Criminals in the city, Dog is scarey!!

Golf day Wednesday means I have the place to myself and I do love the autonomy and peace and quiet interspersed with noise of my own choosing. I was pleased that all the ear bleeding noise of house construction from across the canal was missing today and so I phaffed around and then sat myself in front of the tellie to watch Mission Impossible 4 - recorded a while back.

So as my knee was aching and my mind was numbed through too little sleep I camped on the couch with Dog and took charge of the remote to fast forward through the ads. It was entertaining though not earth shattering.

Without really noticing when it started, I slowly became aware of kids and skater noise just outside the front gate, so I pushed the pause button and grabbed my crutch and Dog and went for a little look see. By the time I got there the noise had moved to outside Bev's, next door.

I waited and in good time the 3 boys came alongside my front gate. I just stood and watched and Dog went barking mad and I was pleased about that. 2 boys on their skate boards and 1 boy was seemingly scoping out the house. Well he was a brazen little bugger. He stood nose to the gate and told me that he liked my house, he told me this twice. I just said, ' Thank you.'

Dog clearly didn't trust 'em as far as she could spit cos she ran along the front fence - up and back, up and back, barking like a big bad dog. But scoper boy was not fazed by dog, instead he wanted an introduction, he asked if he could pat her, so as she continued to bark and bare her teeth, I said, 'Sure' He didn't quite have the balls to stick his hand through the gate. I was pleased to see this. We sort of eyeballed each other without speaking for a while and then the 3 of 'em buggered off.

I was pleased that through some serendipity and because it's hot today and the prevailing breeze was coming through the garage, I had left the door open, otherwise I would probably not have heard the little bastards, and then they might not have been introduced to my big bad girl. I hope that all this will have persuaded them that this place might not be worth the effort required to do their dreadful best.

They had to be up to no good. I am not one to jump to conclusions about young people, but these 3 should have been at school, so bunking  was their first crime and it sure looked to me that wagging school might be the very least of it.

What a shame this is. It's one of the pissers about living in the city, that you have to be vigilant about fuckers trying to break in and nick your stuff or just play silly buggers in your place with paint and bongs.

While we were building, little turds broke in to the shell and smoked their crap and graffiti-ed  all over the walls. The police came and took finger prints and actually found 'em but they were underage and so of course got off scot-free. And one quiet sunday a herd of over indulged little arsewhipes decided that it'd be fun to park their boats up outside our place and chuck rocks at the glass balustrades around the pool. They only left after I went outside and very obviously took photos of  'em all, but not before one of 'em got very gobby and told me I was breaking the law by taking their photos.

So nothing really surprises me anymore.

I'd like to think they'd all bugger off, but that's extremely unlikely. Ho fucking hum.   

What do you take for granted?

Woop woop Yippee!! Day 33 and finally my new knee feels like it might be being tamed.

In the hospital, the physios, bless 'em, kept telling me that I wouldn't be allowed home til I could bend my knee to 90 degrees. I could only do somewhere between 60 and 65. Ho fucking hum. Still home I went and I have felt like there has been the smallest bit of improvement everyday, but the cracking of that 90 degrees has just been a grunt too far. Yeh, I have done a lot of grunting in the last 4 weeks.

This morning I was in the pool and I invented this exercise last time, where I sit on the bench seat and drag my leg back til my heel hits the wall, but thus far, the wall might as well have been in Europe cos that's about as close as I was getting. But I wanted today to be THE day. 4 sets of 5 swearing and grunting leg pull backs and still no wall. On my 5th set I was getting to the point where I wondered if indeed I would ever manage it and then on try number 4 I thought I might have just felt the faint scrape of the pebble wall. Number 5 needed to confirm it and bugger me, there was definitely heel on wall action!! Exfoliating heel hardness happened in set 6 with 5 hits in a row.

It was only early and my 'yip yip yippee' sort of broke through the suburban quiet. Too bloody bad I reckon.

It must be noted that I have struggled through the rest of the day, cos there is always a price to pay for progress and I've paid my dues with a drug busting ache, but I am so pleased with the progress that I fully expect tomorrow I'll be able to get in and hit that wall quicker and with more force.

So something so simple as being able to bend my knee is the accomplishment today.

I can hardly wait until I can take this for granted.

Social Media - What a bonus

I banged on about a bit of trouble I had placing an order at M & S and bugger me if they didn't get back to me instantly with the perfect solution and I was pleased and surprised all at the same time. Bloody marvellous!! Ta very much to Lisa and Denise.

And at the same time I had a bit of a go at the latest Myer ads and I'll be buggered again, but I heard from them instantly too. Not that they were ever gonna pull those shitful ads, but it is always pleasant to think someone had bothered to listen at all.

So a while ago I recorded 'Julie and Julia', I love anything with Meryl Streep. Of course I had seen it before, but sometime ago, before I started writing this little blog. I spent a lovely couple of hours watching it today.

It was a shame that the paths of these 2 women didn't cross and I was surprised that it was because Julia Childs was portrayed as an old stick in the mud who wasn't keen on a young whipper-snapper trying to make a bit of name for herself on the back of her - Julia's, recipes. She seemed like a much more 'go-get-'em' type and I could imagine her embracing the new technology.

It was reassuring to watch Julie persevere with her blog and slowly slowly build her readership.

I find it amazing and curious and wonderful that strangers all over the world have a little peak at my silly old stories and naturally I am grateful that friends read along and send comments and encouragement.

In the next little while I fancy getting my page re-formatted cos I'd quite like it to be more organised and look a bit more loved. But in the mean time I can keep taping away.

I do love the modern speed of things,

7 weeks 'til Christmas

A girlfriend told me yesterday that it is 7 weeks til Santa Day... Ta very much Nik.

I am not feeling all that festive at the moment and have not got any plans for the big day or week or whatever. I am not feeling the whimsy! So after having sat through that shitful Myer ad twice, I now cannot turn on the tellie unless I am armed with the remote so I can get away from all that crapola very quickly.

I mean what were they thinking?? Some girlie imitating old Alice down the rabbit hole and pining for all things old fashioned and girlie and pointless. If that is all they are selling at Myer this year then I am happily pre-warned so I know not to go anywhere near the place. Online and David Jones here I come.

Who would be entertained by this guff?? Hurtful expensive heels and a handie too small to carry your smart phone? Well that must automatically cancel out targeting the youngsters who date via text and facie every hour of every day and oldies who are feeling lucky enough to be able to walk in flats and certainly don't want to gamble on balancing ability on stilts. So maybe this ad is designed for MEN.

Present some stupid fairy tale and encourage men to take on the role of the handsome prince. I am glad that: A. Steve is not that romantic or stupid and B. He has witnessed my utter disdain for this ad every time it comes on. If you are not sure that your spouse has decided to ignore this fantasy can I suggest that you are not subtle in your telling, unless of course you are the one girlie girl for whom this ad was designed, in which case just record it for your partner and play it as a loop over dinner every day  until xmas.

Come on Myer you can do better than this twaddle!

My first foray into getting sorted for the Big Day, was to order our unmentionables from Marks and Spencers online. Every Christmas it's time for the renewal. I found what I wanted and got all sorted to 'checkout' but on my first attempt, the computer did not take off the delivery charge so I thought I'd wait a few days and try again. I know they deliver free of charge starting about the middle of November and as there are yet to be any elastic failures or gigantic holes in last year's lot there is no mad urgency. Then I got an email saying that all under-bits were 20% off for 1 day only, I went back in. Yippee!, the delivery charge was waved and the discount had been applied, but alas, they were out of stock!! This run around is unusual for Marks, but run around it is. I suppose by the time they get their shit together, and my knicky noos are available again, the delivery will be extortionate and then sale deadline well passed. Happy bloody xmas.

Am gonna try again cos M&S knickers are my favourites and worth the effort.

Good luck with your holiday preparations.  I look forward to a bit of a slap from the xmas fairy to shake me out of the ho hums.

What happens to undelivered mail?

There certainly isn't as much mail in the letterbox as there used to and let's face it what does get popped in is usually just bills or marketing for crap that no one needs or probably wants. It is hardly ever that I open the box to something exciting, but what should I expect when it is hardly ever that I send anything exciting.

I order things online and because the Australia Post contractor refuses to deliver to my place - yeh a long a ludicrous story which truly beggars belief, I get a card telling me to front up at the Post Office with some photo ID and collect that which I have paid to have delivered. Every time I go the bloke there pretends not to recognise me so I ask again why it wasn't delivered and he tells me a lie and point out that it's a lie and he checks my ID and gives me my stuff.

Yesterday there was an expose of DHL contractors playing basketball with people's parcels and so I guess there is a chance of disappointment if you chose that delivery method.

But I know there are people who get those collection cards in the letterbox and completely ignore 'em. If they don't know what it could be they don't bother. Me, well I couldn't bare not to find out, even if it turns out to be a bit shit, and of course I wouldn't want to miss an opportunity to rile up the OZ post bloke.

But what happens to all the stuff that doesn't get collected? Yesterday I discovered just by accident that friends of mine, to whom I send silly things periodically, are no longer using their PO BOX. I don't know what made me ask but ask I did and found that they have not used the box FOR ALMOST 10 YEARS.  I roared laughing thinking about the silliness that would have been confusing the Aussie posties in Brisvegas central for all these years.

I reckon if I worked there I might very well have fallen into the temptation pit clutching the thicker envelopes just in case they hide something fabulous, but then I have not been through the surely compulsory seminars outlining the legal minefields to do with post tampering.

So maybe no one opened the stuff and it went straight to land fill. There must be tonnes and tonnes of mis-addressed  stuff that needs to disposed of. I reckon it would be ok if it was donated to charity on a rolling basis. There'd be plenty of nosey parkers who'd volunteer to open it and look for treasure. I reckon I would put my hand up for that.

I miss that anticipation of opening unexpected or unrecognised mail from the letter box.

That 'Gypsy feeling' is creeping up on me.

I like moving house! Yeh it's a pain in the arse and a lot of hard work before during and after, but I do love it.

Not being a hoarder, chucking stuff out to pack up is an exciting time. A little trip down memory lane leads to an Everest pile of crap and an excellent excuse to go off to the humpity bump.

I have moved a LOT.

Before I became a child bride, I lived with the parentals and then with my darling Nanna. While married we moved house 3 times, and then as a newly single woman / mother of one I moved twice.

Our house at Camp Hill was home for the longest time - about 14 years.

Then my little sojourn to London stretched from one year to 7 years and saw me move 3 times. After 15 years as a single I became a partner and we moved 3 more times in London and since moving back to OZ have moved 4 times, into the little flat, into the broken down house, back to the little flat and now into the Big House, all the while making trips back to Steve's mother country, where we moved out of the Tall house and into a lovely flat.

So all up that's about 17 house moves. 17 packing ups and unpackings . 17 times of finding new homes for stuff and orienting to new local shops and people and transport and parking and giving directions to cabbies when you are more than a little pissed. This is an art form in itself and comes only after a good few attempts.

It's also a whole hell of a lot of dealing with Real Estate agents. On the way in and the way out. Bloody hell!! I have spent a huge fucking amount of time with people trying to con me. FUCKING HELL!!

So now we are thinking that we'd quite like to move again, maybe back to Brisvegas. If I could just do a 'Bewitched' and wriggle my nose and be there I would be a happy girl. I don't mind all the organisation of the moving out and in, it's the 'dealings' that give me the screaming irrits.

A while back we had the Goldie legends of Real Estate come to visit. They told us nothing except that we needed to happily fork out more than $10000 for them to even consider trying to sell the place and that we needed to also spend - well how long is a piece of string, getting the house in order. They wanted us to get to get in decorators and hire furniture and the list went on and on, and no that wasn't part of the Ten grand. That little pot of cash was just for them to spend on advertising or something.

There's a bloke we like who is gonna pop in again today. He's not pushy, but he is an agent and we need to remind ourselves about that all the time.

Steve and I agree that we want to put the place on the market, softly. We don't even know if it is possible. We don't want a sign up and we won't pay for advertising and we don't want open houses where people pop in for a sticky beak, use your loo and steal your remote control batteries. We don't want strangers popping in after we have spent hours polishing the windows and the bathrooms. We just want Paul to let any of his buyers know that this place is an option if they have enough cash. He can take some picies or he can use some we already have and if people like the look of it and he knows they are not time wasters then he can bring 'em on over, catch us with our pants down and have little look around.

I could get very excited about moving to Brisvegas but only after the torment and drama of selling the Big House is behind us.

Anyone want to buy our place??

G20 - How is it funded?

My Facebook page has been filled with all sorts of news feeds which indirectly relate to this G20 meeting in Brisvegas in a couple of weeks. It is all very exciting and I love this excuse to 'tart' the old place up a bit. The street art project PILLARS PROJECT , the light festival, the hotel upgrades, well it all just makes Brissie more exciting.

 

 

 

 

I read that President Obama is planning on sleeping on his plane parked up at the airport which has agreed that it will make sure that Airforce One will never be more than 30 minutes away from takeoff. There is some big flash kitchen on board so meals will be a skate and I guess he is used to sleeping in his bed there. Security should be easier too I guess cos they can have people surround the plane 24 hours a day. Bit of a shame though that no Brissie hotel will profit from his stay.

Or maybe NOT. I wonder how all this accommodation and travel and meals and security is being paid for. 4000 delegates all have to sleep somewhere and eat their 3 meals and snacks and have to be safe and sound, and the 3000 media folk have to be similarly sorted.

So I googled 'How is the G20 funded' and I was underwhelmed with the response. There's lots of interesting info online, about who and where and what, but not too much about HOW. It sure does not seem very transparent .

The host country, that's us Aussies this time, get to invite some friends or strategic people and I wondered if these folk just pop along carrying a small gift and eat and drink and be merry as would happen if you invited 'em to a little social gathering. I mean I guess that those funny little invitations used to call a whole year 4 class to fun and birthday games might be a bit naff and I imagine the G20. loot bags would have to be a bit flasher than a brown paper baggie filled with wrapped sweeties.

All this must just be costing a fortune, and I am not at all sure what the benefits are supposed to be. I reckon if there was anything urgent to discuss then a few minutes on SKYPE would probably see it sorted. And whilst I still don't know where the money is coming from, it is certainly being spent, and I can't help but feel that it could all be better spent, but I guess arriving at concensus about the feel - good project to be funded would be about impossible to reach - far easier to decide to meet up for a jolly in a safe sort of a place where the weather is probably gonna be good.

So 4000 people are gonna meet up at varying tiers of meetings and chat and enjoy some lively company and good food. Decision making seems as unlikely as the fat fairy coming in and transforming me into a size 10, Steve and I can often not agree on what to have for dinner, and there's only 2 of us and mostly we don't care. Yes there is an agenda to be followed at least loosely and then 300 media types will report back to the rest of the world.

I like the idea of my home town being the backdrop for news world wide and I hope that we will feel proud of her, but I can't stop the cynical shouting in my brain which wonders what it is really all about.