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.

When your friends, who are kind enough to make a name badge for your cat get the name and number so COMPLETELY wrong…

Clearly not cat lovers…

(and yes, he did make me one with the right details… but not before we’d had a good laugh over the placebo…)

Well, the Big Thing came and went with all the attendant fanfare and palaver and, incidentally, it was a great week.

Seriously!

I’ve been known to be jaded about being ‘in the service of our Lord’ before and for a long time the whole meaning of such a phrase was, hmmm, shall we say, abused? This is particularly where it pertains to events. The widely held policy is that the team/staff are in the service of the delegates so have little opportunity to be ministered to by the worship or the messages, and after all the headaches that happen between Go to Whoa sometimes it’s the staff that need it… Anyway, it’s taken a long time for me to get over the cynicism associated with that kind of ‘state of affairs’ and while the backlash for me has meant I’ve become vigilant about taking lunch breaks and working my 40hours, no more, no less, there is a heavier burden placed on the team with the Big Things and it can get a little tense…

However, for me? These days? My role is a lucky one, I get to sit behind ‘My Precious’ and capture the event. Maybe that’s why I can be a bit objective. I’m not pissed off at missing out on all the fun… I was in the thick of it for the whole event. That and the fact I managed to get off site in the afternoons long enough to go home and let the cat out of the house so he didn’t have ‘cabin fever’ by the time I got home at 10pm. I think there’s something restorative about getting back to base for a while.

So, basically, I survived… and I feel great! And though it’s customary for the team to get TOIL for the extra effort put into the event, I’m not feeling the need of it and will likely save it up for after ANZAC Day and have a good long weekend. (Speaking of which, we must be due a wibmeet… Ian? Yay? How about a House of Ribs wibmeet??? Anyone else – shall we make it a Shipmeet too? Curate?

So – to bring you up to date the event finished Friday night, I got lost in the city on Saturday morning, mother arrived back from her sojourn on the Central Coast and spent the afternoon evening with me, this morning I shot her off to the airport, lost her, found her, and dispatched her into the safe hands of Air NZ, flew back to church for the morning meeting, took pix of the boss and guest preacher, went home for a completely redundant afternoon and now I’m back at church in charge of streaming the service.

So I’m doing it from the Captain’s office and opting to stay and attend to the hardware rather than trust it and bog off down into the service. Sunday nights are basically youth nights… and as my recent Birthday proves I’m far from a youth, so I’m happy up here editing the last of the photos from the Big Thing and listening from afar.

All is Well.

“If you can keep your head when all about you are losing theirs and blaming it on you…” Kipling…

Then it must be the ‘Big Thing’ week at work…

Solution? Eat your gold wrapped chocolate easter bunnies, hide behind your camera with its ‘Camera Gear Porn Bigger than Big’ lens (hired… anyone got a spare $2,500 lying about?) and avoid the interweb for a week.

I know you’ll survive without me. But will I without you?

I’ll let you know on Saturday… Have a great week team! And if you’re of the praying persuasion? Send up a few for us… it’s manic around here…