

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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



I wonder if Natasha continued with her recorder playing.

Please hold!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Boys

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Boys will be boys.

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

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

Snug

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

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

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

But conditions needed to be right.

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

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

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

Flower in my garden with fly and raindrops

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

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

Golf plated printers

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

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

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

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

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

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

It confuses me.

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

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

I’d really appreciate your thoughts on this one.

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

A Purpose

I’ve come to the conclusion that I need to be doing something meaningful with my life.

Writing plans and communicating with people who are essentially not interested in my message has taken its toll. I’m completely disillusioned with what I do. Change management is still relatively new to the corporate world and it’s still the first thing to when a project runs into financial difficulty. As a contractor, this instability is doing my head in. Plus, the role I’m doing at the moment is leaving me cold.

Yesterday, I went to Renbury Farm to take pictures of the pussy cats and other creatures that have been taken there either but their owners who don’t want them anymore or have been found and impounded until reclaimed or rehomed.

There are many deserving furbabies there, as there always is, but when I came to take a few pictures of doggies, I broke down in tears when one surrendered boy, medium sized, white and champagne coloured, looked up at me, but would not get eye contact. I looked at his sheet. Good with children, no barking, no fence jumping, toilet trained and good on a lead. The reason he was there. ‘We have no time to spend with him’. He was wedged in the corner of his pen, shaking and confused why he was there.

I cried all the way home. I tear up as I write just thinking about him. I want to call them and say I’ll pick him up next week, but it’s in no practical. I just want to help.
I find myself thinking about roles I can do in Not for Profit organisations that will help. Help anyone or anything.

Maybe this is why I’m leaning towards the celebrant work so much, after all it a form of help. Helping happy couple make their dream wedding happen. Helping grieving family lay their loved one to rest.

I need to win the lottery so I can quit work and volunteer part-time. Anyone know the numbers?

I'll be there

In this day and age of instant gratification is it too much to ask that when someone says, ‘I’ll be there’ that you expect them to show up? Of course, these words may be spoken or typed a couple of weeks in advance, therefore delaying the ultimate happiness that will ensue.

I ask this because I have noticed a high instance of behaviour that I do not quiet understand, because I cannot engage in it.

Years ago, I offered to babysit for my sister’s kidlets. This was a big commitment then as I live three buses, two train trips and twenty minutes of walking, away from her. It was in the days before I had my drivers licence. I remember her saying to me, ‘I know I can rely on you, you always do what you say you will.’ She’d been let down by local babysitters before.

Her saying that has stuck with me and to this day, if something is in my diary I will do it. I have to be really ill before I’ll pull out of something. I don’t want to share germ or myself worse. I also don’t want to cause the feeling of disappointment I have often felt.

Last night for instance. There was nothing wrong with me that an early night wouldn’t fix, but I really didn’t want to go to a theatre showing I had committed too. I did go, I ended up really enjoying myself and didn’t get to bed until midnight. Why, though should the other person pay for my lack of planning skills?

‘Cause really, that’s what it comes down to, lack of planning.

I overcommitted myself this week. I have been out every night but Tuesday. I’m out again tonight as well. I can sleep in tomorrow.

Others however, have no compunction about calling to say, ‘sorry, my couch looks really good and Masterchef is on tonight’ or worse, ‘I’ve got a better offer’. Of course, these words are never actually used, but they are the core of it.

So when I say, ‘I’ll be there’, I really mean it. I won’t let you down unless I’m dying.