To cruise or not to cruise

No this is not a yarn about whether or not I should go and have a little look at the goings on in Surfers Paradise. God knows the tellie and the papers are giving enough details about the 20000 kid party going on there at the moment. I do not need to cruise on by for a look-see, and besides I was a teacher and am still a mother, whose daughter went along to schoolies on the coast and survived to tell the tale so there would be no surprises for me.

No this is about the quandary I am facing about whether or not I / we are 'Cruise People'. I have always thought NOT. I am claustrophobic and don't play all that well with others and I am not too keen on buffet meals or watered down drinks, and really Steve is just too easily bored.

But then friends are off in December and the hearing about their plans left me wondering, and today we had lunch with other friends who are happy to say they are definitely 'Cruisers'. So I am having a re-think, cos really, what we like to do is eat good food and have a little drink and laze around reading a book or watching a movie. All this sounds possible, except for the buffet thing and I am lead to believe that there are alternatives to hoeing into food that every so and so has had their fingers in.

I can't quite get passed the reality that if I want to leave, it is just not possible. I have been on boat 'Dos' before and it has never ended well. Staff Christmas parties where everyone is pissed and more than a little gropey and student events where the kids of course think no one has noticed that they are pissed or stoned and I spend the evening trying to make sure none of the blighters take a running leap off the side. Standing on lookout duty with life ring in hand is in contrast with the after five outfit and heels. I wonder why no one ever thought to make a range of those rings to match handbags or shoes.

So again I am left wondering. If I can convince myself, then Steve is happy to give it a go, but of course there are a couple of deal breakers. We need a balcony room, as I have surmised that the Ocean View rooms are just a fixed pane of glass that teases the brain into thinking there is fresh air, and as a diehard nutcase who goes into severe panic attack mode when someone puts their seat back in my face on a plane or my head gets stuck in my T shirt when I am pulling it off, I will never fall for the window that doesn't open routine. And after I looked at the configuration on a couple of the boats, I know I couldn't be in a room at the end of a long corridor cos I wonder where the air comes from for all those doors. Yeh I know, more than a little crazy, but I have been known to run screaming from a building where I thought I might rent a flat because it became very clear that the front door was just too many doors away from fresh air. Who else counts the number of doors between the outside and the loo? Is it really only me?

Oh Bugger it!! Here I am talking myself out of it again, just as I was getting excited about sitting around for a week eating and drinking and reading.

I will have to wait to be swayed by some silly season pricing and as we don't want to go until March that could be a very long wait indeed.

Strangely enough I am not at all worried about the boat doing a Titanic.

If you have some wonder stories about cruising, I'd love to hear them.

Sleep Sleep, my Kingdom for some Sleep.

I wonder if pushing out a little person leaves a body permanently incapable of sleeping through the night.

Most mothers I know will tell you that they would gladly lose a couple of teeth for a full week's sleep.

Never having been a 'good sleeper' I find at the moment that there is some cause for celebration if I manage to be comatose for even 3 hours in a stretch.

How I long for those teenage days when rising after lunch was possible and then a little nanna nap at 'hometime' something to look forward to.

The slightest noise has long set me wide eyed and then that about does it for rest.

I know a bloke who is early to bed and up in the dark to walk or work and this certainly seems to work for him. It doesn't seem to matter what time I am horizontal, 3 hours is the max, and I am getting mightily sick and tired of it.

Last night was 10pm flat out, then 1am up to pee and look at the park and listen to the noise and then try try try again. 4am wide awake and thought I'd try ear plugs and an eye mask, so along with my tooth guard and gammy leg, you can just imagine how attractive that might have been. It was curious to listen to my own heart beat echoing in my ears, but that doesn't count as sleep. 6am up for more pain meds for the leg that seems to never want to bend properly and then finally up and at 'em at 7 cos I couldn't stand it any longer.

All this even after having taken the sleeping drug that old Angus prescribed when I went in for my grease and oil check-up on Friday. This tiny little pill is meant to knock you out for 8 hours. Angus said it might be good to re-boot my sleeping pattern, so I thought I'd give it a go, but as I am only getting 3 of the 8 hours the pill is designed for, I can only imagine that the other 5 hours are manifesting themselves into 'watch out for the big bitch cos she's having a cranky'.

There are eye masks that are infused with lavender which while they sound old lady, might be worth a shot, or maybe if I down generous dollops of vodka that could set me off. The idea of warm milk leaves me searching for a bucket, and counting sheep, counting anything, well I just don't do the maths anymore.

If you have some tried and tested sleep formulas, I'd be pleased to hear 'em. Desperate hardly begins to describe.

The Big House is on the market

Yesterday Paul the estate agent we quite like, arrived with 3 coffees and a determination to stay until the papers were signed. We have danced around putting the house up for sale a number of times and to be fair to him, he has been more than patient.

Hours of negotiation commenced with 3 people slurping their cappuccinos and wondering how much leeway there was in the others' position.

First to fall was my idea that we should wait until February cos that way I could enjoy every minute of our Zig Holiday without taking time to polish granite and make sure there are no boy sized skid marks in the loos. Paul said it had to be December / January and that was agreed.

I didn't want to put up a billboard out the front but both Steve and Paul wanted that so I lost again. Yeh I can see the sense in it especially as I have often sat outside a house with a sign and called the agent listed for more details.

Paul presented his 'breakdown of costs'. Steve and I nearly fell over. More than 8 grand upfront regardless of success. This seemed very steep, especially as in the UK there are no upfront charges for the seller as the agents back 'emselves and their ability to sell property. But here it is only the owners who have to gamble. We discussed the need to 5K for print advertising and finally Paul gave way. I have never once bought the Gold Coast Bulletin to look for property and I can't be the only one like this. So we stubbornly saved ourselves a big chunk of wonga and now Paul can decide if he wants to pay for it himself and gamble away a bit of his commission.

Which brings us to the next big hurdle for the morning. Standard commission seems to be 5% on the first bit and 2 and a half % on the rest. Well that's a bloody big bundle of cash. Steve insisted that the number was calculated and then chucked a wobbly. He walked away and the old game of Good Cop / Bad Cop began. Commission in the UK is always negotiable and if you are selling an expensive pile, then it becomes extremely flexible. So after huffing and puffing and boys being boys, 2% was settled on. Of course that excludes the GST.

Video styles were discussed and agreed and dates for filming etc are now on the calendar. I do work well with a deadline.

I need to get the house sorted now and Steve is going to be more than a little manic getting fine details perfect cos after all the Big House has been his pride and joy, he doesn't want someone coming in and possibly whinging about a little oops somewhere. Me I reckon let the buyer beware.

Paul is bring a 'buyer' through tomorrow but Steve and I both reckon that is just so he can try and talk us down in price, so I guess, 'Let the games begin.'
 

Arguements: Public Vs Private. Online Vs Live.

If you heard some screaming and shocking swearing coming from next door, which escalated into truly vicious verbal attacks and more and more voices joining the fray, all taking sides with name calling and threats, what would you do?

As a youngster, recently married, we lived next door to a place like this. The fella and the woman would routinely get pissed and the screaming and violence would start up and go on for hours. I can remember turning off the lights and sitting on the floor in the dining room listening to the furore until I heard the cries of the kids and that's when I knew it was time to go out onto the street and gather the kids to make sure they were OK. Yeh I rang the police a few times and they came and broke it up. I am pretty sure that I was not the only one who rang.

If there had been no kids involved, I'd like to think that I would still have stuck my nose in. There was no clear perpetrator of the abuse, sometimes it was him and sometimes it was her. The kids were the ongoing victims.

But with the modern day comes modern twists on this scenario. Last night on Facie there was an argument that escalated just like the drunken shitfight from years ago. It was like car crash tellie, I couldn't look away.

I knew the fella whose page was being used and in all fairness he did start things off with quite an inflammatory remark, but had it been me, I would have reached for the phone or got in my car and had it out face to face. I certainly would not have started yelling abuse and swearing for all the world to see. Things very quickly got out of hand and players from all over had to get their 2 cents in. I wondered why they bothered. There was no voice of reason, and as a lurker I didn't feel I could take on that role. Maybe I should have. Maybe if I, as an unknown to all but one of the respondents, had suggested that they take the argument off line, everyone could have retained just a little dignity.

As it is very hurtful things have been printed and can never be retracted.

School yard bullying is again in the spotlight. Fights being videoed and YouTubed so that the humiliation can be ongoing and the bullies can enjoy their 5 minutes of fame.

There have always been school yard fights. The whole school population would swarm  to watch until a teacher would come by to break it up. And then with the advent of the mobile phone - just a phone not a clever one, it was possible to call up a possie of blokes to battle it out. There was no permanent record of all this, just stuff people saw and forgot - except for the broken nose or the bloodied face. It was a time of greater innocence. No less bullying but less involvement from the sidelines.

Seems people today reckon it's OK to wade on into someone else's business, and don't quite see that to wade in is to actively participate in the abuse.

Or maybe people today are unaware of how quickly things spread online, or maybe they do indeed know and just don't give a shit.

Nanna used to tell me, 'Don't let the neighbours see your dirty laundry.' Literally and figuratively. She used to hang all her 'unmentionables' on the inside of her Hill's hoist so the neighbours wouldn't be able to see them.  And I see how sometimes taking her advice might well leave those bullied folk in a hole - the kids next door really needed us neighbours to know what was going on, but airing a family disagreement online... well I am just not convinced.

Sometimes I just don't want to see other people's skid marks.

Independence and my CAR

This week heralds 6 long weeks of a bit of misery the cherry of which has been that I have not been able to go anywhere under my own steam. Now don't get me wrong, Steve has been at my beck and call and has driven me to places he didn't want to go and done things that have not brought an instant smile to his face. And whilst there has been no begging involved, I have indeed had to ASK. I am not at my best when I need to ASK for something. I've spent way too many years just getting on with things as and when I fancy. ASKING gives me the shits!

So over the weekend I decided that MONDAY was the day that I would give driving a bash. A manual car and a left leg that is still quite achy is not a great combo, but I was determined. My leg slid into place ok and the clutch was manageable. Steve did back the old girl out of the garage perhaps more to protect his car and the house, than to save my leg.

I jumped in - yeh not really - more of a slither, and took off down the deserted suburban streets giving my new knee a bit of a work out. Yeh it hurt, but I was in control. YIP - fucking eee!

I am a realist, there will be no taking off to Sydney for me in the next little while, and travelling over bumpy roads almost makes my cry, even in the thinking about it, but taking myself off to the hairdressers is possible, even if I know I can't yet sit there for the requisite 3 hours to get my roots done. How bloody marvellous to be able to make a plan without having to ASK.

Driving in Australia is like breathing. If you live in the suburbs and you don't want to become a recluse, then a car is necessary especially here at the Goldie, where the pubic transport is so shit.

I had cars in London too so I could get to work and play, but have been back for long visits and managed very very well with no car and just the tube and buses for getting around. A bus ride from the Big Flat to my hairdresser takes less time than it takes for me to drive to see AnnBrit at Southport, and anyway there is just no parking in London so going public solves that little dilemma.

But the big deal is the independence that comes with being able to drive even short distances. The thrill about being ABLE to drive is also pretty fab.

My lovely girl has sat for almost 6 weeks untouched and unloved so a shampoo was in order, no blow dry today, my knee only just made the distance with rag and bucket, but she's ready to go.

YIP-FUCKING -EE indeed.

 

The crutches are living in the kitchen, not quite out of sight out mind but only for emergency use or swatting children out of the way during xmas shopping. 

The Kids are coming! Yippee!

It might be that the G20 is keeping everyone entertained in Brisvegas, but for me the day is all about having lunch and a swim with 'The Kids'

We set the aircon on last night and so I was really hoping for a good night's sleep, as it's been a few nights of wakeful misery and bleary eyes into my kindle. I was only awake at 3.15 and 5.28 and got vertical at 8.30ish, and only opened the Lauren Bacall autobio once. That was some good sleeping for me at least.

So now prep is required, and the aircon is off and it is stinking HOT HOT HOT. The pool water needs to be tested. I mean it's one thing for Steve and I to go in if there's a lurgy in there, but that's just not acceptable for the little fella, and we have been meaning to do it all week and have just gotten side tracked - well we have so much going on obviously. And I want to make some biscuits for Belly cos she goes mad for 'em. She and Steve have the same favourites, so I suppose I should be thinking a double batch, but that long in front of the oven might be a melting moment too much.

Steve is gonna do the groceries AGAIN cos, firstly I hate it and refuse to go on a sunday and secondly my leg hurts.... I hope that I can play that card without it actually hurting for a very long time.

I spent yesterday without the crutch except for going out, coffee and dinner. Off to the Italian Club last night for a quick something cos I had not been out of the house at night for more than 5 weeks. They were having a function there but we could still book in the restaurant. The food was good but the service was rubbish, so much so that in a bid to cool down my beer, I hobbled over to ask for an ice bucket and when it arrived it was about empty of ice. So I grabbed my crutch and limped on over to the bar and got a bottle of cold water and some ice and tucked it all about my body and limped back to the table. It was quite a walk and no offered help. They were ridiculously understaffed. Not even an old woman on a stick got their attention. So sometimes it's useful and sometimes not.

So into the pool with Zig today to escape the stink and to play. It's been a long time between plays, so I'm gonna live it up.

Dr Strange One Magoo

We fell into a parallel universe this morning at some ungodly hour as arranged by Steve's GP not by our own hand.

Steve has been troubled by an eye infection which has worsened since Saturday and Francis (GP) decided that time was up on the usual shit and ordered him off to a specialist. She even pulled rank and made the appointment.

I googled the bloke and it all seemed OK so off we went.

WE got there and even though his appointment was for 8 am the lifts from the basement carpark did not become operational until that time, so to avoid being late we trooped up the ramp dodging on-coming traffic and found the right place and booked in.

The reception area was amass with cloned looking girlies - all youngsters, all skinny, all big boobed, all wearing the uniform of tight tight blue blouse and tight skirt or pants,  and only one or two over 30. I did a quick count when they were mostly still and got up to 10 girls before I lost interest. These girlie women just didn't seem to be doing too much of anything except creating a semi frantic atmosphere of business.

So after the obligatory wait, cos god knows we were there to see a specialist, who arrived AFTER the appointed time, we were ushered into a room, where some young BLOKE, introduced himself as the Doctor's assistant. He took all Steve's history and did a 'What is that letter test' and then dumped us outside again to wait some more. Then one of the stepford clones called us into another room and without any intro asked some more questions and she taped away at the keys in front of her.

We sat bemused.

Finally the lord and master arrived. Stepford girlie got out of his way and set her fingers to speed type.

God man seemed competent enough in his diagnosis and girlie was efficient in her note taking of all the pearls that fell from his mouth. Steve and I just kept looking at each other wondering if we were still infact dreaming... it was only early after all.

Steve asked for clarification from God and he just said as an aside to girlie, 'Explain that to him will you.' Fuck ME!! I wondered if I had heard correctly. I asked a question too and God said to girlie, 'Explain that will you.'

Can you believe that it was just too much trouble for him to explain himself?

We were falling about each other as we stood to leave.

$140 and an hour later during which we twice avoided being rail-roaded into making another appointment, we found the car and after a security guard with no teeth who had been smacked very hard with the ugly stupid stick let us outta there, we felt like we had found our way back to reality away from the wrinkle in time.

Bugger me! what a very strange way to treat people.

I wonder how anyone ever goes back.