Summer storms finally and bloody marvellous.

8

Where has Surfers Paradise Gone?

Summer and 3 o'clock and school chuck out time became synonymous with a bloody great crackling storm and if you're really lucky you'd get some hail. The gutters would overflow and kids would take off their shoes and socks ( no wonder so many went missing on the way home from school ) and there would be water skateboarding down the slimy soaked gutters and all the mothers - yeh they were the ones responsible for the washing in those days, would send up a silent prayer to the god of their choice that no bones would be broken and trouser bums would be intact and that the inevitable gravel rashed legs and arms would not get infected.

I remember storms fondly.

As an adult I still find 'em pretty exciting. No I don't like driving in 'em and cleaning up the rain that is forced under doors is a bit of a pain, Dog goes spastic and Steve is a little unnerved, and the crash of the thunder still can make me jump, but I love the smell and the inevitable break in the heat. I love the strange alien colour of the sky and the rather odd light inside, not dark enough for lights on and not bright enough for no lights on.

Today's storm was a ripper!

Our pool turned into an infinity jobbie so I reckon about 3 inches ( 8 cm) of rain fell in less than an hour. Bloody marvellous especially as Steve had earlier taken a turn at looking after the grass and spread some fertilizer - not stinky cow shit or chicken shit, and so now I can expect the grass to be greener on our side of the fence. Yippee!

 

Just waiting for the thunder to be done so I can get in while it's full to the brim.

 

Back deck after the rain and wind assault.

It's a bit cooler and when the thunder really stops we will be able to open the windows, let in the fresh smelling air and enjoy the respite from the heat.

Hectic Domestic Day.

The day didn't start til 11am but since then we have been going at a bit of a pace.

Coffee - DONE and Yum.

Physio - New Bloke Peter - DONE and not too many tears and some manageable homework. Get rid of the 5 degree bend upwards and improve on the 90 degree knee bend. God al these numbers and me refusing to do any maths!!

Shoe shopping - DONE - This wasn't on MY list but cos Steve sat in with me at the Physio and took notes about my spazzo feet, he reckoned that it could well be cost effective to get some new shoes to protect the longevity of my new knee and I am never reluctant to go shoe shopping. Sometimes it's a bit useful taking advice from the physio bloke. If I can get along with the Birkenstocks to adjust my flat feet, then I might go and buy 'em in every colour. I have tried 'em before but have always found 'em to be too uncomfortable, seems I was trying the wrong size.

New Glasses - DONE I reckon there is no doubt that Steve did a bigger Prima Donna than me in the choosing, but he would tell ya that I took an eternity. New Glasses for us both instead of going to the New Year Sales. We didn't go to Specsavers. We went to McMahons. We might well be delusional, but agree with the old adages, 'You get what you pay for', and 'If it sounds too good to be true then it probably is.'

Present shopping for Belly for xmas - DONE. Steve had done hours of research looking for THE thing and last night he stumbled on some rather obscure shop at Varsity Lakes. Off we went and saw it, liked it and bought it. Yippee, number one DONE.

The storm hit on the way home and visibility was almost nil, and with the thunder and lightning we arrived home to find Dog completely spastic under the pool steps, shaking wet and shivering.

Now that the shopping has started the spirit is beginning to move me.

Christmas Spirit - Where are you?

I don't think I can be arsed with Christmas this year.

We have no plans, except for brunch at the beach - ta Nik, and there is no plan in place for Bell and Zig and I haven't pulled out the tree and I need to set aside a day for that. There is nothing I can think of that will bring a smile to Steve's face so all up I am out of the jolly old spirit.

In a bid to find some today, I stumbled across some pretty glass tree ornaments and have them sitting here almost daring me to get started.

But even this purchase was missing the usual pleasantries. I wandered into a local shop which I quite like in spite of it's owner and was pleased to see that she wasn't there and there was a very helpful Saturday Woman working. I tried on some stuff and enjoyed looking at the jewellery and bits and bobs and was drawn to these decos. I was just choosing some, when the bloody owner walked back in and immediately there was a dark cloud in the place. I bought them anyway even though she wouldn't take a credit card cos of some bollocks about them being too cheap to bother with the fees, and then with just the silly box - no bag, I hurried out into the pissing rain. I am pleased that they made it home in one piece or rather 6 pieces.

Zig will be down for the holidays and I am sure he will bring the joy with him, although that is an awful burden to place on a nearly 10 year old, so I must, I must, spark up.

Let's make a plan. Let's make sure the tree is up before Zig arrives and let's make sure that there are plenty of Christmas things to do while he is here.

F...n Housework.

Dressed for drinks but glasses are empty:(

 

It's hard to believe that it is only Thursday. I feel like it should be a week from next Tuesday, given the sheer number of hours I have spent washing and folding and ironing and cleaning and scrubbing and bed making and room fluffing and flower arranging and hiding life's essentials like toothbrushes and extra loo rolls, just in case these fundamentals offend the delicate sensibilities of anyone hoping to buy the Big House.

The frangipanis are contraband from the park and do smell lovely. 

Now I am in the park playing ball with Dog, while a film crew takes some footage of the place, and my very sincere hope is that it looks as good as it should do given the sweat taken to get it into it's present state. Only time will tell I suppose. And then later on at dusk, a photographer is popping in for a whirlwind shoot with pretty lighting.

What I am reminded of though is that last time we were in London and sold the Tall House, there was bugger all furniture or designer nick-nacks or art work and the photos were taken by some bloke with a camera and posted on the net free of charge and then a few weeks later a very pleasant woman lobbed in looked at it, liked it and bought it. All very easy.

It wasn't a cheapie fixer-upper, so it can't be a price thing, and I really don't want to believe that Poms have better imaginations than we Aussies, but I can see no other explanation for having to 'DRESS' the place. So there she is today in some quirky designer jobbie and ballet slippers cos I just couldn't come at the idea of putting her in spikey heels. She's all dressed up and going nowhere. She hasn't grabbed a little clutch to carry her lippy and tube of zovirax and a tampon. She's pretending to need NOTHING, all the while the basic necessities for a fine night out are stuffed into her unmentionables and she's hoping no one is cheeky enough to go probing too deeply.

Thank god for a big old storage room I say. I have hidden things like the clutter from the little corner for charging up stuff - those power cords we all have somewhere, but that look pretty ugly. Yeh she's gonna have to pretend she doesn't have a phone or a laptop. And the tellie remotes and my little bottle of Bio-oil that sits next to my tellie chair along with a collection of hair ties and a nail file all hidden and tucked up out of the way. Bloody hope I can find 'em later! Shit I should have made a list of hidey holes.

These little fellas are sitting where all the cables are usually.

All this juuzing to make the place look pretty, but ultimately it looks like no one lives here. So Ok for the photos and the film I suppose, but if anyone ever makes an appointment to have a look see, I am afraid to say they might well have to take it worts and all, cos I sure as shit do not plan on all this crappola too often.

Religion Envy

Yeh today was one of those days, when I just wished that I could believe in any sort of after life at all.

Watching the televised funeral of Phillip Hughes, a man I didn't know, wouldn't have recognised in the street, who played a game I can take or leave, I kept taking myself to task because derogatory remarks about all the religious pomp and ceremony fell like an ailing waterfall out of my mouth.

Please don't think I was unmoved by it all. I sat and had a little cry as I listened to stories about an obviously well loved and respected young man. I was struck by the bravery and composure of the people who spoke, through such sadness,  and the intense involvement of all the folk who were there. I felt the utter hopelessness of Mum and Dad Hughes and wondered just how Mum might put one foot in front of the other having lost her little boy. I can only imagine my heartbreak if Belly or Zig died .

She was bereft but at least has the belief that she will meet up with Phillip somewhere, sometime. I have no such belief, and on days like today I do have that religion envy.

I guess it should be a pretty easy sell really. Believe in this God and you will go to heaven, or get to sleep with virgins, or be part of an elite heaven group, or come back as a polar bear or a butterfly. I can see how people grab hold of religion if for no other reason than  the comfort to be taken by the thought of afterlife soirees and yes, cricket matches.

But I just can't go there.

I am pleased though that there is so much comfort to be taken by folk who can.

Who'd be a dentist?

Seriously, what must go through the minds of people who willingly CHOOSE to study forever so that they too can dig up to their elbows in other people's mouths?

I suppose they can forever charge an arm and a leg for their services and apart from Parkinsons disease or too many vinos they should be able to practice into their dotage. And they can set their own hours, and go on holidays anytime that suits 'em and if they run late no one cares cos really who WANTS to run on in and jump into that bloody chair anyway.

Steve finished off part 2 of .....drum roll please.....ROOT CANAL treatment today. Last Thursday was visit number one and today he was finished. In times past when I was doing the whole lets get toothy rooted, the ordinary dentist did the lot. He rooted around in the root canal and scraped and prodded until that fucker was empty, or the patient died which ever came first, and then packed it full of something or other and then set about building a new tooth. But now there is a specialist dentist who only does the rooting. That's it! All day every day he roots around in canals and then sends people on their not so merry way.

Last week Steve was a little surprised and then shocked and then cross and then right royally shitty cos it BLOODY HURT! Me, well I was not surprised. Been there and done that and spit blood all over the T shirt. He has been popping Panadol all week. Today unsurprisingly, the pain is worse, or maybe he is just worn out with it hurting. He's taking whatever he can get his hands on which is not a lot in this place, unless he wants to have a go at the morphine shit for my knee and he's a bit reluctant about them.

The Rooter toot tooter, didn't mention that Steve should expect any pain last week, though he did get some kind soul to call yesterday to make sure the patient was up for round 2 today. I guess there are a lot of people who think dragging out the inevitable is a good plan, but not Steve and I wouldn't either. I was a bit put out that I wasn't sent running to the chemist for some prescription drugs as soon as he got home. The guy still gave him nothing.

It beggars belief that Rooty doesn't prepare patients for the pain, but perhaps he has become ridiculously blaze doing this every day.

As a good girl I fronted for my usual check up today, so Steve wasn't alone in the Dentist story. My visit was open prod find a couple of cracks, have a little cry and outta there, so nothing in the slightest to whinge about. 2 more visits, 2 panic attacks and a flash of the mastercard and I am done til next time....Yippee kayee. I am trying not to rub it in.

The suicide rate for dentists is reportedly the highest of any profession. And this combined with all the other yukity yuk yuk, makes me wonder how anyone ever fronts up to study dentistry in the first place.

EBay shopping and winning ... gotta love it.

I've been at it again, much to Steve's chargrin.

It seems that punters looking to buy the Big House all lack imagination and so if you say you have a 5 bedroom house then you need to have 5 beds, otherwise it is just not believable. Another bed was needed though not wanted. Ebay was most useful even if I know no-one I would allow to sleep on this bed, as it's neither safe nor all that clean, it was only 60 bucks.

And last week a woman from the village who used to be an ortho surgical nurse all but scolded me for being less than I should be - new knee wise, and so I went hunting for an exercise bike. SCORE!
What a find! 20 bucks. It's just a shame that at this time I cannot climb onto it, cos my fucking knee just wont bend far enough to allow me to get in the saddle. Shitty shitty shitty. But it's a cute looking thing huh? Even if I never use it, I reckon I will have no trouble getting rid of it on ebay, so we will never have to move it.

There's been lots of stuff that I have snavelled up and I am pleased with the bargains, but Steve reckons they are his least favourite bits of furniture.

Horses for courses I suppose... Oh I bet I could find a horse on Ebay too.