Different Ways and Means

There are very many ways to the same end.

My most tiresome teacher task was hands down all the essay marking. A senior essay of say 1000 words would take at least 20 minutes to mark, longer if it was hand written or arguing from a different if interesting point of view. So if I had 20 kids in the class and say 3 senior classes, well you can see that's a shit load of marking, perhaps 3 or 4 times a semester.

I had a personal rule that I would mark 'em in the order they fell off the pile. And I would count how many I had to go and was always doing the Maths to see if I was gonna have time to do 'em all that afternoon or morning or evening. I can remember counting again and again.  Finding out what the kids thought, and HOW they thought things out, was cool, but coupled with all that was the requirement to identify all the errors and the inconsistencies and the inaccuracies and be on the look out for the sneaky stealing of others' words. If it was just a matter of reading stuff the marking would have been if not enjoyable, at least marginally entertaining. Of course if you are gonna give a kid a D for an essay then they can reasonably expect plenty of explanation - plenty of red pen, plenty of notes. The A essays just could have lots of ticks and a pretty comment at the end. But good or bad they still took about 20 minutes.

Sometimes kids would hand in shit and think that would irritate me, but instead, when I got a scrawl of crap and no effort, I rejoiced cos it took far less time and that meant that my initial Maths was a bit exaggerated, so I might finish early.

If I was lucky enough to be marking some short answer exam or better still a multi guess test, I had my own little routine. I would do it all page at a time, cos I could really steam through each page by rote, turn the page...next. And not knowing which was whose meant that I never lost concentration wondering why a good kid got that one wrong, or feeling pleased about the surprise right answers. Now lots of teachers would mark the whole paper and then go onto the next one. You see it didn't matter the method, cos the end result was the same. Things got done.

Yesterday while I was in Brisvegas, Stevie decided to pressure wash the back deck. This is usually my job. I quite like it. I don't think he has done it before. I am better at the mindless repetitive things - maybe all that time marking? Boredom does not sit well with him. He has not learnt the pleasure of letting your mind drift away. All his attention goes on, 'This is a fucking dreadful job, waste of time, what else is there to do?' and so yesterday when I got home he explained that he had given it away but hadn't quite finished. That I get, cos sometimes you just have to walk away, get up and leave the pile of essays on the table and do something else. But what did make me giggle was the BIT he left unfinished - a nice neat little rectangle in the middle of the deck. He explained his method and still I had to have a giggle. I would have left a strip at the end near the park cos that's the way I go, others might leave a strip by the pool, no right or wrong, just different.

So it's all finished today while he was at golf, but our different approaches is sure to be a topic of discussion again tonight, when he sees the shit that happened as I pressure washed my antique table. Fuck I hope that it is salvageable. Stevie would just never have done it, and even if he had started, the second he saw what was happening he'd have stopped, so the whole of the top of the table wouldn't look like paper pulp.

OOOOPPPs

Sometimes going hard is just fucking stupid - a bit like when I used this stuff on the coffee table. I could see something odd happening, but pushed through the doubt. Stevie still sing, ' Bang, and the varnish is gone.' whenever I get out the dusting rag.

It's all horses for courses.

And it's what happens when you combine an arty fart and an engineer.

Pete Evans - Dairy Bad, Kale Good and Avocados Cure Cancer.

I'll have both please.

A long time ago, in a country far far away, there were travelling gypsies selling all manner of potions to cure everything from drop foot to toothache, potions that could stiffen that which needed it and soften anything that had become petrified. It was all done with smoke and mirrors. And before that of course there were witches who cast spells and became fire fodder.

Throughout time people have believed all manner of crazy shit: The earth is flat, The weak shall inherit the earth, There is a God. It is clearly all in the delivery. Ad men - and women, have a great deal to answer for.

I used to believe that what goes around comes around and so if someone did something a bit shitful, there would be a bus with their name on it - or at least a push bike coming their way soon. But it seems to me that even this little idea is a load of horse shit. There are just too many turds wandering carefree and too many undented buses.

And so we get to the 'NEWS' that Pete Evans - yeh I know....WHO? Pete Evans, that world famous doctor, no nutritionist, no cook, no TV presenter, reckons that dairy products strip your body of calcium, so eat kale instead. Well fuck me, throw that bit of cheese away and you'd better start slopping on some almond milk or spider blood onto your cornies.

Yeh I read the shit about how too much protein strips the calcium out of your bones and this may or may not be true, but what is not explained in detail, is exactly what constitutes TOO MUCH. Anyway Ho hum. Cos the info scaring people away from cream and all things COWY, is being delivered by a TV show host, and how that makes him an authority, I don't know, but he does paly up with a cute French man and eat food so I suppose people want to believe him, a bit like those gypsies selling shit out of a covered wagon. I bet they put the good looking fellas up the front to do the selling too.

So let the buyer be ware. Follow old Pete to a brittle boned end if you fancy, but don't pretend cos he's a bit pretty and he's on the tellie that he's smarter than you, or decades of medical research.

And the second bit of medical advice this week is that people with Leukaemia can replace their meds with Avocados. I don't fucking think so! Again the quantity of AVOs is not made explicit but in any case, I don't fucking think so!

Avos are lovely mashed up with some salt and pepper and maybe a tiny squirt of lemon juice and then slathered onto a piece of hot thick toast....YUMMO! Or scooped out and in a salad, or topping a plate of nachos. I am not such a fan of the idea of squidging an avo and then pretending that it's a chocolate mouse, but if that's what floats your boat, then goodo.

Just don't let's pretend or worse still believe that the delicious but humble AVO can cure cancer!

Eat 'em up by all means, but if you have been prescribed some drug that has taken decades to develop and test and certify, that has been proved to be unbelievably successful in treating cancer, then for fuck sake keep taking the pills.

The fingers crossed and 'Oh look at him, ain't he pretty' approach to health is not for me.

Aussie 'SURVIVOR' - the Jury is still out

Yeh this isn't a real dog and it's not in a real forest, but it's still a bit interesting.

In 2000, the Reality TV business was a but foetus, I think there was a bit of Big Brother and that was OK and then there was this new show 'Survivor' about a good handful of folk dumped somewhere remote, who had to 'out wit, out play and out last' through physical trials and all manner of psych 101 thinking to be the last man or woman standing. I found it a very intriguing game.

A girlfriend would pop in on 'Survivor' night and we'd have drinks and dinner and discuss the goings on. If she wasn't up for a visit, the discussion would happen over the phone. I thoroughly enjoyed the human 'reality' of it all. I had yet to be bitten by the cynic bug and so believed all that I was seeing, with the gormless gullibility of a naive youngster.

There has been 32 'Survivors' and no, I have not seen them all, I don't think it ever quite made it to the tellie screens in the UK so that is at least 14 of 'em that I missed. It's strange that Jeff yelling out, 'Come on in guys!' was thought to be too, not proper I guess for the poms. But I reckon if it has been playing and I have had access to it, I have watched it.

The new 'Australian Survivor' then was right up on my list of things to watch. But it is a little disappointing. It's just not as slick I guess as the American version, which I suppose aught not be much of a shock given they have had all those years to get things smooth, except that it seems the Aussie version is legally bound to follow the old routine, if not the old dialogue down to the letter, it's all pretty close.

The American version tripped through the 3 day event highlights in 1 hour, less ad breaks, but the Aussie show drags things out for an hour and a half. I am not interested in footage of fish or weird insects, and all the possible dangers and hazards the players are facing, mostly cos I don't believe that any of that is happening anywhere near 'em. I just want to see the guts of it, the challenges and the disasters caused by a storm and the voting off. I just want it to be more savagely edited, yep I want 'em to move it along.

So it's ok, although if the producers had selected some more hard nosed players, who could have spiced things up, that would have been OK with me. Some bitchy bastard acts just wouldn't go astray I reckon. It's on 3 nights a week so I can only guess that channel 10 wanted to get it over and done with, or else they figured it might be a good foil for channel 9's 'The Block'. I cna't begin to pretend to understand the scheduling, except that it is all driven by what advertising can be sold and for how much.

We are recording both these shows and are watching them both on the fast forward, so clearly the advertising is wasted on us. I admit that 'The Block' is getting very quick shift, cos really I only want to see the room reveals, the rest of the drama is too for my bullshit detector.

So I think 'Survivor' is on Sunday Monday Tuesday, and maybe so is 'The Block'. 3 people have been voted off the island so if you fancy having a little look at it, you haven't missed too much, but if you have anything at all else to do like perhaps squeeze a pimple, or decipher your Optus bill ( good luck with that!) then go your hardest, cos I rather doubt your life will be too much the poorer for having missed either of these shows.

Gold Coast Show Crackers and Craziness

So a year ago, I was a bit cheeky and fanangled a free pass to the Gold Coast Show and I tripped off for a day's country entertainment. Well it's on again this weekend and that means that for 3 days in a row, from the balcony here in the Big House, I get a front row seat - well actually I stand, to watch the crackers.

Yep I do love 'em. This has been well documented. I know! Ok I know!

The traffic jams to go anywhere and then to get home and the extra people about become insignificant when I think about the lovely crackers.

I popped into Pac Fair today and got all snarled up coming home. The traffic news on the radio was bad so I switched stations and turned up the music and belted out a couple of tunes, cos the traffic was being paid for by crackers, so I was quids in I reckon.

Stevie and I have been discussing going to the Show. He is not too thrilled, well even that is an exaggeration, but he would go if I wanted to go. I have been waxing and waning. I enjoyed last year, and it wasn't too crowded, not at all like the Brisvegas EKKA, but I am having trouble getting truly motivated.

I would happily sit and watch the wood choppers so long as I could be certain that I would get my excellent spot from last year again, and reckon I could manage the crowds in the Show Bag place so long as I was just quickly in and out to grab something for the Grandie. The old Side Show Alley could be skirted and I am not sure I could manage the Arts and Crafts display, even though it is no doubt as good as last year, I do remember having to do a very quick tour of bits of it last year to avoid the crush. So all up really the highlight is the crackers and we already have an excellent free spacious view so not much point in putting the old fella through it.

But I didn't know why I am really so reluctant to go until last night after the crackers, I said that it was cool to be able to watch 'em without having to be alongside everybody's germs.

I thought about this. It's a consideration that keeps jumping into my head.

I hear stories about the anti-vacers and I go all red in the face when I think that they might infect other children and ME.

When I see people sneeze and cough in public, I have taken to saying out loud, 'Please cover your mouth / nose' or if I am feeling less pleasant, 'Keep your fucking germs to yourself', has fallen out of my mouth, generally, blessedly, in a whisper.

The idea of being stuck in a germy crowd really just doesn't do it for me.

Last year I sat around with the great unwashed and chattered and ate and laughed and took photos, and didn't think for a millisecond about their diseases, and now I am loathe to venture out into the world.

This is a big pisser. A big irrational pisser. I might - well do in fact have a number of mutant white blood cells which if left to their own devices are trying to multiply and kill me, but I also have the right number of good healthy little white fellas, which I imagine are quite capable of seeing off your bog standard germs, but what about the not-so-bog-standard fellas?

Oh fuck, I can see me becoming one of those mask wearing crazies that I have laughed up a lung over for years. And maybe I should have that hand sanitising shit shovelled into my handie by the litre, or maybe I could just stay home and watch the world go by on my computer and tellie.

So yeh, I see all this sounds a bit nutty, but sub consciously, I have managed to go all the way through Winter without a snuffle, and that's not a bad effort.

Ab Fab Movie Review.

The Ab Fab sit com girls are icons. Everything about the TV show was big and bold and brash and wildly politically incorrect, cos I don't think that was even a thing when they started out. There were so many cringe worthy moments when I used to wonder if they were allowed to do that stuff or say that shit on the tellie. It was daring and excessive and glamorous, and always roll on the floor having a little wee, funny.

A quick google search will tell you that it was made between 1992 and 2012. That's a bloody long time and whilst Eddy's family dynamic changed, the Fab girl's relationship did not.They found themselves in funny, unlikely situations which they managed to wriggle out of in 30 minutes, much to the chagrin of those around them. The dialogue was fast and furious and shocking and ridiculous and very funny. Well that's my opinion anyway. The re-runs were always worth a look and a giggle. In fact I am still happy to watch today, any day.

But the movie was less. Less everything, less funny, though there are a few laugh out loud moments which I am tempted to think were probably improvised on set rather than tightly scripted, and even though the through line was as ridiculous as ever, it was a bit disjointed and sort of jumbled like a bad acid flash back - maybe that's what they were going for? And as for those, 'Did they really say that? moments, well you can forget them. Of course political correctness has limited all manner of possibilities, and so it's not shocking or even surprising, and that's a shame I reckon.

It is cool to play, 'Spot that Famous Person' and that, then is a reason to sit all the way through the credits at the end to see if you were right. The music is cool too, especially if you fancy singing along. But it didn't add to the story line, instead I reckon it was a distraction. It just seemed like an excuse for the girls to give as many of their mates as they could a little walk on role. Or maybe it was like trying to do a whole sitcom season in one movie. You can imagine that if 'Friends' was made into a compilation movie, there would be walk-ins by a huge number of Hollywood stars.

Jennifer Saunders has often said that she wrote the screen play in something of a rush cos she had a bet with Dawn French, who bet Jennifer would never finish it. Perhaps she should have taken more time, or maybe she could have leaned heavily on French's quick wit instead of relying on her as a producer. But now we are getting into far too much detail that may or may not be relevant, a little like some bits of the film.

If you want to go star spotting then you might like the movie, but if you are expecting a movie rather than just a poorly assembled extension of an excellent tellie show, then you might be disappointed.

Ahh the Lovely Rain.

I do love the tippity tippity tap of rain on the tin roof. There are no storms today driving Dog into some kind of mad fear frenzy, instead she is just lazing around enjoying the slow pace and trying to avoid the smell of the floor cleaner Stevie is sloshing about. See that's another advantage of the rain - no golf means the floors get a wash.

Anyway, rain at this time of the year is lovely. It's still cool enough to pull on a light sleeve and the humidity is not making your thighs stick together - not in a good way. Everything can do with a little dust wash off and because the colours here are always bright and vivid, it's cool to sit back and enjoy the grey, of the sky and the water. It's not at all depressing to me, although to be honest I never found the London greys miserable either.

The garden is about ready to punch out of its very brief hibernation and so is looking out at the rain like a long lost friend. Yeh you can almost see green stuff smiling.

We have put the Big House on the market again. It has taken 2 years for us to get over the bilge from real estate agents and so it's time to try again.

Stevie reckons we should expect no-one to come have a look-see in the rain, but that's a time I would like to go for a visit, cos I reckon if a place looks good in the rain, it must look bloody marvellous on fine days.

We have had the usual battle over semantics with the agent, and there has been some brief concern over the truthfulness of the final description, but perhaps punters take more than a third off when they read shit so a certain degree of hyperbole is in order.

Who knows what the truth is when it comes to selling property, the only thing I reckon you can know for sure is that someone is gonna have to love the place before they stump up the cash to move in.

It's not like when I bought my place in Brisbane all those years ago. The financial settlement via the divorce saw me with a chunk of change and I knew that I needed to buy a house or else I would be forced to rent a bigger flat to accommodate my ever growing shoe collection.

So I trawled the market.

Of course I couldn't afford what I had left so I needed to adjust my wish list.

When I first went to see my place, I thought, 'I fucking don't think so!' - it was small and a bit ugly. I ran from the yard.

Then after a month or so of seeing places suffering from damp and dingy, I went back for a second visit.

It was actually OK. Plenty big enough for my girl and me, and I could paint it any damn colour I liked and I could afford it, so I bought and we moved in and lived happily there for many years.

So maybe our buyer won't have to fall head over heels for this place. Maybe it will just have to 'do'.

And if you know of someone who wants to buy a 6 or 4 bedroom house with or without a study, maybe they should stop by for a  look or 2.

I am tossing up whether or not I should buy an orchid, cos that's about the extent of effort I want to spend dressing the place.

We are giving it 3 months.

Whales and Tourists.

If we had left Dog on this beach today she could have seen us boating out to the Whales.

We went out in public today. We ran with the great unwashed as my lovely dad used to call 'em - the pushy, poor-mannered, jumbo sized but think they are tiny and can therefore fit into a non-existent space, by pushing their feral children ahead of 'emselves, tourists who don't give a fuck about orderly cueing and leaving space for everyone to have a little look see.

Yeh we went on a fucking BOAT with these people!

We went whale watching, which is one of the most wonderful things I have ever done, just not on the Goldie.

We ran the gauntlet of Photographer Pete, who really didn't want to take NO for an answer and so followed us onto the boat arguing with us and pushing us for an explanation. We kept walking and asked another crew member about the seating arrangements and because he seemed to think he was the next Billy Connelly he gave us a load of old tosh instead of an answer.

Anyway we found seats that we were happy with and settled  into a game plan which covered the possibility of people pushing in to hinder our view.

The trip out was good and rough and the swell was quite exciting, the only problem was that it was too often accompanied by the misogynist banter of some grubby partly bald, partly grown out dreadlocked old fella, who didn't miss an opportunity to say something shitful about women. I figured almost certainly he had been dumped often, probably every time he open his mouth, cos he was an unfunny bitter dickhead, and when he finally said that any women left on the boat would be 'Jolly Rogered' really I wanted to slap that 'rape is ok with me' look straight off his face.

An Asian girl tried to scamper under the rail and stand right in front of us and Stevie saw her off, and then there was a Pommie woman and her kid who actually did push and slide into our view. I told her off, but it made no difference. It seems that she had missed the British art of cueing lecture, but when the whales moved to another side of the boat she and the off spring buggered off and were not game to return.

I ended up with boobs in my ear and my elbows poking into places I would rather not even think about.

Sometimes I was up for standing and sometimes I wanted to sit down.

The whales were good, but not as wonderful as they were when we saw 'em out from Fraser Island. Perhaps they objected to Pete prostituting them. Yeh there were arrival photos for 20 bucks and whale pictures which might or might not have been the whales we saw or even the Goldie whales, for an extra 25 bucks, but that is just the touristy scam huh?

I decided that for future adventures into public, I should get a T Shirt printed.

I said it could be :'I might look well but actually I have Leukaemia so I might need to sit down and it would be good if you didn't sneeze in my direction.'

Stevie reckons it should be : 'I might look well but actually I am highly contagious.'

This reminded me of the time we were trying to manoeuvre through a horrible crowd in a street in Zadar. 'There were clowns to the left of me jokers to the right' you know the song huh? Anyway we started acting a little nuts, laughing loudly, swaying, swinging our arms about madly, speaking in tongues, calling out to strangers, you know the harmless sort of crazy. A space opened up. We crossed a bridge and there was no one ahead of us and the people behind us had settled way way back. The bridge was ours. Yippee!!

The bus stop also became our own and even though it was the last bus for the night, the whole back of the bus was ours too. Bloody brilliant.

I suppose the lesson learned is that people will stay away if they fear something but are far less likely to pay heed to someone in need.

Yep the 'I'm Contagious' T Shirt is the one I reckon. Maybe the text needs to be in puss yellow, and perhaps I should draw a picture of a vomiting face, or a big old pile of poo.