Well, after 2 weeks of madness I’m back home alone (Chino excepted, of course). The poor washing machine has been making up for its two weeks off by working overtime today. I’ve done 3 loads and still haven’t finished… Amazing how things get away from you when you aren’t paying attention…

It’s been quite a week with Helen’s passing on Monday with much vital hanging with the family (she was my little squire’s precious Nan) and her memorial service on Friday which was as fraught with tears and laughter as one would have expected for such a character. The church was near full which was a testimony to her life and popularity. I’m still a bit shell shocked, as are we all, that she’s gone.

This weekend should see me head down over my laptop finishing a couple of web projects I’ve got on the go at the moment. I’ll get there… just attending to things like neglected blogs etc…

I got my D100 back from the fixeruppers this week [insert big sigh of relief] and have been loving having its familiar weight in my hands… until I tried using the flash and found it to be dead… [insert big sigh of frustration] so no doubt in the fiddling around with it to fix it’s mirror issue they’ve buggered up its flashability… gah… of course, I can’t take it back until I’ve got the Canon back from the office… else there’ll be no decent 365 pictures… see what a slave to it I’ve become!!!!

Anyway, this is a pathetic excuse for a post just to procrastinate from what I’m meant to be doing. I’ll do my best to have something more interesting to tell you next time.
But for your own sake, please don’t hold your breath.

If you’d seen it you’d remember the little blue house, the one just up from the corner of the street. You’d know it by the white picket fence the wrap around verandah and the wee blue hatchback parked in front of the garage. That’s it! The one with the Aussie flag hung from it’s aerial!
But then again maybe you wouldn’t remember… there could be any number of houses like that on the plateau… it isn’t exactly remarkable. But if I mention the stained glass witches guarding the garage, or the dragons along the porch, the gnomes and the goblins, the thunderbox bedecked with redback spiders and the sputtering water features maybe you’d have noticed.
You could have spent hours stopped and staring if the house had caught your eye as you walked past; and every time you stopped you’d see something you missed the time before, or something newly created and installed. It was just that kind of house.
It was just that kind of house because it had just that kind of owner. You probably wouldn’t even notice her if you saw her at the supermarket. She was pocket sized, a little wheezy, greyed around the edges. But if she opened her mouth you’d remember her. She’s just that kind of woman. A ‘true blue’ Aussie who smoked like a chimney and swore like a sailor, and truth to tell wasn’t afraid of the occasional drink or two either.
She was colourful. Funny as a fight who’d just as likely express her appreciation for you by telling you to “Fuck Off” as give you a hug. More likely, truth to tell.
I could write a 1000 words and still not sum her up. But she loved her kids, and her grandkids, and her kid’s friends (me) and she made her peace with God without losing any of the things about her that made her so unique.
She would sit in church and quietly mock the pastor and the trappings of the church but she never mocked God, keeping her bargain with him right up till the last. And I just know the two of them are sitting up in heaven having a glass of wine and a fag and she’s bending his ear about her kids, and about her grandkids. She always did bend his ear about them. She’s not about to stop now.
You may not remember the old lady who lived in that blue house near the corner of the street. The crazy house with that wild, crazy ornamented garden but I will. I’m glad I knew her, glad I ate from her barbeque, glad I laughed with her and her kids and glad that I could call her ‘Trouble’. She was that for sure, but she was also my best mate’s mum. And all of us who knew her are going to miss her something fierce.
We’ll have a drink or two for you on Friday Helen, and many more to come, I’m sure.
Thanks for the memories.
Godspeed.

So, I have a cold. Not a serious one wherein I can do no more than sleep, but the kind where your head feels like it is full. And not full of grand and lofty thoughts. Full of mucus.
I KNOW.
It is however good to be sick on days wherein the weather is, well, appalling. Could be the reason that I’m sick. That or the rolling about naked in the wet grass. Ed. that was a dream, you idiot.
Oh right…
Nwhere was I?
Trying not to get bored…
So, I have compiled a list of things to do when you are sick, it’s pouring with rain outside and both you and your ever-loving nemesis and nearest and dearest ‘furperson’ are stuck inside with cabin fever.

1. Download the episode of Grey’s Anatomy that you missed on Sunday night because you were out sussing out bass players. (Ones that are single and whom the lead singer of the band thinks is wonderful and would make a great nearest and dearest ‘nonfurperson’.) Problem 1. Downloading via BitTorrent takes 5 hours. So you have to do it while you are sleeping. So it’s a bit useless in the stopping the boredom stakes.
2. Watch the aforementioned downloaded episode of GA. Good for 45 minutes of boredom free time.
3. Discover Veoh and watch shedloads of other great TV favourites.
   Having done so I’ve now watched up to episode 19 of series 3 of H*use M.D. So will be free to watch other stuff on Wednesday nights now until about the end of June. Just love how far behind the Sthn Hemisphere is…
   Also watched N*IS and have freed up Tuesday nights.
   And Robin Hood and satisfied myself that Sundays remain free and clear for Grey’s. (And, by the way, Robin Hood is quite hot.)

4. Fold the washing that you pulled in off the line just before it started raining.
5. Dishes. Oh for goodness sake. Good for 10minutes of boredom reduction.
6. Bake Muffins. Loss of appetite not a problem. Loss of taste buds is a problem… note to self, add lots of chilli.
7. Take Cat photos.
8. Answer phone calls from the offices of people who missed the memo about you being sick
9. Cough.
10. Write really tedious blog entries so that your readers will know how it feels to be stuck inside, sick, when it’s raining and you have cabin fever.

Enough Said.

It’s a considerable insult to describe someone, or one’s actions as ‘UnAustralian’. At least in Australia. Or by an Australian somewhere other than Australia.
And after some considerable research into UnAustralianism I don’t have very much to share because unless you are Australian it bloody wouldn’t make sense and makes Australians look like a bunch of nutters.
Just a well I can also call myself a Kiwi. That’s my out clause.
Anyway, I was thinking about how I’ve been an Australian now for a year. At least officially according to the paperwork. But it would appear as if until you actually own a barbecue you really can’t call yourself a proper Australian.
So anyway I’m now unashamedly the owner of a barbecue.
I KNOW. It’s trippin me out too.
Now, before you go getting all excited, I have to point out that this isn’t one of those holy grails of grills that look like they came off the set of star wars (Ok, early star wars).
This new addition to our household is a simple, common or garden variety 4 burner bbq. The like of which you see everywhere… and actually often on the side of the road for council pickup (to the delight of kerb-surfers all over New South Wales – seriously, a car slowed down to peruse mine. If I’d been slower to get back to it from the alley to my house I’m sure it would have been history!) . They’re a dime a dozen.
So, this baby’s not new. Nope, I picked it up on that ‘ever so much less conspicuous’ kerb-surfing mecca “www.freecycle.org”.
A good, old fashioned Ozzie 4 burner for nothing?
Now THAT’S Australian.