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|Sunday, September 25th, 2011|
Hello, is anyone still here?
Anyway, bugger you all, I'm going to Egypt, Sudan, Jordan and Malaysia.
|Thursday, October 1st, 2009|
In case anyone missed me, I've been in Iceland, France, Switzerland, Scotland and England.
|Thursday, March 5th, 2009|
I am going to Iceland.
I am also going to Perth.
I am going to Perth this weekend. This means that I am not going to Gary Numan. I am not sure what my brother and his wife would say if I told them I was not available to meet my first nephew because I'd rather see the Godfather of Electronica. I therefore will not be telling them that. At least I am staying at the Intercontinental, because these days, I lead an Intercontinental Life.
|Monday, April 7th, 2008|
|Is anybody Hungry?
I saw Duran Duran on the weekend. It was much, much better than I thought it would be.
|Thursday, March 20th, 2008|
I'm home, alone, drinking, listening to Tusk...
|Monday, February 11th, 2008|
|Further dull update
I have stayed home from work today. I always feel guilty when I do this, that I'm not actually sick enough to stay at home, especially as one feels more sick when making the decision to stay at home (say, 7am) than one does at 10am when its warmer, the day is under way and you're awake. I have a very sore throat, it hurts to talk, and I sound like it hurts to talk, and well, for a lawyer, the ability to talk is quite useful, so I have stayed home.
Home. Eagle eyed correspondents will have noticed, probably from the previous dull post, that I have now moved. One is officially old when one moves to the suburbs and complains about sore feet. I am old, I have moved to the suburbs, and need to buy sensible shoes.
Angus and I bought a lovely house in Nunawading, which is an Aboriginal word for what was once the middle of nowhere but is now in the middle-range suburbs to the East of Melbourne. Three bedroom (really only two because one is a home office), gardens, trees, birds, the soothing sound of continuous traffic on Springvale Road. Also the generous sound of the Commonwealth Bank's cash register tinkling - interest rates have gone up twice before we even pay our first instalment on the mortgage.
The slow process of getting the house in order is, well, a slow process. We held off on buying furniture for so long, thinking we were going to buy something eventually, but that just means that our shopping list for furniture is longer than the mortgage itself and is quite intimidating to contemplate. So far, since moving in, we have bought an 11 piece outdoor setting, a coffee table, a display cabinet, arranged for my old 1960s sofa to be reupholstered, and still need to shop. Aaarrggh, the horror, the horror. We need to paint - intitutionalised yellow is not de rigeur for kitchens and mental health.
In other news we had a Barbecue on Australia Day which was, I think, somewhat of a success. We have a built in barbecue in the deck at the back. Its grouse.
Saw Rufus Wainwright perform at Hamer Hall. Sitting down at a concert is an odd experience.
Barry needs to go to the vet soon, to be de-manned. Poor thing. And jabbed. Erk.
Hope anyone who reads this is well, check back in in 3 months time for further ramblings.
|Thursday, December 13th, 2007|
1. We got a kitten. He's ginger, his name is Barry and he's now 10 weeks old.
2. We bought a house and are moving from Ascot Vale. (If anyone is thinking of moving to the inner western suburbs, don't use Avion Real Estate who are more bastardy than most agents).
3. Angus' mother arrives today for a one month stay. Could be extended considering settlement of house purchase is early January.
4. This year I am finally going to the Boxing Day Test.
5. I got a promotion at work.
6. I passed my exams and am now a specialist in Family Law.
7. Spent a long weekend in Bateman's Bay. It rained all weekend.
8. Saw Laurie Anderson. She was super.
|Wednesday, October 10th, 2007|
On Monday afternoon, at about 4pm, Angus' and my beloved pet cat Poosa (Oliver) died.
He wasn't home when we returned from a trip to the country on Sunday afternoon. This in itself wasn't abnormal, he would punish us for leaving him alone sometimes. When he wasn't sitting on the front doorstep on Monday morning I knew something was wrong.
I received a telephone call from the Essendon Accident and Emergency clinic on Monday morning as I was driving to Dandenong Court. The vet there told me that Poosa had been brought in on Sunday at about lunchtime. The vet said that whilst they had not done an X-ray, poor Poosa had no sensation in his hind legs and could not get up. I was told that whilst there were no obvious abrasions, it was most likely that he had been hit by a car and that his spinal cord had been severed. He was incontinent and not eating.
He did have some injuries to his paws and legs. It looks like he managed to drag himself off the road by his front legs, dragging his little body and hind legs until he reached the gutter. Apparently he was found very close to our home.
Angus and I went out to the vet clinic on the Monday afternoon after court. It was heartbreaking. He was lying on a blanket in one of those soulless grey veterinary surgeries. He didn't seem to be in any pain but it was painfully obvious that the back half of him just wasn't working. We were told that there was a possiblity of surgery, that an X-ray may disclose the cause of the accident but that it would not provide any further hope. The vet said there was a 20 to 30 per cent chance of Poosa recovering some movement and sensation to his hind legs but that a full recovery was extremely unlikely and that any surgical intervention was a long shot.
The other option was euthanasia.
Those odds were unacceptable.
Poosa was always my little mate. With Angus being away from home so often over the past few years he was my fun companion, sticking his little nose into everything, sitting on me, or beside me, trying to eat my food, "helping out" when studying at the computer, sleeping on (or even when very cold, in) my bed. Whilst he was skittish and sometimes aloof to other people, especially when there were more than about 5 people in the house, he was loving and affectionate to Angus and me, particularly to me I suppose because I had always been there more regularly.
Poosa died by an injection, an overdose of painkillers. We were there, scratching behind his ears and patting him as he passed away. Angus says that he knew it was us when we arrived at the clinic because he tried to head-butt my head as I kissed him, in that way cats do.
I spoke with the lady who took Poosa in to the vet on Monday, her name is Angela and she lives up the road from us. She said she found Poosa in the gutter, and she knew by the way he was sitting that something was wrong.
Thank you Angela for allowing Angus and I share Poosa's last moments. We miss him so terribly much. Our home seems terribly empty, and I keep expecting to see his little face peeking in through the glass of the back door. Current Mood: distraught
|Friday, August 10th, 2007|
|Further potter musings
Russian expatriate or paedo-prophesy?
Harry, corpulent in middle age, changes his name to Pnarry Pnarry, and marries that asian chick just to get to her daughter. Sucking on a love heart shaped lollypop she drives him wild with horny jealousy. Pnarry Pnarry loses the daughter Ho-lita to a much hairier man with an astounding resemblance to Peter Sellers.
The Good and the Bad, or, an actual Philosophers work is never done.
Harry, as dichotomous as an Iris, searches for the nice and the good in Voldemort, much as one searches for meaning in a first year philosophy essay. Eschewing contemporary mores, he becomes famous in later life for sexual exploits long forgotten rather than for being the cleverest wizard at Cambridge. In alzheimers veritas.
Having been spurned by all the girls at Hogwarts (and even some of the boys, but don't tell anyone he tried) Harry's misanthropy increases. After cleverly constructing conspiracies against his contemporaries, his continued inability to get the girls leads to the hatred of everything, infanticide, the reforestation of inner London and the reversal of teleology. Last seen flogging the log until it turned gangrenous in Uruguay.
Faster than a speeding ambulance.
Having passed his final exams, Harry takes to expounding his meaningless opinions in french cafes, all a-bereted. With the onset of alcoholism, he finds himself an outcast among wizards, an bore of plague proportions among muggles. Pissing off to Belgium he can't even manage a true French philosophers death as he is resulotely NOT run over by a laundry truck, an ambulance, or even his own vehicle. Last seen talking about how he used to be famous to university students in Northern Africa.
|Thursday, August 9th, 2007|
|That Good Night
Quite a few deaths lately
|Sunday, July 29th, 2007|
|Harry Potter and the Banality of it All
OK, so in between studying for my family law specialisation exams which are next fucking weekend, I've managed to read about the first 50 pages of Harry Potter and the Boredom is about to Conclude, and if I read one more adjective to describe hagrid's huge hand, his tablecloth sized handkerchief, or his enormous arse I think I'll scream. Also, some bizarre words appear (carapace - incidently, used incorrectly) which are really disconcerting and which interrupt my reading to ponder how stupid it is to use them.
But anyway, 50 pages in or thereabouts I have a few completely derivative (ha, ha, ha) theories about it.
The Weasel, the Wizard and the Wardrobe
Dumbledore is dead. After his mane was shorn, his nighty ceremoniously removed (i'm sure all of his garments are just nighties) he laid down his life to magic, knowing that there was a deeper darker magic from beyond the dawn of time. Bursting back to life, he takes the seven Harry Potters (after all, Queen Susan doesn't believe in Narnia any more and besides, we all died in a train crash) and they travel onwards and upwards and Beelzebub the false Aslan is defeated.
Under Sea, Under the Philospher's Stone
When the dark comes rising, six shall turn it back. Three from the circle, three from the track. Having defeated the rampaging hordes of evil, Harry, Weasly and that other brat will all lose their super powers and become normal. Harry will become a trainspotter and travel the world in search of Engine no: HP9andthreequarters.
Epilogues are for Tolstoy
But that didn't stop EM Forster. Harry and some lower class piece of male servant strumpet will disappear from Penge estate and become woodcutters. Hermione will find them on an expedition to discover a previously unknown variety of moss. They will ignore her and continue rutting. Harry's moustache is the making of him.
One Broom to Rule them All.
The hobbits all band together and smother Voldemort with their smelly huge feet. Even he cannot escape the dark powers of toejam. Harry withers away with irrelevancy, last seen talking drunkly and toothlessly to Sally Jesse Raphael about how he once was a famous broomplayer.
|Friday, July 20th, 2007|
The movie about edith piaf is shockingly bad. Don't see it.
|Sunday, June 17th, 2007|
|Postcard from Ascot Vale
Last night I got home from the Kimberley. AFter my little brother's wedding at the Broome Cable Beach Resort (which isn't worth quite the amount they charge but three days there was still very nice)(apart from seeing James Packer in his budgie smugglers first thing in the morning, I know one is supposed to imagine six impossible things before breakfast but that was too much) Angus and I hired a four wheel drive vehicle and drove the Gibb River Road from Derby to Kununurra over 6 days, including a stop at the Bungle Bungles.
May have been one of the best holidays I've ever had.
I am knackered.
|Saturday, June 2nd, 2007|
I am really cross about
crappy reality television (kidney donations anyone)
that bloody stupid creation museum in Kentucky
"traditional" japanese whale hunting in southern ocean
not being able to see Dante's Cove.
|Monday, May 14th, 2007|
was quite disappointing this year. Nothing exciting happened apart from the weird ukrainian drag queen in silver with very skinny legs. Ireland was woeful and came last in my scoring (I think I gave them minus 4 for song and they got minus 5 all up from me :)). Hardly any clothes were ripped off. It's just not right if there is no reveal.
|Friday, January 12th, 2007|
That awful Sandi Thom woman isn't coming to Australia after all!
|Monday, January 8th, 2007|
1. Christmas 2005.
Angus and I had Christmas at our place this year. Last year was with his mother in Invercargill, the year before (I think) with my brother and his partner's family in Perth, the Christmas before with my parents.
Ie - it was my turn.
What a big event it was.
Lunch for 9 people - roast pork, goose and turkey, roast vegetables, cauliflower cheese, summer pudding, christmas pudding, pavlova, fruit salad, and all the assorted nibbly bits which make one fat and hang around way too late afterwards.
I stuffed the goose with macadamia fig and rosemary stuffnig, the turkey with dried apricot, cashew and mint.
Even the pork crackled.
And as if that wasn't enough, more came over for dinner when we had whole schnapper done on the barbie.
Presents were opened.
Money had previously been spent.
2. New Years Eve.
Went to Port Fairy with 5 others. Was generally relaxing. Didn't do anything too strenuous on New Years Eve. Port Fairy tends to fill up with drunken 18 year olds still celebrating the end of year 12 so tried to avoid the main festivities. There were fireworks.
I even went to the beach and swam.
|Tuesday, January 2nd, 2007|
Van Smith was John Waters' makeup artist. He basically "invented" Divine. He died on 5 December 2006.
|Wednesday, December 20th, 2006|
Well, everyone knows that livejournal is as dead as a dodo so just why I'm bothering to do this is anyone's guess, particularly considering that the "news" which follows is basically redundant to anyone who has actually met me.
Angus and I travelled across to Christchurch (Christ, not bloody christchurch again I hear you all moan) for our wedding. To start with, I was calling it a "hitching" for silly PC if-I-can't-call-it-a-wedding-then-what's-t
he-bloody-use etc whingy reasons, but by the time I was on the plane it was a real wedding. It was probably a wedding once my family said they were coming across.
The flight across was uneventful, however, for those of you who are also readers of the fantastic journal of weasels_of_fire you will have already learned of the fascistic tendencies of customs officials on the other side of the Tasman. Angus and I were pulled aside for our bags to be searched, and, considering that we were to meet said weasel on the other side of customs in Christchurch, this was somewhat of a concern until we saw that she had also been detained, and was about to be stripsearched. "You have the right to legal advice concerning the search", she was advised. "My lawyer's right there" she said, pointing towards me. We had the most cursory search of our things possible, the customs official, the poor poppet, her heart wasn't in it really. Quelle surprise, nothing to find.
But it was all downhill from there, certainly it was all downhill after a drink at the scrubby hoe (or was that the grumpy mole? slutty twat? they're all interchangeable over there) and dinner with Angus' friend Gary.
Friday was basically spent getting some things organised, meeting photographer, last minute worryings with the celebrant, shopping (36 champagne glasses) and then some more drinks.
Ssaturday. Strangely enough, I don't really remember much of the ceremony, which is sad, considering that I wrote it, and I haven't had an original piece performed in public for yonks. The day started with a hot shave, and a berloody manicure, now that's an experience I don't need to revisit. After lunch, we started getting ready, and then the photographer arrived at three to get photos of us getting ready, and then around Christchurch, and in the gardens where the ceremony happened. The photos were fun, and we've had some of them returned, and they seem quite good really.
The ceremony seemed to go OK, at least people say it did, but then they're not going to tell the author that it's crap now, are they? Angus forgot some lines, and I forgot that it hadn't already finished at one point, but all that seemed fine. The weather was nice, the gardens were extremely green, and only several Australians froze in the Arctic temperatures.
Dinner was at the Curators House, a restaurant on the edge of the gardens. I also don't remember much of that. (Apparently I was very nervous). The food was good. We went out afterwards into skankdom which was, well, skanky.
The day after was spent with family, and then a dinner with friends in the evening. Most people went home on Monday, we filled up the airport nicely.
Angus and I went to New Caledonia for a honeymoon.
It's very French.
It was mostly uneventful. We hired a car, and I drove out of Noumea on the second day to a town called Dumbea, where we went horseriding in a river. That was fantastic, and probably the highlight of the holiday. Driving a manual on the wrong side of the road was OK - the difficulties were mostly occasioned by Angus involuntarily gasping at any slight danger. Very disconcerting. Kind of like Hyacinth Bucket saying "Mind the horse dear". "What horse?" "The one in the field".
The last two days were spent on a resort on Ilot Maitre. I had been really looking forward to this, as the resort on Zanzibar was fantastic and I expected to be able to swim in warm ocean waters, and drink a cocktail out of a coconut at the swim up bar.
The resort was disappointing in all respects.
We arrived across from the mainland at about 12 noon, check in time wasn't until 2. Our travel agent had organised everything on the basis that it was a honeymoon, all our documents said as much, and having been upgraded at our hotel in Noumea we weren't surprised to find that instead of the cheap garden room we had paid for, we had been booked into an over water chalet. Very romantic.
Except when we went to check in we were told there had obviously been a mistake, looking me and Angus up and down, and that we couldn't check in. Eventually we were put in a garden room, as we paid for, up the end, past other empty rooms to the furthest away room, beside the incinerator. We couldn't check in for some time because the room "required maintenance" and it was still being done when we eventually had our bags taken down there later. I was quite cross, but thought I'd rather remember the holiday for drunkenness rather than fighting with the staff so I just put up with how badly I felt we had been treated.
But really, that's just indicative of the attitude the resort had towards the residents. It also caters for day trips across from Noumea, and it seemed that the day trippers were prioritised over the residents - the restaurants were often closed for private functions, the only time the pool bar was open was for a christmas party or somesuch.
I was very happy we still had some duty free scotch left. Not for long though!
But the worst thing was that you couldn't swim in the ocean. The island was just one large sand bar. I waded out, and kept wading, wading, wading, and the water never went above my waist. Why go to an island just to sit in a pool?
We did meet a nice English couple. We arranged to meet again, in cyberspace, on triptraveller.com to complain about the shitty resort.
To make New Caledonia worse, Angus had cancelled credit cards in New Zealand after he thought he lost them (he hadn't) so we had much less money than we had anticipated. New Caledonia is not a cheap place to visit, the Pacific Franc is linked to the euro so its not a haven for cheap travel. The exchange rate was also difficult to master, so it took a while to work out whether things were expensive or not.
All in all, disappointing, but just because we made some bad choices on places to stay. If I went back, I'd go to some of the smaller islands on the other side, and spend more time out of Noumea which is just another city really, nothing special.
AFter several days I regained some francophone confidence. By the fifth day I was speaking in whole sentences, even in tenses other than the present. Trouble is, that after formulating a whole sentence or a question in my head, and getting it out of my mouth, that I didn't understand the answer! Managed to stumble my way around though. Angus has no French, so it was interesting trying to see him change his seat on the plane on the way home.
|Tuesday, November 28th, 2006|
the other day on the train, there was a young man, of ordinary quite unattractive appearance, but very large gym pumped arms, reading what looked like lecture notes, but was in reality lessons on how to become an "alpha male" and to "get more lays".
Everyone will be pleased to learn that this involves "relaxing the eyelids".
I couldn't read any more of it upside down, it was hard enough not to laugh as it was.