I need more time Gordon!

Here's the thing. I live in Australia. I am an Australian. I'm also British and I want to live in Britain again some day. So I have a vested interest in the government of both countries. In Australia, I am forced to vote, with the threat of a fine should I abstain, although truth be told, I know people who have missed many elections and I have yet to see any of them be prosecuted.

Britain, on the other hand, is a different story. I keep missing general elections. Last time I tried to register to vote by post only to realise I hadn't given myself enough time. I vowed that it wouldn't happen again. This time, I figured I'd register to vote by proxy and get my Dad to do it. I have no idea who I would vote for but I am a bit excited by the fact that the Lib Dems are in the running as they have usually got my vote in the past. Except for 1997 when I jumped on the New Labour bandwagon and voted Blair in and then stayed up all night to watch the results come in. Students. Pah!

So, when did Gordon Brown announce the general election? April 6th. When did I find out about it? This weekend. Almost 12 days hence. I think I kind of gathered that there was something of that ilk going on but to be honest they've talked about the possibility of an election for months. Make that years. And then there's all the other crap that's been going on, such as getting over a cold only to be knocked down by a stomach bug. And I'm super busy with everything going on in my life and haven't been keeping a very close eye on the news. So it was only this weekend that I actually looked up when the election was. May 6th. Ooohh... close.

Today I went online to register to vote by proxy. I would have done it sooner only the website didn't work on the iPhone so I had to wait until I had a moment on the computer. Do you know when you have to have your registrations in by? 20th April! That's tomorrow!! That's only 2 weeks after Mr Brown made the announcement. With the international postal service the way it is you have to be darn quick to make that deadline. And there is no other way to register. So, I can't vote.

I suppose I should just fill the forms in anyway in advance of the next election. I'm assuming that I will only have to go through this rigmarole once and not every election. But I can't actually be bothered to read the forms and find out. There's no incentive now that I know I can't vote. Oh well.... live and learn.

Update: Seems I'm not the only one having trouble registering to vote. And this likely lot are living in the UK too so they have even less of an excuse for not getting their act together. As an added bonus, my first name is mentioned in this article. It's always nice seeing one's name in print. Even if it isn't technically my name, it's the name belonging to the borough of East Lindsey. There you go, there it is again. Lovely. It doesn't happen very often for me. Usually it's misspelt. Lindsay or something. Unless you're looking at a website about Fleetwood Mac. Then you might get my first name and a little bit of my surname, Lindsey Buck, thanks to Lindsey Buckingham. Oooh... I almost feel another google me coming on.

A slightly belated Happy 2010

Yes, that's right. I've ditched the i today. I tried to think of something witty but it only ended up sounding trite: iHappy New Year; i2010; iSurvived the Noughties... that sort of thing.

2010 is a number rather pleasing to the eyes, don't you think? It's a bit futuristic looking. I finally feel like we have arrived in the 21st Century. The previous years just didn't seem quite worthy of that accolade but 2010, two thousand and ten, or twenty ten, however you say it, is a fine and proud number. Incidentally, I have yet to place myself in one camp or the other and continue to use the two monikers interchangeably.

After having a wonderful early evening barbecue with close friends and our offspring, then arriving home by 8pm to dispatch said offspring to the Land of Nod, I spent my New Years Eve under the Christmas tree, reminiscing about New Years gone by. I didn't go too far back... just 10 years. It seemed appropriate somehow to reflect on the first decade of the millennium, especially considering the entrance into it was so highly anticipated and celebrated. Besides which, I'm not sure I can remember any further back than that and it hurts my head if I try.

So here's a quick rundown of my past ten years New Years.

1999/2000

A highly decadent, indulgent and intoxicated affair. A grand party in London in which the DJ marked the turn of the millennium with Robbie Williams' "Angels", which was enthusiastically sung along to by all present. One couldn't help but wonder if he had selected the wrong track number. Surely he meant to play "Millennium"? The evening was ended catching up with another group of friends and watching the sun rise, no mean feat in London in the dead of winter. Incidentally, the night before was the last time I lay under the Christmas tree, this time with a bottle of wine, four friends (it was a big tree) and garbled conversation.

2000/2001

A rather dull New Year's Eve with my then boyfriend on holiday in South Africa. We went to what could have been a great party if only we'd known anyone else there. I wore a t-shirt proudly declaring "Keith Tweed" in silver letters, after Cherie decided we should all do a Madonna-Britney and wear t-shirts with each others' names on them. Shame all my friends were in London then. I was the only saddo in South Africa wearing one. Still, it did make me feel rather connected to my missed friends.

2001/2002

My housemates and I had no plans whatsoever. My boyfriend had no plans either. Yet somehow we managed to do completely different things. He went to a White party on the west side of London, bloody miles away. Stupid idea to wear white at New Year, especially when you're a red wine drinker. So me and me mates walked to a local nightclub instead. It was crap.

2002/2003

My last New Year at home before The Big Trip. I went for a curry with my parents (arghghghg) before heading to my Gran's for a G&T. Cheryl phoned me in tears telling me how much she was going to miss me when I left. I drank the least alcohol on any New Years Eve since I was 18, possibly younger. Still, we'd had a lovely frosty walk earlier in the day and saw a sparrowhawk catch a finch. Marvellous.

2003/2004

First New Year in Australia. An Australian friend was over from England so we went along to a party in a holiday apartment with his mates, having spent the early part of the evening with Toby's brother and his wife (and their friends), who had to stay at home because they had a teeny tiny baby. We watched some fireworks from the apartment which was quite high up. Surprisingly, it was a bit chilly on the balcony. I started downing cocktails and was having a rather nice time until Toby dragged me home not long after midnight because he wanted to go for a surf at 5am. Bo-oring!

2004/2005

We had just arrived on Lady Musgrave Island for what turned out to be the holiday of a lifetime. After a day of travelling and setting up camp we were knackered and in bed by 10pm. I was a bit sad as this was the Christmas my dad's sister passed away.

2005/2006

This turned out to be the best New Year's Eve since 1999/2000. We were on a beach holiday at Angourie in New South Wales. We had a surprisingly large party, given we were from out of town. Oscar was filming the party scene for Surfer Sutra. I, having already played my part (beach babe, of course), was kicked out along with the other beach babe and the disciples. We took a bottle of gin and a camera to amuse ourselves. We sang 80s songs and took stupid photos. Blue Steel and Angry Pirates were born and haunted us for many years to come.

2006/2007

In UK and I became a godmother for the first time, to my gorgeous godson, Joshua, son of my oldest friend, Catherine. As Catherine and John have kids and we'd been out all day (and John was bladdered) we stayed in that night. We attempted to watch a film but realised we were just staying up for the sake of it and went to bed. Watched the fireworks in bed then slept. Not very rock n roll.

2007/2008

First New Year as a married woman. First New Year in our new home. It was also Scott & Lucie's first New Year in their new home. We celebrated by having absolutely no plans. Ended up having dinner at Scott & Lucie's then headed up to Point Cartwright with a bottle of champagne to watch the Mooloolaba fireworks that never happened because of the terrible weather. Ended up hanging out at Point Cartwright with said bottle of bubbly in the driving, torrential rain. And wind. Gusty, gale-force wind. Lovely.

2008/2009

Humungously pregnant. Had dinner at Libbette's then a few of us drove to Point Cartwright and watched the Mooloolaba fireworks. A spontaneous night that turned out rather nicely.

2009/2010

Another spontaneous "I've got no plans, you've got no plans, let's have no plans together" kind of a night with Scott and Lucie again. These are turning out to be rather good ones actually but I think that maybe next year we should endeavour to actually do something. But, as we have children we probably won't.

If you've read this far, wow! Are you procrastinating or what? Happy New Year me lovelies.

Why I love living where I live... (part 2)

...because I can go swimming in a 50 metre open-air pool on a sunny Sunday afternoon in Autumn, with a wide lane all to myself (and no one in the lane next to me) and watch birds flitting over the water catching insects as I breast-stroke my way along. Absolute bliss!

See Why I love living where I live... (part 1).

Buckle has been approved

I checked my citizenship application this morning and it seems they have finally approved me. I have no idea why it took them so long: almost 6 weeks. How come they didn't just take one look at my application and say "oh she looks like a nice girl; we'll have her. Tick"? But at least they have finally come to their senses and realised they would be proud to call me an Aussie.

To be honest, the thought of dual citizenship is a wee bit strange. I could never give up my British citizenship because I feel British through and through. Even though there may be some elements of the British psyche that bug me, I just can't help it. It's who I am, it's how I was brought up, it's who many of my close friends and relations are and despite its faults (and in some cases because of them) I love it.

That said, I do feel increasingly Australian. You can't live here for five years, immerse yourself in the culture and not let it rub off on you. Obviously there are things that bug me about the Australian character too, but it's much easier to fob that off saying "oh but I'm British" ("and far superior" is the inference there, I suppose). When I return to England I remember my Britishness but my Australianness is also highlighted: that's the bit that makes me different to my fellow Brits. And my Britishness makes me different to my fellow Australians. So, I'm neither one nor the other and I guess that's the way I have felt for a while now.

So, although I can never be constantly 100% Australian, or constantly 100% British, I can now be sometimes 100% either, or always 50% of both. See what I mean about it being a bit strange? I think I will still have to barrack for England in international tournaments, and the "friendly rivalry" between the two sporting nations could very well tear me apart, but I do think I have the best of both worlds.

Now I just have to see if they can squeeze me into the last citizenship ceremony of the year in 2 weeks. I'll practice my national anthem in the meantime.

Australians all let us rejoice
For we are young and free
We've wealth for toil and earth to soil.... no , that's not right
We've wealth and toil and earth and soil... nope
We've wealth and soil and Mrs Doyle
Preparing buns for tea... no hang on, that's Ireland.

How could I forget?

Silly me! Of course I have something to report... well not exactly yet but the thing is about two weeks ago I did the Australian Citizenship test and then, after getting 100% (I'm such a girly swot), I applied for citizenship. As part of my preparation for the test Toby kept teaching me the Australian national anthem. It's surprisingly catchy. That's about as exciting and interesting as that story goes.

The website that I applied on is typical of all goverment (or at least Department of Immigration) forms; that is, bloody awful. You have to visit the site a few times in order to know where to find things and even then, when I want to check on the progress of my application I have to go through about 12 screens of the application process to find it.

UPDATE 19/09/08: Richard showed me today that there is actually a link directly to the login section to check my application about one click into the site. It's just the pages are so damn long, and it was right at the bottom, that I missed it. So, still not an entirely user-friendly site but not as bad as I thought. I take some responsibility for that particular problem.

The form itself asks for a Citizenship test reference number. The paper given to me after the test had two references numbers on it but neither of them were called Citizenship test reference numbers so it was anybody's guess as to which was the right one to use. Thankfully, my British colleague, Richard had recently applied so he helped me out a bit, although really he was just guessing too and I don't know why I listened to him anyway as his application was delayed whilst they conducted an "internal investigation".

After I'd applied I was directed to a form which detailed what I had to do next. This involved filling in a proof of identity form and getting someone important to witness it. (I immediately thought of my friend Libbette as she's a teacher and apparently none of my other friends have important enough jobs.) The form indicated I would also have to get a passport-sized photo witnessed. Passport photos are difficult things to obtain here on the Sunshine Coast, lord only knows why. No such thing as passport booths you see. You end up having to go to photograph processing places. I could only locate one place that did them in the surrounding area and it wasn't en route to anywhere for me that day. Richard told me I didn't need a photo because they took one when I went for the test so I phoned them to make sure. The lady who answered said I didn't need to send anything else in, not even the proof of identity form. She did follow this, however, with the comment, "if we do need anything else, we'll contact you," which probably means she didn't really know. Rich had been given contradictory information from people he'd spoken to on the phone so he suggested I send the form in anyway. I got a colleague who's a Commissioner for Declarations (whatever one of those is) to witness it (because I forgot to ask Libbette) but so far I haven't managed to remember to post it.

So that's that. Rich and his wife, Sue have their citizenship ceremony on October 31st. It only seems to be us Brits who are humoured by the fact that they will become Australian citizens on Halloween. I guess it's not really an acknowledged celebration here. It's summer here at that time of year and Australians don't feel the need to break the depression of increasingly shorter, darker days with random holidays such as Halloween and Guy Fawkes. That, and they have no pagan history. Not that Fawkes was a pagan but to say Australia has no history would have caused an uproar and wouldn't have been strictly true. The Halloween ceremony is the last of the year, the next one being the biggie on Australia Day on January 26th. I'm really hoping I can squeeze into the same one, or one before that as I don't fancy making my pledge in front of all those people whilst 8 and a half months pregnant. Suppose I'd better get that form sent off then.

Australians all let us rejoice for we are young and free...

'Allo 'allo

I'm a little surprised at how long it's been since my last post. Work has picked up and has been quite busy and I haven't really had much to say on any other topic. Still pregnant, still painting the house, nothing much to report.

Except, I just have to tell you that there is a South African guy at work who sounds like one of the German officers from 'Allo 'Allo, either Captain Hans Geering (the one who hangs around with the fat Colonel and prounces Colonel as it is written), or Lieutenant Hubert Grubert (the one with a crush on Rene). Either way, every time he talks I have to giggle and when he talks to me it's terribly embarrassing as I struggle to keep a straight face and not immediately burst out with "Ha! Did you know you sound like one of the German dudes from 'Allo 'Allo??? So funny!!"

Bored!

I am so unbelievably bored.

Apart from one or two notable exceptions, no one has sent me an interesting email in days, and even Facebook is a bit like Scarborough in winter at the moment. Not that I've ever been to Scarborough. I've never been in summer, let alone winter, but I imagine not much happens there in winter. If there is a lot going on in Scarborough in winter then Facebook isn't much like it at all. It's possibly more like the moon. But less cool because the moon has a good view of the earth and the whole low gravity thing going for it.

That said, Facebook did recently go through quite an interesting and fun phase where I got to laugh at lots of old school photos (including class photos from when I was 9 and 13 ish). My sister's friends have started putting old photos on now too so I've been having a good giggle at them.

Work is boring. I've finished off a lot of jobs and those remaining are in a pending state whilst I wait for various colleagues to get back to me. What's the bet they all get back to me at once demanding immediate resolutions?

Knocked up

It's probably about time I made an official announcement on this site that I'm having a baby early next year. Thank god! My pregnancy is the only interesting thing going on right now. It's quite fascinating once you get into it but I think I'm stretching the limits of how much even that can entertain me. (I won't go on about it by the way - I have another blog for that purpose - but I will mention it when it's relevant.) At least I know I'm unlikely to spend my days next year sitting on my arse whinging about being bored. I'll probably be wishing for such days to return to me.

Don't get me wrong, I can find plenty to occupy my time and mind with. I have millions of jobs to do at home (just not necessarily the money to do them), there are a gazillion things I'd like to read and as for things I'd like to do today, well, I've already been to the dentist and I plan to go to the gym but I also need to get petrol, fish and possibly some noodles because I can't remember whether we have any at home. The trouble is that these are not things I should be doing in work time and hence getting paid for.

Laptop battery bingo

I'm fairly pleased with myself at the moment in that I managed to successfully purchase a new laptop battery from eBay. My battery hasn't worked for about 6 months, which kind of made my laptop less of a laptop and more of a desktop, which isn't really what I forked $3000 out for. I tried to do this some time back and was bamboozled by the fact that none of the numbers on the batteries on eBay seemed to match those on my battery. I had already tried to get one from Dell and they quoted me $175 which seemed like rather a lot of money, given my computer was only 18 months old, and surely a battery should last longer than that.

I kept periodically returning to eBay and getting bamboozled so eventually I decided just to buy one from Dell. At least that way I could be sure of getting the right part and didn't have to try and figure anything out for myself. This time they quoted me $290!!!! For a battery!!! A new Dell laptop costs $750 and that comes with a battery! So I did a bit more research and discovered that the confusion is caused by Sony's insistence on measuring their batteries in watt hours (Wh) when everyone else uses miliamp hours (mAh), sneaky devils.

Thankfully, there is one common component on all batteries and that is voltage. Once you know the voltage and either Wh or mAh you can do a simple conversion using the formula:

watt = amp * volt

or

amp = watt / volt

Thanks to camerahacker.com for helping me figure this out.

It's probably a bit more complicated than this but it was close enough. I found a battery with similar power outage on eBay, which I could get shipped from Hong Kong for $87!!! What a bonus. A saving of over $200! At that price I figured I could take a risk as I wasn't able to get full use of the laptop, and I wasn't likely to pay $300 for a new battery. Well, the battery arrived yesterday and I'm happy to say seems to be working well. Kudos to me and ya boo suks to Dell!

Willie Wagtail pursues wife

Just for fun, and to stop everyone else becoming as bored as me, here's a lovely little photo of me and a Willie Wagtail on our wedding anniversary the other weekend (that's mine and Toby's anniversary, just in case that sentence caused any confusion). It was taken at Point Cartwright, near where we were married and the little bird seemed to be oblivious to the fact that I am now a married woman and was following me around rather ardently.


Right ho! I think I have procrastinated enough for one day. I shall go and do something a bit more worth getting paid for but probably terribly boring, and perhaps amuse myself with some Skunk Anansie (that's the kind of mood I'm in) for the remaining hour of the working day.

TTFN!

Eating soup with a teaspoon

Today at work I had to eat my soup with a teaspoon.

It was a frustrating experience. It occurred because of a lack of resources (i.e. normal-sized spoons). The teaspoon was an inadequate alternative, particularly because some of the vegetables in my soup were bigger than teaspoon-size. Whilst I achieved my goal of consuming my soup, it was a lengthy experience and my enjoyment was diminished.

Eventually I found a cheap, plastic spoon in my desk drawer. This wasn't as shiny and smooth as the teaspoon but at least it allowed me to get a reasonable mouthful of soup.

I can see this might prove to be a useful analogy some day.

Chunky soup

What's with all the chunky fancy soup these days?

Ever just fancy eating something from your past? By that I don't mean a 10 year old beef and tomato Pot Noodle, rather something that you used to eat and perhaps don't anymore? I caught a whiff of something in the office today and it reminded me of mulligatawny soup and I thought, "well there's a thing I haven't eaten for a while. I wouldn't mind a bit of that."

So off I trundled down to the supermarket and I found myself the soup aisle but no mulligatawny soup! There was beef and potato curry, even beef massaman soup and Malaysian laksa soup and lots of other fancy foreign ones but no straight-forward mulligatawny, nor, whilst we're on the subject, was there any good old traditional oxtail soup. There were all these "chunky", "hearty" soups but I didn't want an entire meal, I just wanted a nice can of Heinz mulligatawny soup.

Maybe it just never made it to Australia.

I'm happy to say that tomato soup did still seem to be available. That was my mainstay as a kid especially when I was sick (or poorly as we say in the north of England) and I tell you something, it made me feel better every time. Perhaps I should have got some to make me feel better about not having mulligatawny.

From a seed grows a tiny green thing

Toby has just reminded me that I should update you on my lovely seeds.

Last week I sowed some aubergine/eggplant, pepper/capsicum and broccoletti. I can only imagine the latter is a bit of a Malcolm, somewhere between a broccoli and a broccolini; a little broccoli but not a tiny one.

My little babies are starting to grow. I have a few red lettuce, one or two green lettuce and loads of broccoletti, keen little devils that they are. Oh and one pepper plant. No sign of the baby carrots yet though, lazy mites.

None of the seedlings look anything like their adult relations yet. In fact they all look remarkably similar. I do hope they're not weeds. Anyway, they're still tiny. A bit like human babies, I suppose they all look the same. Can't wait until they're big enough to transplant to the ground and make room for more.

Sowing the seeds of love

Don't judge each day by the harvest you reap but by the seeds that you plant.
- Robert Louis Stevenson

I have sown some seeds. Actual physical seeds, not metaphorical ones, you understand.

I wanted to share this with you all because it's quite exciting. I sowed them last Sunday and placed them in a little seed box thingy which was left at the house by the last owners. I am sure there is a technical gardening term for the seed box thingy but I don't know it as I am a novice gardener.

I placed a few (between two and four because one was too tricky) in each little pot thing and there were about eight of these per small plastic tray. Again, I'm lacking the technical terms here but bear with me. I have two trays of green lettuce, two trays of red lettuce and two trays of baby carrots (yum! baby carrots).

I lovingly watered them every day for the first three days and then I panicked that I was drowning them and haven't watered them since Wednesday. On Thursday night it poured and we were a bit concerned about our other vegetables but my babies... well embryos I suppose... are protected in their little seed box thingy because it has a lid.

The purpose of these seeds is manifold.

Firstly, I'm sick of supermarket vegetables and Toby and I are trying to "go organic". The supermarket fresh produce can be very hit and miss but often it's over-sized and under-flavoured, covered in pesticides and been in cold storage for a few months.

Secondly, food such as lettuce seems to go mushy before we get to finish them. You have to go shopping fairly regularly to always have a fresh supply. It's great to be able to just pop into the garden and pick only the amount of lettuce leaves we need for that meal.

Thirdly, some veg, such as baby carrots, are a bit expensive for what they are.

So we're hoping to have a constant, fresh supply of seasonable vegetables, gain comfort from knowing exactly where they've come from and how they were grown, save a bit of money, and do something practical with our garden. I'm hoping to border our garden beds with red and green lettuce... I think it'll look quite pretty.

I'll let you know how the seeds get on. I'm anxiously awaiting my first sign of green. I plan to plant some more in a few weeks once these babies have graduated to the garden bed. This should ensure a continuous supply of goodies, providing my green thumb develops, of course.

It wouldn't be fair of me to end this post without mentioning what a fantastic job Toby has done preparing and planting the couple of vegetable garden beds we already have. Can't wait to start harvesting.

What gets you through the bad times?

I was chatting with a colleague this morning about the relative merits, or lack thereof, of retail therapy. He was surprised that neither his wife, another female colleague nor I actually enjoyed shopping that much. It's not that I dislike it but the thought of spending my holiday shopping in Singapore does not exactly fill me with glee. However, on occasion I have been known to splash out on a coveted item, or even indulge in the odd impulse buy in order to congratulate or commiserate myself.

One such occasion was when I split up with last boyf six years ago. I decided to buy a couple of CDs to cheer myself up, including the ever-popular but quite pricey Ministry of Sound Annual (Spring 2002 to be exact. I think the other one was the Karma Collection). To my disappointment I discovered that I couldn't bring myself to listen to either CD - it was just too depressing - so they sat on my desk untouched for a week or two until I started to feel a bit better about things. And then I played Disk 1 of The Annual and the first song couldn't have been better: DB Boulevard's Point of View, about a chick who's going through a really rubbish time but figures that if you change your perspective things really aren't that bad. It got me thinking. Who would expect a dance tune to have such a deep and meaningful message? But it really did make me feel better. It's a nice tune too with a pretty cool video so I thought I'd share it with you. Listen to it when you're feeling down and see if it makes you feel better.



To be sure this girl's situation was far worse than mine. My ex-boyf was a lovely chap but, as time has told, not my lobster. And at least I still had a job, and money, and a nice flat (and lovely flat-mate) and lived in a city where I didn't need a car. (I particularly love the "We have split up" line. Straight to the point; none of this flowery, pathetic woe-is-me poetry.)

I don't have a cent!
Will I pay my rent?
And even my car doesn't work.
Me and my man, he's the one
To die for; we have split up!

Can't you see, life's easy
If you consider things
From another point of view
In another way
From another point of view

I see life and lights
All the colours of the world
So beautiful won't you come with me
I've seen birds and trees
All the flowers of the world
So beautiful won't you come with me

Wise words indeed!

Cool remixes:

• Techno-euphoria remix of the song to a boring slideshow with pictures of fast cars: DB Boulevard - Point Of View (DJ Lange Remix)
• Awesome remix using the brilliant Gary Numan's "Cars": Gary Numan Verses Db Boulevard - Electric Point 2002... I love this one, but then I love "Cars". Funny, that would have been a more appropriate tune for the boring car video, don't you think?

Stressless Day, apparently

You all have my most sincere apologies for being one of the tardiest bloggers ever to disgrace the ethernet with her presence. I guess I just let life get in the way but that is no excuse as this is supposed to be a document of my life. What can I say?

Apparently, today is "Stressless Day" at uni. We are approaching the end of semester and this can be a stressful time for staff and students so our very own Student Services team has organised their annual Stressless Day "to promote healthy mind, body and spirit." Activities include:

• Free snacks
• Group meditation
• Comedy and music
• Physical activities
• Yoga

There is also a celebration next week organised by a group of students to commemorate World No Tobacco Day on 31st May. This includes free breakfast snacks, games, prizes, information and giveaways. How fantastic? It seems you can organise a commemorative day for pretty much anything these days, which prompted my colleagues and I to ponder which celebratory days we might organise and what they may consist of.

For example, Geordie Day might consist of:

• Fashion show of Ben Sherman shirts for blokes; short skirts, high heels and strappy tops for the lasses. Although if it's a warm day, as it usually is here on the Sunshine Coast, the lads will probably do away with their shirts and wander around semi-naked.
• "Learn Geordie" language workshops.
• Newcastle Brown Ale tasting sessions.
• Free ham and pease-pudding sarnies on stotty bread.
• Singalonga Geordie folk songs, including classics such as "Fog on the Tyne", "The Lambton Worm" and "The Blaydon Races".
• Meet a famous Geordie featuring Robson Green, Sting, Jimmy Nail and everyone's favourite, Donna Air.
• Free screenings of selected episodes of Byker Grove, When the Boat Comes In and The Likely Lads.
• Geordie pub quiz.

I wish I'd remembered this morning that it was supposed be Stressless Day because I ended up stressing more. I'd decided to start riding my bike to work again, and I'd told Toby that he could take my car. He's experimenting with the idea of getting rid of his car and has been riding his bike to the bus stop for a couple of weeks. I was quite excited about it until I got into the garage about 10 minutes later than intended and discovered someone with a big head had worn my helmet. After faffing with the strap for five minutes to get it right again, I ventured out onto the drive and prepared for my journey. I climbed onto my bike but something wasn't quite right. I couldn't easily sit on it. How strange. Further investigation indicated that someone with long legs had been riding my bike and had put the seat up too high for me to ride.

Feeling quite deflated and a little bit annoyed, not least because my bike tools were right in the bottom of my bag, I took my bag off the back of my bike (I strap it to a tray on my bike so I can carry more stuff and not get a sweaty back) and pulled everything out of it. After a few minutes of grappling with the bolt (how much do I wish I had a quick-release seat?) and bashing my knuckles up I decided to phone Toby (who'd already left for work in my car some time prior) and let him know how angry and frustrated I was.

ME: You could have told me that you'd used my bike and raised the seat!

TOBY: Oh no! I'm so sorry!

ME: I don't mind people using my bike but I wish they'd put it back the way they found it.

TOBY: Yes, I realise that's annoying. I'm sorry.

ME: I'm already late for work and I can't get the bloody nut undone. Is there a trick to it?

TOBY: What are you using? If you're using the wrong tool you'll ruin the bolt and then you'll never get it off?

ME: Well what did you use?

TOBY: A switcher.

ME: What's a switcher?

TOBY: It's a brown metal spanner-like thing the length of your forearm.

ME: Where is it?

TOBY: If you go into the garage...

ME: [huff puff... mutter mutter] Right. Great. So now I've got to faff around looking for my keys to get back into the garage.... [mutter... steam from ears]

... PAUSE ...

ME: Right I'm in the garage. Where is it?

TOBY: On the floor there's a toolbox.

ME: Where on the floor?

TOBY: It's just on the floor. You should be able to see it as soon as you walk in.

ME: Well, I can't. Can you be more specific? It's a pretty big room.

TOBY: It's black with yellow fasteners.

ME: You mean the huge camping box [which is on the garage floor and is black with yellow fasteners... but couldn't possibly be what you are referring to as a 'toolbox', could it?]

TOBY: No! It's a toolbox.

ME: Well, I can't see it!!! Where is it in relation to your car?

TOBY: My car? Oh sorry... I meant the shed!

ME: !!!!!!! [steam]

And so it went on. After walking right around the outside of the house and locating the toolbox in the shed but not finding the switcher in the described location, Toby had me looking first on the bench in the shed (not there), then on the bench in the laundry, which required walking back around to the front of the house and letting myself back in again only to find it wasn't there either. I eventually found the switcher in the toolbox, not on top as specified but under some other gear, and discovered that it's actually about 12cm long and is metal with some rust (not brown metal the length of my fore-arm).

I then spent quite a while frustratedly trying to undo first the nut, then the bolt with said switcher and bruised and bloodied my knuckles even further. Thoughts of having to catch the bus were flying through my mind, which frustrated me as it meant changing and re-packing my bag, plus not getting any exercise for the day. I just couldn't figure out how Toby had done it. No matter how I tried there didn't seem to be enough space to get the switcher onto the nut and then turn it. I felt like a useless girl.

I called him back to whinge and make him feel guilty.

And then the bright spark decided there was an even better tool I could use. Back to the shed I went and this time I was instructed to pull out a ratchet kit, infinitely easier to find and the whole thing was resolved in less than five minute. Five minutes!! I could have done it all in five minutes. No faffing around getting my toolkit from the bottom of my bag, or pulling out my handbag to get to my keys, or looking in numerous locations for some enigmatic tool which looks nothing like the picture I had of it in my mind's eye, or bashing up my knuckles and scratching my wedding ring. Just put the bike down, straight round the back and into the shed, find the ratchet kit on the shelf, back to the front, fix up the seat, put the ratchet kit away and off you go. How I wish that was how it had happened. It just goes to show how important good communication is.

At least next time I'll know which tool to use and I'll be able to fix it up straight away without bothering Toby.

As if there'll be a next time. I don't think Toby will dare leave my bike incorrectly adjusted after the hard time I gave him this morning.

And by the way, I still want a bike with a quick-release seat. And suspension. And a smaller frame. I'm hoping at least one of these things will prevent my bum getting as sore as it was on the ride today.

Incidentally, my knuckles are so sore and bruised that I can't get my rings off and I'm paranoid that I left without locking the laundry door but apart from that the day is definitely improving.

A Dad's-eye view: Weddings

Conversation with my dad regarding my cousin's recent wedding:

ME: And what was Wendy [the bride] wearing?

DAD: A white dress.

To the moon and back

Wow! What a trip! I LOVE TASMANIA!!! We had a fantastic time and it's a beautiful place. I recommend it to anyone, particularly those people who live in Australia and have little excuse for not having been, but also to those who may be planning a trip Ozwards and may not have considered including Tassie in their itinerary.

I have uploaded our photographs to Picasa and I'm in the process of adding comments to each one. I may summarise them in a post some day but to expedite getting it out there I will leave it at that for now, rather than giving you a lengthy travel journal straight up. I will be continuing to add comments and probably a few more maps, especially for those of you who may be thinking of going and are keen on doing some walking whilst there.

There is so much that we didn't get to see or do, surprising considering the size of the place. I can't understand how people can "do" the whole place in three or four weeks; they really wouldn't be doing it justice. We stayed on the Tasman Peninsular for seven days and that was nowhere near enough just for that one little section. It's definitely on our list of places for a second visit.

Thank you so much to all of the friends who helped make this trip possible. Thanks to Lucie, Scott, James, Melissa, Jillian, Jimbo, Mark, Mindi, Guy, Libbette, Jon, Megan, Pete and Daneale.

http://picasaweb.google.com.au/lindseybuckle/HoneymoonInTasmania

The trouble with blogging

The trouble with blogging is that you can't always say what you want to say, and what you do say you worry about.

This applies in all forms of writing and journalism, and I guess it applies to comedians too. In fact sometimes I wish I was a comedian rather than a writer. Yes, I consider myself a writer. I have a number of writing projects on the go other than this blog, and one day I'd like to do something other than just write my blog on occasion. I'd really like to make a career of it. This is really just practice.

But back to why I'd rather be a comedian. Anything goes in comedy and everyone knows that it's supposed to be funny. Granted, it isn't always; sometimes it's just mean. But people know what to expect from comedians. Friends and family know that anything they say or do can and will be used against them, in the form of comedic art. I suppose, too, that not many people will be present at a comedian's every show. Take, for example, the popular mother-in-law jokes comedians seem to love. Do you suppose that they tell those jokes when said mother-in-law is in the audience? Or perhaps said mother-in-law didn't really do or say the things the comedian claims; it's all artistic license and she couldn't possibly be offended by that. But, you get my drift.

The trouble with writing is that no one really knows whether you're being literal or humourous, and anyone can pretty much read anything you publish into the public arena. You can't publish a blog post and say "oooh... hope the boss isn't in tonight".

My writing is based on real life. Things in my life influence what I write. Sometimes I exaggerate; sometimes I bring a number of different things together with a common theme. Always I worry about whether the people I mention, or even people I don't mention but who may recognise aspects of themselves in my writing, will be offended by what I write. Much of it is tongue-in-cheek and intended to entertain, not offend, but you just never know. So far I've had no complaints but I have had indirect comments (i.e. via Toby, for example) by acquaintances who think certain other acquaintances mentioned in my writing may be offended by what I've said.

Indeed I have left out many an amusing story from this blog because of concern that others involved may be upset. Right now I am busting to tell you a funny story about a conversation regarding cooking breakfast with one saucepan, possibly only funny because of my perception of the conversation. I'm aware that the other participant of the conversation may have a different, un-funny view of it and may think I am making fun of them so I have refrained from telling my side of it. Unless, of course, that person reads this and gives me their permission to tell the story.

To all of you reading now I say writing is my passion. I hope you are entertained by it. Should you one day find yourself, something you have said or done, or perhaps just a caricature of yourself, parodied, or indeed literally represented within this blog, or any other work of mine, please do not be offended. Just know that you are all fair game.

Generous listening

This morning I endured one of the most excruciating one and a half hours of my life in the form of an immensely boring department meeting, during which I was trying my very best to "listen generously".

During the meeting a young colleague, whose wife has recently had a baby, commented that the start of semester had gone very smoothly for IT Services. Eventually, after a lengthy soliloquy, the IT Director replied that she was pleased that this young chap had made such a comment, upon which she mentioned his name. I do not think that her comment warranted a response, yet when he failed to do so she brought it to everyone's attention, asked if he was off in "babyland" and told us all that we must be aware of the difference between "generous listening" and "stingy listening".

An hour and a half later I had decided that those who wish others to "listen generously" should also speak generously, which in fact means the opposite of how it sounds, that is to speak succinctly. Such speakers should remain aware of the time that these generous listeners are investing in their listening, place the appropriate value on that time and respect it accordingly. As such, I have combined my own guide to public speaking, or speaking during meetings.

1. Do not use more words than is necessary to convey your point.
   Most writers understand this one. However, it is a little more difficult to put into practise during speech as you can't really edit your words after you've said them. Perhaps just put a little more thought into what you wish to say before you've said it.
   
   
2. Do not give your listeners more information than they need.
   Be aware of who your listeners are and what their viewpoints and roles are. Keep this in mind when deciding which information to impart to them. Time is precious and they have important jobs to do, and if you happen to be their manager then you really want them to do those jobs. So don't waste their time by telling them little side stories about the politics of your last board meeting. Don't tell them about all the effort you've put in to get a particular result; they expect this from you anyway. They only need to know the facts.
   
   
3. Do give them the opportunity to find out more information if they are interested.
   This might be in the form of questions following your presentation or speech. In a large group, however, this might only interest a small number of your audience. Be respectful of the others, particularly if they are the majority. This is especially pertinent if the meeting is a mandatory one and the attendants are not necessarily there by choice. If you are presenting a document, don't read it to your listeners. Give them the gist (a verbal executive summary) and make the document available to them to read in their own time.
   
   
4. Don't talk about all the things that could have or would have happened; just talk about what has or will happen.
   Whilst I'm aware of the potential irony here, this is really just another way of saying points 1 and 2 above but with a specific example.
   
   
5. Don't use a long word if a short one says the same thing.
   Long words and flowery language do not make you sound clever, just really boring. This makes it much harder for people to listen generously.
   
   
6. Do not interrupt the main speaker, even if you are his superior.
   Interruptions and interjections make the speaker's speech longer, which in turn makes it more difficult for people to listen to. If the speaker makes a mistake with a relevant detail, then correct him in a non-condescending tone. Do not interject just because you like the sound of your own voice and think the listeners might too, and do not continuously argue an irrelevant point with him just because you hate to be wrong and think he should respect his superiors.
   
   
7. Assign approximate portions of time to each of your points before you start speaking.
   Before the meeting decide what it is that you wish to talk about. Then prioritise each item. Take the length of time that you will have to talk, being mindful of possible interruptions and divide it proportionately amongst your items, allowing more time for the higher priority items.
   
   For example, let's say you have four items you wish to discuss during a one hour meeting, one of uber-importance and three of lesser but equal importance. You know the Director will also want to speak for a short while, and each team leader will give an update. Let's assume this leaves you with approximately 35 minutes. Take away between 5 and 10 for interruptions and corrections from the Director, and questions from those of your listeners who are actually listening generously. You have 25-30 minutes. You could speak for 10-15 minutes on your uber-important item and approximately 5 minutes each on of your remaining items.
   
   Do not present your listeners with a document consisting of approximately 18 items (although the exact number is unknown to them) and then proceed to spend 6 minutes on the first item, no matter how uninteresting or irrelevant. This will only serve to fill them with despair and they will stop listening generously in order to plan their escape from the room.
   
   
8. Spreadsheets and Word Documents are not interesting material for display on a projector.
   This applies even if the spreadsheet has coloured lines.
   

If anyone has any further suggestions, please leave a comment.

Reasons I love working in IT - No. 1

What was my colleague talking about during a meeting this morning when he said (and I quote):

I played with it again this morning and tried to get it up...

Cracked me up as it did a few of my less mature colleagues; or maybe just the ones who were paying attention.

If you don't behave yourself I'll take you back to the shelter

I don't think I've ever actually threatened the cats with a trip back to the shelter but Zadie has been behaving a tad strangely since her visit there on Friday.

I was taking both of them down for various things. Monty ceased his days as the full monty and had his balls taken care of. Zadie had the injection the shelter should have given her back in November before we took her home. They were both microchipped.

Having experienced the joys of taking Zades to the shelter previously, when she went to have her stitches taken out a few days after she came to live with us, I insisted that Toby stick around to help me get them in the car. Monty was no bother. We only have one pet carrier so we stuck him in a cardboard box. He seemed quite happy. Then we tried to get Zadie into the carrier. We couldn't put her in a box as she's incredibly vicious in her attempts to escape. I tried to coax her into the carrier head-first. Her legs went the other way. We both tried. She refused to cooperate. She's surprisingly strong. We took the top off the carrier and Toby placed her in (still with stiff-you-can't-make-me-go-there-legs) whilst I struggled to try and clip the top back down and re-attach the front, her pushing her head through the side, front, top, trying to make a bolt for it, whinging at us. It took so long that Monty started trying to escape from his box so we had to parcel-tape him in. Then he tried to escape through the view-port I had kindly cut out for him so we had to parcel-tape some cardboard over that.

Eventually, with both cats securely in their respective carriers, I began the 20 minute journey to the shelter. Monty's head and one paw were permanently squished as far as he could get them through the now-mini viewport (more like a breathe hole really). Zadie yowled and scratched and bit at the bars of her box and attempted to dig her way out.

Once we got there they were a bit better behaved. The lady that looked after Zadie for a while before she was our cat was pleased to see her and fussed over her, and they got to sit in a cage together. When I went back later that day to pick them up Zadie was sitting in the litter tray and had been all day, the vet told me (weird cat). Monty was drowsy after his operation but Zadie perked up as soon as the vet and I tried to get her in the carrier again. And again, it took two struggling adults quite a while to get one small (but strong) cat fastened in. Yowling and biting ensued for another 20 minutes on the way home.

Zadie didn't eat for two days after that. Monty didn't eat much either but that was expected after his anaesthetic. She has also been more affectionate than usual. I'm sure she thinks we took her there to show her what would happen if she was naughty. Monty slept most of Friday but had almost fully recovered by early Saturday morning, which he celebrated by jumping on my feet with his claws out at 5am! Nice! I think he's forgotten the whole thing ever happened now and in a week or so, when his wound is healed, he'll be able to come and go as he pleases during the day rather than being stuck in the house all the time.

One sad thing about the trip to the shelter was the discovery that two of Zadie's kittens were still there. I wouldn't change my cats for the world but it did feel a bit strange, given that we'd originally been going to take her and one of her kittens (but Monty insisted we take him instead). One of them, Morgan, was being desexed at the same time as Monty. He seemed so much younger than Monty although there are only a couple of weeks between them. He was incredibly cute, with Zadie's beautiful face and Monty's colouring, and over a kilogram lighter than Monty. I only wish I could have taken him home and fattened him up but two cats is enough.

It's been a while since I last checked in here, over a month in fact. I don't know about you but that surprised me. January has flown over and here we are, a little over a twelfth of the way through 2008 already. I must be getting old because time is speeding up. It's been a very social month, what with 30th birthdays, our house-warming party, a baby shower.

Toby and I realised yesterday that it was our "demiversary"*. Six months since our wedding day and we still haven't been on honeymoon or got our wedding album. But let's not speak of the have nots; at least the 'moon is now booked and the album is with the photographer so it's out of our hands. We celebrated by drinking beer with the neighbours.

We now have our top wedding cake tier back in our own freezer; it had been staying with Lucie since the period of homelessness. The fridge situation is still a little odd in our house, in that our fridge sits in the garage not doing anything, not even plugged in (and I'm a little concerned this is bad for a fridge) and some big, huge, old oddly-shaped thing that lived in our house before we did is in the kitchen keeping our food cold. It's deep and wide until you open the doors because the fridge and freezer are side-by-side. It has an ice and cold water dispenser which we never use (and which doesn't work when you do want to use it, such as at a party) and which merely serves to take up room in the freezer which seems to be missing a basket anyway and consequently is a bit of a rubbish freezer. It's good for parties though because you can load bags of ice into it. The point I'm trying to make is that the cake is now residing on a jaunty angle because it doesn't actually fit into the freezer.

I'm not sure how we're going to get along with decorating and choosing furniture if we can't even sort out our fridges. I spent yesterday cutting the nasty colours off green paint colour charts. White and pale green is about all I've narrowed it down to for our living area. I can't decide between mint and lime but I don't want a yellowy-tone. I'm not sure how pale to go and I've no idea whether to paint the dado green and the wall white or the wall green and the dado white. I attempted to calculate how much paint I'd need but that was too hard. I think I'll just paint the whole thing white and take it from there.

Interesting DIY note: polyfiller is called spakfiller over here.

* I'm not convinced this is a real word. I thought I'd made it up but a quick search on Google uncovers plenty of other people who believe the same thing. Dammit!

Forgotten Christmas spiders (and Happy New Year)

Warning: if you're scared of spiders don't scroll down

I had to go back to work today. I happen to think that January 2nd is far too early in the year to be going to work. The year needs to settle a bit first. Like a fine wine it should be allowed time to breathe, it is not the sort of thing that should be rushed. But anyway, I digress, as usual.

New year's eve was quiet but fun. We went round to Scott and Lucie's house for a few drinks and some nibbles, plus a game of that entertaining Peruvian dice game, Perudo. Toby didn't drink much so at 11.45pm, with a slight break in the fairly consistent rain we'd been having most of the day, he suggested we drive up to Point Cartwright and see the new year in there. Which we did and which was rather nice, it having been the location of our wedding back in August. We took a bottle of nice sparkling wine, popped the cork and got merry on the bubbles. The wind was howling over the headland at a rate of about 30 knots and then the rain started again. As you can probably imagine it was nigh on horizontal. We sought shelter behind the big water tower. Eventually the rain subsided and we strolled down the hill to get out of the wind. Then the rain started again, really heavily and we ran back to the car through the forest track: partly because it was a short-cut and partly because it provided some shelter from the rain. We were soaked by the time we got back to Scott and Lucie's. And that was our new year's eve.

I realised that I forgot to share some Christmas highlight photos the other day. We went for a walk (another wet one) with Scott and Lucie through Mooloolah National Park and most of the tracks were spanned by massive bright yellow tough and sticky spider webs. Often we had to duck our heads (particularly Scott who is 6'7) to avoid getting tangled in them. In the centre of the webs were huge golden orb spiders. Here is a series of photographs I took:

A golden orb spider and its yellow web

A golden orb spider which has caught a cicada and wrapped it in webbing so there is no escape and is now devouring it.

Huge puddles (not shaped like Australia)

Hairy shoes: our shoes became covered in thick sticky mud and hairy twigs which proved to be incredibly difficult to remove and rather awkward to walk upon.

The biggest big spider we saw, and Scott's hand for perspective.

Toby and the biggest big spider we saw.