Don't try to dig

The First Class Backpacker Update

2011-06-16T23:08:00.002+08:00

A quick update on the First Class Backpacker post: Satoshi has now returned from his round the world trip and put together a brilliant display of his favourite photographs. You can find the site here.

The Count

2010-12-21T20:09:00.000+08:00

The first class backpacker

2009-11-13T16:48:00.002+08:00

First Class Backpacker
One of my former students, Satoshi Onoda, an enterprising young man from Japan, has set himself the task of backpacking around the world. Nothing so unusual there you might think, except that he has decided to travel first class. You have to admire his ambition. For more information, to offer your support, or just to follow his adventures, click on the link above and then bookmark his website.

Lark or Night Owl?

2009-08-29T15:30:00.003+08:00

OK let's skip the heartfelt apologies for my lack of posts. I'm here now dammit so quit whingeing!

I had to share with you an item from Focus magazine:

Night Owls can work longer and harder than early risers, according to scientists. A study at the university of Liege in Belgium found that a group of early risers were slower and less effective in performing complex tasks than those who love lie-ins. In the test, the brain activity of early risers and night owls was measured using a scanner as they performed tasks.

So I no longer have to apologize to the world for still being in my dressing-gown when the postie knocks the door at 11.30 a.m. to deliver obscure science fiction DVDs from EBay. Yes!

Apology

2008-09-06T22:38:00.002+08:00

So I really just popped in to apologize. It's been months since I last blogged anything. It's not that I don't have anything to say, you know I can always find something to whinge about, more that I haven't had time to spit let alone blog.

This working full time is a killer. I get up early, I go to work, I come home, work some more at the computer, go to bed, get up, go to work... You get the picture. Now this is all very well if you like that type of thing or if you know no better, or if you are getting paid oodles of dosh but none of the above applies to me. Especially the last one.

Working in the winter is one thing, after all what else are you going to do? But spring has sprung and the grass has riz as the poet said so my thoughts are turning once more to leisurely strolls along the seafront to the ice-cream parlour.

Anyway, my apologies and you can blame the teacher shortage for the lack of blogging. After five months without a break I'm getting three days off in October. I'm REALLY looking forward to it but I may just sleep through the entire time. If not, I'll try to jot a few random thoughts then.

Employee of the Month

2008-06-13T20:05:00.003+08:00

So there I was at the staff, ritual, TGIF morning tea stuffing my face with chocolate cake whilst calculating if I had enough time to wolf a few more bikkies and still photocopy a class set of EDTs ('ere do this') for next lesson when there was the tinkling of a glass being tapped with a teaspoon and the usual mutterings of disgruntled teachers faded to a sullen silence in anticipation of a few words of wisdom from the Boss.

"I would like to present the award for 'Employee of the Month...'
I crammed another mouthful, casting my eye around the room for someone looking hopeful.
".. to YOU!"
I spluttered, somewhat and sprayed the Boss with cracker crumbs.

As I've only been working there for two minutes, I wasn't even aware that we had an Employee of the Month Award so for sure my cries of 'so unexpected' etc were genuine. Not like those phonies on the Oscars who have been rehearsing their acceptance speech for months.

A scene from the Simpsons flashed before my eyes and I half expected Mr Burns to appear and present me with a baked ham. But no, a $100 David Jones gift voucher was my reward. Jim says he's seen a lovely saucepan in DJ that I can buy him.

I can only assume that so few employees make it to the end of the month that six weeks on staff gives me the edge.
:-)

Bollywood Delights

2008-06-07T18:57:00.003+08:00

I've just come back from a cheery afternoon of watching 'The Merchants of Bollywood' at the Regal Theatre in Subiaco. It's a very colourful musical with lots of fidgety young people in bright costumes dancing to loud music. It was delightful and I loved every minute. The story? What story? Anyway, it didn't need a story. I danced all the way down Rokeby road to the train on the way home. Ok, that's a lie. If I danced like the cast for a mere five minutes I'd need to lie down for a week.

I went alone. Jim refused to accompany me. He said he had lots of sport to watch on TV. Ok, that's a lie too. He said he'd rather remove his own head with a rusty saw. That man just has no sense of fun.

I love Bollywood movies. Yes, they are formulaic but aren't most Hollywood movies too? You have to admire the energy. What's your view? Love 'em or hate 'em?

I'm off to buy a sari. You can check out the show here:

http://www.merchantsofbollywood.com.au/

Microwave Mittens

2008-05-30T20:04:00.002+08:00

We bought a microwave today. Love 'em or loathe 'em you've got to say they are convenient. Jim has resisted buying one till now on the grounds that a) he doesn't like them b) we don't need one and c) our kitchen doesn't have room for one.

So why did he relent after only three years of constant nagging? It's because he's going to be away in UK for two weeks in July and he's sure I'll starve in his absence. How sweet of him not to notice that I could live off my body fat for six months and still qualify for Weightwatchers.

I haven't actually cooked anything in it yet but I have become 'microwave aware' all of a sudden and it seems that there are a lot of microwaveable products on the market. I was looking forward to microwave popcorn and reheated leftovers but microwave mittens hadn't occurred to me. There are microwave booties too. They work like a wheat pack: heat them in the microwave and they keep your toes toasty for ages. Excellent. Maybe you can get them filled with corn kernels so you can snack as they cool.

What's your favourite microwaveable product?

Password Fatigue

2008-04-16T15:54:00.002+08:00

They've recently put a keypad on the door of the staffroom so that you have to tap in the right combination of letters and numbers in order to open the door. Security, don't ya know. So this left me standing there like an idiot frantically trying every combination I could think of till some youngster came by and did it for me, "it's very easy just ....." Yeah, I know it's very easy. They are all very easy but there are so damn many of them especially if, like me, you work at more than one place and have a problem remembering even your own date of birth.

I've had the same 4-digit PIN for a decade now but I embarrassed myself totally by forgetting it at the crucial moment at the supermarket checkout last week. (No, it's not my DoB) They tell you not to write these things down but I may have to get mine tattooed on my forearm as I get older and my memory deteriorates still further. With any luck the flab and wrinkles will disguise it.

I thought I was just thick, dozy or 'having a senior moment' but it seems that in fact I am a victim of password fatigue. See the article below courtesy of Kerry Maxwell.

Pass through the office security door – enter correct code. Log on to the company computer system – enter password. Buy lunch at a local restaurant with your debit card – enter PIN. Open your front door and disable the alarm – enter password. Check out your bank account online – enter password and PIN. Purchase something on Ebay® – enter username and password ... And so it goes on. If your head is regularly spinning each time you have to summon up those all important sequences of letters and digits, then you could be suffering from password fatigue.

Information technology is the driving force of modern life. Its influence is no longer restricted to the workplace but impacts on all other aspects of our day too – how we shop, eat, travel, manage our finances, find things out, entertain ourselves. But all this convenience opens up security risks which we have to protect ourselves against. We need a virtual padlock, and a virtual key to open it – the ubiquitous password. Research suggests that if someone is a fairly intensive computer user then they’ll have at least 20 online accounts, and possibly many more. And for each, they may need to know a password. Wearily trying to remember them all, they become sufferers of password fatigue.

Please tell me I'm not the only one with this problem.

RTA

2008-04-08T17:23:00.003+08:00

I've been feeling somewhat unsettled all day. It doesn't take much to upset my equilibrium, any life-threatening experience will do it.

Last night I had the misfortune to be involved in an RTA. For those of you who aren't glued to 'The Bill' every Saturday night perhaps I should explain that RTA is UK copspeak for road traffic accident.

As I am here to tell the tale you can guess that I escaped unscathed. Not so the vehicle which will shortly be taking a tour of the western suburbs workshops. Lucky for me, it wasn't my car and I wasn't driving but an unnerving experience nevertheless.

For the last ten weeks I've been teaching an evening class twice a week and sometimes getting a lift home with a colleague who lives round the corner. Last night as we drove through the city we met a car coming the other way that had decided to turn right from the centre lane without pausing to see if anyone else had right of way. YES! ME! YOU IDIOT! I HAVE A GREEN LIGHT AND I DON'T EXPECT TO FIND ANY OTHER CAR IN THE MIDDLE OF THE JUNCTION! Well, that would be the general gist of my thoughts at the time but at the moment of collision it was nicely condensed to a mere four letters.

The headlights were smashed and as my door wouldn't open I had to climb out over the driver's seat but no one in either vehicle was injured. The other driver claimed to have had a green light and I imagine she did for going straight ahead in the centre lane but I think it unlikely that she had a green filter arrow for turning right. Who can say? With no other witnesses it will be for the insurance companies to argue over.

Such an event makes you think about what you'd regret not having done if you were prematurely terminated. My response was fairly predictable: hang the diet - I went out for a very large chocolate ice-cream.

Buttons

2008-02-04T13:52:00.000+09:00

Here’s a question. How many of you have a button tin? Hands up! Hands down if you are over 50. As I thought, this is an old-fogies-only possession. A button came off an old shirt of mine. I promptly unearthed an ancient Golden Virginia tobacco tin (“Now in new metric size”) and tipped out my collection of buttons. A quick trip down memory lane fondling buttons from clothing long since departed and then, sure enough, there was a near ideal button. Hmm, good but not perfect. So, I cut off a button from a less obvious position on the shirt and sewed it in place of the absentee then stitched the ‘new’ button in its place.

So what do people do if they don’t have a button tin? Buy a new button? Buy a new shirt? Buy a new bra and increase the amount of cleavage on view? Do fashionable types not have to worry about this problem because the garment is rendered obsolete long before it begins to deteriorate?

While I had the needle and thread out I also repaired a hem. I learned how to do that in the Brownies. Got a badge for it. Eventually. Where do people learn such skills these days? Does it matter if they don’t? Perhaps people who are not knee-high to duck don’t need to spend so many of their formative years taking inches off the bottom of every item of clothing they purchase.

Of course, when I was a teenager mini-skirts and hot pants were the fashion. I used to laugh at the over forties who also wore short skirts when their legs were clearly unsuitable for exhibition. I wondered why they did it. Could they not see how ridiculous they looked. Now, the answer is revealed to me. There was nothing else available in the bloody shops! Yesterday I bought two pairs of trousers with a very low waist line. Was that because I wanted to put my flabby belly on display? Definitely not, but there was no other choice. We all become fashion victims sooner or later.

Christmas Shopping

2007-12-16T16:28:00.000+09:00

I’ve just been doing my xmas shopping, online as usual. A bit late considering that at our recent staff do I was voted the person most likely to have completed her xmas shopping in July. Worse still, there was no competition for that particular category (unlike the 'looks most like an elf' or 'most likely to forget totally about work' categories which were hotly contested) and I suspect it was created with me in mind. I decided to take it as a compliment to my organized nature.

It seemed a bit cruel to send chocs when my family are always on a diet and as my sisters both work I thought a delivery of flowers might prove problematic. I could imagine them sitting, windswept, on the step all day and the family returning to something Morticia Addams might appreciate. Once again Amazon.co.uk saved the day. It's so nice to be able to click on a picture and get something sent off without having to lug it home, wrap it up, wrestle with it at the post office and mail it off without knowing if it will arrive in time for this Christmas, next Christmas or never.

Do you love xmas shopping or hate it? Are you a fan of internet shopping or is that just cheating? Do you buy your xmas cards in the January sales or at the last minute? Whatever your preferences, I wish a very Merry Christmas to both my readers.

Vegemite, Marmite or Our Mate?

2007-11-19T15:51:00.000+09:00

Aussies kids are brought up on Vegemite sandwiches. Rumour has it that no true Aussie leaves Godzone (as they are inclined to refer to their fair country) without a tub, tube or jar of the stuff in their suitcase. They extol its virtues with an evangelical zeal. It's very hard for them to understand that those of us who spent our formative years in Britain may prefer Marmite.

It's not that I don't like Vegemite it's just that Marmite is the taste I grew up with and after a hard day at the chalkface if some comfort food is called for then Marmite hits the spot. OK, a G&T hits the spot even better for most folk but you get the general idea.

The product available in Aus called Marmite is, in fact, Vegemite which is made in NZ. Proper UK Marmite isn't available except in a few specialist shops imported under licence and costing three times the price. For an addict though, it's worth it. A jar of Marmite lasts a helluva long time after all so what's it matter if you spend a bit extra? The alternative is to beg visitors to smuggle it in through customs for you but since they brought in the sniffer dogs you don't like to ask. Aussie quarantine officials are fierce and if they catch you trying to bring in even a meat paste sandwich you'll soon wish you'd taken the easy route and become a heroin mule into Bangkok. The days of contraband yeast extract are over.

So, gentle reader, imagine my disappointment when I called in at my local supplier and was told there was to be no more Marmite. Sanitarium, producers of NZ Marmite, had got an injunction against the import, sale and display of UK Marmite as it was thought to be damaging sales of their own (dare I say, vastly inferior?) product. Weetabix ditto. Buy Sanitarium's Weetbix instead.

Sensing I was about to dissolve into tears the shopkeeper said in a conspiratorial manner, "Don't worry, luv, it'll be OK. Come back on Thursday." Sure enough, when Thursday came around I rushed back to the shop and got my fix. Goodbye Marmite. Hello Our Mate.

It would probably be churlish of me to suggest a worldwide boycott of Sanitarium products as revenge for their mean-spirited actions so I won't. We must all do as our conscience dictates in this matter.

Flying is Such Fun

2007-11-05T16:51:00.000+09:00

I used to fly four or five times a year back in the days when I lived in countries I wanted to escape from at every opportunity and was paid well enough to do so. Now I live in Australia where the wages are a pittance but the lifestyle is so good you don't care. Not having flown anywhere for more than two years I was blissfully ignorant of the new security regulations so it came as a total surprise to be selected for a random explosives check before I'd even left Perth passport control. I suppose I must have been dynamite free as they let me through to the next set of x-rays. The whole time I was hanging on for dear life to a small plastic bag containing my Chapstick and a pot of Carmex lip balm. I'm an addict for sure and the prospect of 20 hours in the air with cracked lips was not appealing. Apparently if it had been loose in my bag they would have confiscated it as potentially hazardous. So if you were thinking of trying to smuggle in C4 disguised as Blisteze, forget it. They are way ahead of you.

Perth was lax compared to Heathrow where I queued for 40 minutes to get my bags x-rayed just so I could join the next queue to get my shoes x-rayed. And here I have to admit a breach of security. In the queue I struck up a conversation with a South African guy who discovered an unbagged Lip-ice about his person as we were about to finally reach the x-ray machine so I popped in with mine, how could I refuse to aid a fellow addict? Of course, I'd have looked pretty silly if it had turned out to be subversive and I'd have been dragged off stuttering "But that one's not mine."

I bought a bottle of gin duty free in Dubai and when I said I was flying to Perth with it they sent me to the wrapping desk where it was swaddled and placed in a huge box and sealed with tamper evident closures. I then had to haul this to a special desk at the departure gate where it was taken from me and given a sticky label as luggage. I didn't see it again till it came out on the baggage carousel with more than a few others.. all identical. D'oh!

Would you REALLY like life to be fair?

2007-09-22T12:39:00.000+08:00

How do you like to spend your 'down time?' I mean your time for vegging out and doing nothing. Hmm, perhaps I should expand further on the concept. Time when you have nothing pressing to do, an opportunity to relax. A chance to 'recharge your batteries.'

If you are still staring blankly then you are probably the parent of young children. You consider it 'your time' and a special treat if you manage to catch up on last week's episode of Coronation Street whilst doing the ironing and if you actually had any truly free time you'd be asleep in an instant. The question is wasted on you as you are unlikely to get any free time for some years.

My chewing gum of choice is science fiction. Star Wars, Star Trek (in all its incarnations) Stargate; if it's got 'star' in the title then I'm hooked. (OK Barbara Streisand had me fooled for a while but I eventually twigged she wasn't an alien)

Currently I'm watching Babylon 5. All of it. Five series + spinoffs. Life is good. Mostly it's not intellectually challenging. If I want brain training I'll try filling in my own tax return. There are the good guys and they are fighting the bad guys. The good guys are having a tough time right now in season 3 but I am confident of the ultimate victory of right over might.

Today one of the (U.S.) characters was lamenting that 'life just ain't fair' and his colleague (from the Brit colony on Orion) looked shocked. "It's such a relief that life isn't fair. Can you imagine what life would be like if all the bad things that happen to us were well deserved? I take consolation from knowing that life isn't fair. " So, thought for the day: would you REALLY like life to be fair?

Reelin' in the Years with Steely Dan

2007-09-09T15:17:00.000+08:00

I've just spent a very nostalgic ten minutes scraping mud off my boots. As a kid my school shoes always seemed to be caked in mud which my mother insisted I clean - army style - every evening. My plea that they'd just get dirty again the next day always fell on deaf ears.

Today I was polishing my boots after spending the entire evening in a cold muddy field with thousands of others listening to Steely Dan. I think it was the first time in 15 years I'd been out in cold weather after dark for more than ten minutes. I didn't suffer too badly because I was wearing ALL my clothes. Yes, every single item in my entire wardrobe including, of course, my Tom Baker style Dr Who scarf and my usual Faginesque fingerless gloves. Luckily it was pitch black so nobody could see to mock.

If you're my age (and you have my sympathy) then Steely Dan was one of the bands you grew up listening to and for all the sense the lyrics made you might as well have been stoned. Walter Becker has been heard to say that they thought a song a failure if it didn't make them both howl with laughter when they listened to it later. Like everyone else in the audience I knew the lyrics to every song they played and could identify it on the first two bars but, unlike some, I showed restraint enough not to join in till the final encore. No one had paid $100 to hear my dulcet tones, after all.

It certainly made you feel young again. The entire audience was well over 45 and mostly grey-haired but for an evening at least we were all 17 again.

If you want to know more check out these links:

Steely Dan Wikpedia

Steely Dan references A-Z

Steely Dan meanings

Heavy Rollers Tour 2007

Recycle? Freecycle!

2007-08-20T13:32:00.000+08:00

We had some pretty rough mid-winter weather here in Perth last month but as a veteran of many British summers I am accustomed to bad weather. One storm loosened our TV aerial, causing it to bang around noisily so we paid a guy a hundred bucks to climb onto the roof and remove it. We use cable so we didn't actually need it. He said it was a good aerial, still in lovely condition but, no, he couldn't be persuaded to take it away.

This left us with a huge (2m x 3 m) antenna and a heavy metal pole in a courtyard the size of a pocket handkerchief. It had to go, but how?

As with so many of life's problems, the solution was to be found in the pages of the Reader's Digest. I had plenty of time to scrutinize the mag as I waited 45 minutes in the waiting room of the local quack. The answer to my problem was freecycle.org.

It's a Yahoo group. I joined (which pushed the total Perth membership to 4,901) and began to peruse the site. All I had to do was post a short ad on the site beginning' OFFER, Large TV Antenna' and the name of the suburb. Within an hour I'd had an enquiry and a firm offer to collect. I phoned him, left the antenna outside the house and now it's gone from my life forever. All that remained for me to do was to post a 'taken' message so that I wouldn't be emailed any further enquiries. A win - win situation.

All sorts of things were on offer. I was particularly tempted by the ad for a pair of old jeans, frayed and full of holes. They must have had a lot of sentimental value to the owner for him to think of advertising rather than binning them.

And, of course, I can use the site to ask for things I need that other people might have to give away. I'll let you know if I get a positive response to my request for a sack of used fivers.

Growing Old Gracelessly

2007-08-15T19:25:00.000+08:00

It's confirmed. I came home from work today feeling old. I don't just mean that I came home tired and in need of a nap. No, today I realized that I have become surplus to requirements. If I disappeared (disappointingly) the place would not grind to a halt. Nor would I be missed by the majority who do not even know my name.

The people running the show at work now are very tall, very slim and VERY young. They listen to me with the half smile and polite deference usually reserved for elderly aunts and deaf grandmothers. Their enthusiasm and energy seems boundless and I admire them for that. I try to bite my tongue when 'new' ideas are put forward instead of saying "So the pendulum has finally swung and THAT'S back in fashion, is it?" but I can feel myself becoming more cynical by the day. It's a short step in teaching from cynicism to burnout so I'd better see if I can muster the energy to master the latest system. And if not then I'll just have to reconcile myself to becoming the old codger in the corner until I'm put out to pasture at the end of the year.

The $100 Laptop

2007-07-23T18:16:00.000+08:00

Today I read that the $100 laptop is ready to go into production. At present it costs $176 but, hey, close enough. For sure, the price will drop when billions of them have been sold. True the machine is very basic and there is a case for saying that kids in poor countries need clean water, sanitation and more food before they need computers but I still think it's a great initiative. As a teacher it's no surprise that I see education as the key to so many of the world's problems. Kids with a computer have a wealth of info on their hard drive so if their local library is a day's donkey ride away they can still read. The new machines are tough, durable, waterproof and have no moving parts. They can be powered by solar energy, a foot pump or a string pull. There were times when I was living in Brunei that I would have loved to have been able to boot up my laptop with a string pull.

It used to take a room-filling machine to get the same computing power those kids will have on the new laptops. The first computer I ever saw had to be plugged into a cassette recorder to receive its program. Ah, Granny's Garden on the old BBC computers. I never did really master that game. I'm old enough to have had to start a computer from the DOS prompt and type in commands to make it do things.

I remember the arrival of Windows 3.1. I tried it and then uninstalled it because it needed more system power than I could spare. It worked and looked great but it was like wading through treacle. Hmm, come to think of it those of you trying to use Vista on your old machines are probably going back to XP about now for the same reason.

You can read the story at http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/technology/6908946.stm

"Here, eat this root."

2007-07-09T16:55:00.000+08:00

A SHORT HISTORY OF MEDICINE:

"Doctor, I have an ear ache.
2000 B.C. - "Here, eat this root."
1000 B.C. - "That root is heathen, say this prayer."
1850 A.D. - "That prayer is superstition, drink this potion."
1940 A.D. - "That potion is snake oil, swallow this pill."
1985 A.D. - "That pill is ineffective, take this antibiotic."
2000 A.D. - "That antibiotic is artificial. Here, eat this root!"

Low Self-Esteem? Moi?

2007-06-30T19:01:00.000+08:00

I've decided that I must have low self-esteem. "What!" I hear you cry, "This cannot be the same egomaniac who writes several blogs all about herself and expects other people to spend their valuable time reading them?" "Not the confident teacher whose students hang on her every word?" Yes, indeed. Let me explain how I came to this conclusion.

Over the last year I have planned to go away for the weekend on four occasions. Each time, I fell ill at the last minute. Once we had to cancel, the other times we went anyway and I sat around huddled in blankets. In between times, I am a picture of health and it's been years since I last needed to chuck a sickie from work. However, no sooner does a weekend away loom than I start to shiver.

This weekend was no exception to the rule. I was perfectly healthy until the day before we were due to go and then I caught a cold. Well, what's the point of visiting a winery if you have no sense of smell or taste? I don't think I can be consciously sabotaging these trips: it was my decision to go, no one else suggested it. Also, I am going through a box of tissues a day; no one could create this much mucus on a whim. I have, therefore, concluded that my subconscious thinks I am unworthy and undeserving so it refuses to fight the bugs unless I am working.

I'm going to put this theory to the test as soon as I have fully recovered from this damn cold. In future, I won't ever plan in advance, I'll just get up and go. And I'll take a stack of marking with me so I can kid myself I'm working.

Any other victims of this phenomenon out there?

Favourite Movies

2007-06-02T14:09:00.000+08:00

How do you measure success?

2007-05-28T17:48:00.000+08:00

Twice recently I've been offered short stints of lucrative full time work. I turned them both down in favour of the less stressful classes I enjoy three days a week. Telling my husband of my decision provoked a very Jim response. "Well done, that's great. You must continue to resist the temptation to work more." He is not one to subscribe to the view that he who dies with the most toys wins. More likely, if prompted for a motto, it would be along the lines of 'no one ever lay on his death bed and wished he'd spent more time at work.'

So, how do YOU measure success? When you look back at the end of you life how will you know you succeeded? A big house? Money in the bank? A promoted post? A happy family? Oodles of grandkids? A good-looking corpse? It occurred to me that if you don't decide when you are young-ish what you'll count as a successful life you can easily get pulled in the wrong direction. Jim chose his path early and consequently is one of the most successful men I know. My own goals are more modest. See below for my favourite quote on the subject.

How can they say my life is not a success? Have I not for more than sixty years got enough to eat and escaped being eaten? -Logan Pearsall Smith, essayist (1865-1946)

Our Surveillance Society

2007-05-13T13:22:00.000+08:00

One of my Korean students is a fan of the TV programme 'Big Brother' but he couldn't understand the show's name. Surely a 'big brother' is someone deserving of respect, someone who will care for you and look after you, not watch your every move with a view to public humiliation? I explained how in 1948 an author called Eric Blair aka George Orwell had written a novel about a possible future where the state watched you constantly and you couldn't turn off your TV set. Everyone was obliged to do the right thing because BB was watching YOU!

It may have taken a decade or so longer than Orwell anticipated but it certainly seems that the surveillance society has arrived. Watching 'The Bill' on Saturday evening it's obvious that crimes in UK (and doubtless worldwide) are solved in only one of three ways i) the offender gives himself up and confesses ii) someone else dobs him in or iii) he's caught red-handed on the security tapes. The first line of enquiry in UK police drama is now 'Check the CCTV'. It was different in the days of Dixon of Dock Green or Z-Cars.

The paranoia that causes all this spying on the population has, of course, reached Australia. Last Wednesday Jim and I took the 6.30 train to the city for an evening out. We reached our local station 7 minutes before the train was due so it was otherwise deserted. A blue handbag lay open on the bench. Jim strolled over to investigate. I'd like to think he was checking it for identification with a view to reporting it rather than rifling through the contents in search of extra cash to supplement the evening's entertainment. As he approached the bag a voice boomed out over the tannoy, "Attention! The gentleman looking at the handbag on Mosman Park Station! Move away from the bag! It has been reported and someone is returning to collect it. MOVE AWAY FROM THE BAG!" Considering that our station is totally unstaffed, it had to have been monitored via camera from the city centre. Sure enough, a harassed looking lady got off the train five minutes later and gave a sigh of relief as she picked up the bag.

So, as a law-abiding citizen do I feel more secure knowing that I am being observed wherever I go or do I just feel spied upon? Like it or lump it, Big Brother is now watching YOU!

Waiting for the World to Catch Up

2007-04-23T17:14:00.000+08:00

At last. I have a new computer. It's wonderful. It does all sorts of fancy tricks that my geriatric laptop was unable to contemplate. That's the upside. The downside is that a week ago I was an acknowledged expert on all aspects of word processing and many other computer related activities. Today I am a novice once more. I am sure that Office 2007 is a huge leap forward in computing terms and once I am accustomed to it my fingers will fly over the keyboard as they used to but yesterday I had to summon the help page just to find out how to spellcheck a document. (No problem: press F7 like in Wordperfect from ten years ago.)

Another bonus is that I won't be wasting so much time playing games. No one has got round to creating a Vista patch for Scrabble Blast yet. Or Text Twist. Or Bejewelled.

I won't be wasting so much time chatting to people online either as my friends who haven't upgraded to Windows Live can no longer see that I am online. And I won't be sending my Word docs to colleagues as they won't be able to open them unless I remember to save them in compatibility mode. I think I know now how Alexander Graham Bell must have felt when he sat there waiting for his new phone to ring.

Care to Join the Karma Army?

2007-04-09T18:02:00.000+08:00

Join Me | Home

Why not make every Friday a 'Good Friday?'

An opportunity for you to join the Karma Army. To become part of this phenomenon all you have to do is send a passport photo and you're in. Thereafter you are committed to random acts of kindness every Friday.

So perhaps as a way to start I'll teach my class the words to Bobby McFerrin's 'Don't Worry, Be Happy' this Friday instead of giving them a test on irregular past participles.

I can see that not all of my readers are natural 'joiners' and me saying, ' It's not a cult, it's a collective' might not carry much weight but I am confident enough in the integrity of my readers to suggest that within a week of reading this entry you should make a point of committing at least one random and unexpected act of kindness that will not bring you any immediate benefit.

Let us know how you get on but if anyone gets arrested you're on your own.

Join Me

2007-04-09T17:48:00.000+08:00

BBC - collective - danny wallace 'join me' chapter one

An extract from Danny Wallace's book ' Join Me.'

Easter Greetings

2007-04-02T22:02:00.000+08:00

It'll be Easter soon. It's sort of crept up on me. No sooner had the chocolate Santas been relegated to the bargain bins at the supermarket than chocolate bunnies and bilbies (that's the Aussie equivalent) began appearing on the shelves. It happened so long ago that I've already become used to mentally 'tuning out' the foil wrapped eggs and the hot cross buns. Thinking to myself that I'll look at them nearer the time. Then suddenly Easter is upon us and I haven't given any serious thought as to which egg to buy for my inner child. I don't kid myself that Jim will cough up for one but he might be persuaded to draw a face on a soft boiled breakfast egg.

As a youngster, I used to like Smartie eggs with cheerful purple foil wrapping and a little cellophane packet of Smarties hidden inside to be hoarded and sucked slowly when all else had been consumed. Ideally, of course, saved until my sisters had eaten theirs.

The Cadburys mini eggs were fun too. The trick was to balance them one at a time on the front of the electric fire, turning them carefully so that the chocolate inside became liquid but without heating the sugar shell to cracking point. It's a lost art and I think perhaps you have to be pretty stoned to fully appreciate it.

Of course, having been brought up in a Catholic household my first memories of Easter were of getting up on the Sunday morning and finding a chocolate egg waiting for me but with a message in blue Biro scrawled along the top, "Don't eat this, or you won't be able to go to communion."
In those days you were required to fast for three hours before going to mass if you were planning to take communion. I wasn't about to complain, as it had only recently been reduced from 12 hours. I believe it's only an hour these days. Perhaps, if there are any practising Catholics still amongst my acquaintances they can update me on current protocol.

What are your earliest memories of Easter?

What were / are you favourite eggs? Milk chocolate? Plain chocolate? White chocolate? Caramac?

Did anyone really hunt for eggs or is that just something they invented for Hollywood movies?

Old and Cranky?

2007-03-09T21:34:00.000+09:00

Jim was offered a seat on the train by a schoolboy last week. A polite young man brought up to respect his elders. Considering Jim cycles 100 kms a week in record time, I hardly think his thigh muscles were being put under strain by standing for two stops but it got me thinking about getting old.

The poet Ogden Nash once wrote:

Senescence begins
And middle age ends
The day your descendants
Outnumber your friends.

I always found that quite cheering because I have no direct descendants and a helluva lotta friends. Therefore, I reasoned, I can surely never get old. Not true. I felt very old yesterday when a bloke offered to carry my shopping bags back to the car for me. No, this was not some sleazy type who was looking for the chance to make off with half a ton of chocolate biscuits (I was buying for the tea fund, honest) nor was it some no-hoper looking for a handout. He certainly wasn't trying to chat me up. He was just a nice bloke, well brought up by a loving mother to assist elderly ladies with their shopping. I could have turned on him, mentioned my weight training classes and given him a feminist perspective that would have had him shaking in his boots but I merely smiled politely and said I didn't have far to go, thanks anyway.

I shuffled off just another fat old lady with her shopping bags on her way home to watch the telly. Next time, I might just load him up and offer him a humbug for his trouble. Staying young takes a lot of time, money and effort. And let's face, most of us are fighting a losing battle. Getting old, on the other hand, seems to happen fairly effortlessly and can be exploited in ways that are only now beginning to reveal themselves to me.

When did you notice you were becoming old?

What makes you cry?

2007-02-10T16:42:00.000+09:00

I've just sniffed my way to the end of another novel: The Time Traveler's Wife by Audrey Niffenegger. I enjoyed every page but the urge to sob was fairly overwhelming by the end. Don't think to yourself, 'Well, that's spoiled it for me now I know there won't be a happy ending.' You see, although (or maybe because) I lead a fortunate life and seldom have cause to weep in reality the slightest downturn in the fortunes of my fictional friends leads me to tears. They've only to drop an ice-cream cone down the front of their new sweater and I'm devastated. Some people (and at the risk of being sexist here I might suggest mostly females) love a good cry and actively seek out weepy movies as an outlet for their emotions. Not me. I hate to cry at the movies. I despise myself for becoming so emotionally attached to the characters in the books I read that I sob at their demise. So much pain in the world but we only cry over fiction. We can't afford to let reality touch us.

So what makes you cry? Your team losing? Peeling onions? A Sunday afternoon re-run of 'Carve Her Name With Pride?' Or just maudlin blogs?

The Deceitful Husband

2007-01-20T16:28:00.000+09:00

All wives fondly imagine that although men generally are lying bastards their man is the exception. He would never lie to her and if he did she would know it in an instant. So it was with a sigh of disappointment that I discovered Jim had been concealing information in order to avoid incurring my displeasure. That he did it in order to save his brother from my wrath is small excuse.

Jim was preparing dinner (bless him) so I took it upon myself to open the wine. "I think I'll use my favourite Wolfblass glass," I commented as I rummaged in the back of the cupboard. Silence from Jim. "Hmm, that's odd, I can only find one." Further silence from Jim. I fixed him with a steely glare. The truth was revealed. A month ago Jim's brother was visiting, while I was out he broke a glass. Knowing it to be one of the few non-computer related items I am attached to, Jim decided to spare me this knowledge. David was all for throwing himself on my mercy. After all, how mad can I get with a guy who commits a crime whilst washing-up? He was right, I would have forgiven him in an instant and informed Jim that David had broken his glass. However, Jim chose to compound the crime with concealment. He placed the glass at the back of the cupboard and assured David that I spend so little time in the kitchen it could be years before the loss was discovered.

The glass was purchased as a gift by dear friends at the Wolfblass winery in South Australia. It accompanied me from Oz to Borneo and back without so much as a crack. That it chose a particular time to depart this earth is a sign it was weary of life. (The cricket season has that effect on me too, actually) It is not my place to query the final decision.

So the glass has been mourned and its loss accepted. David has been forgiven. The question which remains is how many scoops of ice-cream should I demand from Jim in compensation?

Any advice or similar stories welcome.

Smart card travel. Am I bright enough?

2007-01-08T16:29:00.000+09:00

I completed a major chore from my list yesterday, namely the purchase of a smart card for local public transport. I admit I was fooled by the name and sort of thought that it might actually be an improvement on fumbling for coins to put into the machine as you get on the bus or missing a train because the tourists in front of you at the machine still have to debate the virtues of a two section ticket over a one zone before putting a dollar and fifty yen into the slot.

It's a new system and they have been heralding its arrival for 18 months now. Many transperth executives have been on junkets all over the world to inspect a variety of transport systems. In view of this I was hopelessly optimistic. It wasn't easy but I was able to track down the one newsagent within a 10 km radius of my house that is allowed to sell the cards ($10 just to buy the card and you need one each) and add value to it. "You'll need to fill in these forms to register it" the shopkeeper said. "But surely I can do that online?" I asked. He looked embarrassed and started straightening copies of the Kalgoorlie Boulder Chronicle. These smart cards would not have passed the 11+, it seems to me. (And if you understood that reference to the 'sort the sheep from the goats' exam we took to get into secondary school then you must be British and pushing 50) But I digress.

It seems to me that the cards are not very smart at all but in order to use one efficiently the average punter will have to be pretty damn clever, willing to deal with a lot of red tape and be alert enough to remember to tag off at the end of the journey as well as dexterous enough to get the card to register with the 'tag on' scanner at the start of the journey in the first place.

However, one benefit could be some additional exercise: getting home, realising you forgot to tag off and having to walk back to the station to do it or get charged till the end of the line.

With global warming and soaring petrol costs surely public transport is the way of the future. In which case, we have to make it easy, cheap and attractive. At present it is none of the above. We need to do better.

Telephones

2006-12-31T14:27:00.000+09:00

Back in the 70s, a friend told me recently, his brother went to work in Canada for six months. He needed to get a phone installed and, being used to UK bureaucratic procedures, mentally steeled himself for the gruelling task ahead. Debating if it was even worth the effort as the waiting list for a home phone in UK at that time was 16 weeks, he placed the call. "Certainly sir" said the chirpy girl at the other end. "Are you sure one will be enough? And what colour would you like, black, white, blue or this month's special: avocado?" He ended up with three phones all in avocado and they installed them that afternoon. Of course, the story spread like wildfire when he phoned home with the news and it was all anyone in the street talked about for a fortnight. Sure the Brits were impressed with Canadian efficiency but there was also an underlying sense of disappointment. If it was that easy to get then where was the fun in having one?

It made me think back to our first phone. Also avocado. I was about twelve years old. There weren't enough lines available to keep up with the demand so for years we had a party line. That sounds pretty cheery but it just meant that we shared a line with a neighbour. If she was using the phone then we couldn't and vice versa. It also meant you could listen in on her conversations but as dying of boredom would be the price you'd pay for that sin we never bothered.

Yesterday I went out to the shops (a two minute walk away) and half way there realised I hadn't brought my phone. I was about to go back and get it when I thought, "Duh! it wasn't so long ago that I didn't own a mobile phone. I managed perfectly well without one for years why do I feel lost without one now?" I lived in Africa and didn't touch a phone of any sort for two years. I lived in Borneo and could only get enough of a mobile signal to send even a text message by standing outside the staff toilets of the local primary school and leaning over the verandah as I pressed 'send'. And yet I have become addicted to the dubious thrill of being constantly contactable. It's not like I get regular calls from Brad Pitt (sigh) so I can only assume it's a type of modern day vanity. We all think we're so important.

Any other theories?
Tell me your telephone stories.

Jane Austen and the Vampires

2006-12-22T18:50:00.000+09:00

Have you ever wondered how vampires look so tidy when they can't ever see their reflection in a mirror? Another of life's little mysteries. Back to that later.

A friend emailed today to say what a perfect day he'd had driving around for miles and miles singing along with Bruce Springsteen. Somehow that manages to encapsulate all my ideas of hell in one sentence. I am spending my holiday alternating between watching Jack Bauer save the world from nerve gas in Season 5 of 24 and lying on my bed reading and eating ice-cream. I am reading a book a day pretty much which perhaps says more about my choice of literature than my reading speed. Yesterday I amused myself with the original novel (by PD James) the movie Children of Men was based on. It was very good but I could see that the movie writers had followed the usual formula: summarise the book in one paragraph then get someone who hasn't read the book to write a screenplay based on that summary. The book and the movie were both entertaining but it was hard to see much of a connection between the two.

Today's offering had an attractive cover with a prominent quote from a critic (or the author's mum) saying, "If I could eat this novel, I would..." Jim often refers to my 'eating books' because I seem to get through them so quickly perhaps I should be checking out the calorie count.

The book? It's called The Jane Austen Book Club by Karen Joy Fowler. Here's a sample:
Bernadette was our oldest member. Just rounding the bend of sixty-seven. She'd recently announced that she was, officially, letting herself go. "I just don't look in the mirror anymore," she'd told us. "I wish I'd thought of it years ago...
"like a vampire," she added, and when she put it that way, we wondered how it was that vampires always managed to look so dapper. It seemed more of them should look like Bernadette.

Today I am wearing a pair of shorts that Jim threw out as being too old and shabby and a t-shirt with attractive coffee stains. Here's to growing old gracelessly.

Anybody reading anything interesting?

A.Word.A.Day -- effrontery

2006-11-26T14:24:00.000+08:00

A.Word.A.Day -- effrontery

Here's the link for Wordsmith if you are interested.

Cow paths and cow pats

2006-11-26T14:16:00.000+08:00

The living language is like a cow-path: it is the creation of the cows themselves, who, having created it, follow it or depart from it according to their whims or their needs. From daily use, the path undergoes change. A cow is under no obligation to stay. -E.B. White, writer (1899-1985)

A nice quote from today’s wordsmith. However, it does make you think “The living language is like a cow pat…”

Anyone care to continue?

As a child, one of our regular questions to newcomers was “Which would you rather do, jump a stile, run a mile or eat a country pancake?” Any response was cause for merriment. Anyone chosing the first two options would be asked to demonstrate and if anyone naively chose the third, we would collapse helpless wih laughter. I think perhaps kids are more sophisticated these days.

Gambling

2006-11-06T18:54:00.000+08:00

As it's the Melbourne Cup tomorrow, I'm after your gambling stories today. Known as, "The Celebration that Stops a Nation" the Melbourne Cup is run on the first Tuesday in November every year at 3.00 Australian Eastern Standard Time. That's around midday here in the west. It's only actually a public holiday in Melbourne but the rest of the country likes to get in on the act unofficially and lots of workers fail to return to their desks after the race, too busy either celebrating or drowning their sorrows.

My first memory of gambling was when I was about 6 years old. My Dad (a regular at the bookies) asked for my considered opinion on who would win the next race. Lester Piggott was my favourite jockey (and doesn't it speak volumes that at such a tender age I even HAD a favourite jockey?) so I opted for him. "OK" said Dad, "If he wins, I'll give you all the change in my pocket." Lester didn't let me down and I won about 9d in pennies and a threepenny bit. It was probably a pretty safe bet as Lester won 'British Riding Champion' a record eleven times between 1960 and 1982

FYI Lester was born on 5th November 1935 so let's pause a moment to wish him a very happy birthday.

From a start like that I suppose I should have become a compulsive gambler but there always seemed to be far too much maths involved.

Any gambling stories? Do tell.

Smart House Update

2006-10-23T17:06:00.000+08:00

Today we lost hot water completely. The gas board says it's a plumbing problem. The plumber says it's an electrical problem. A long list of electricians have made it very clear they do not want to even look at it. In the meantime, I'm considering joining a gym to get access to a hot shower.

Smart House - One
Me- Nil

The Revenge of the Smart House.

2006-10-22T17:11:00.000+08:00

Who was to know that my house was aware that ‘revenge is a dish best served cold.’ My regular reader(s) may recall that about 18 months ago we moved into a smart house, trained to anticipate our every desire and programmed to open doors, switch on lights and even, if required, phone the fire brigade. Things went swimmingly till one day it locked me out and had the audacity to smirk at my discomfort. My response was to decree a lobotomy for the smart house (see, you don’t wanna mess with me!) and things have been quiet ever since.

Little did I know that it was just lulling me into a false sense of security. The one smart system left in place was the water thermostat. Turn on the shower and water comes out at 41 degrees, not too hot, not to cold, just nice. Until yesterday. Now we have water coming out at a blistering 55 degrees or a chilling 15 degrees. I am not amused. The gas man has been to visit and shrugged his shoulders. He’s sending the electrician in the fullness of time. This has brought to mind the old Flanders and Swan song, “The Gas Man Cometh.”

I’m a great fan of comic songs and monologues. So, does your chewing gum lose its flavour on the bedpost overnight? What’s your favourite comic song?

Flanders and Swann Online - At the Drop of Another Hat - The Gas Man Cometh

2006-10-22T17:10:00.000+08:00

Flanders and Swann Online - At the Drop of Another Hat - The Gas Man Cometh

In case you can't recall the words in their splendid entirety, here's the link to the lyrics of The Gas Man Cometh.

Is there intelligent life on Earth? Yes, but he's only visiting.

2006-10-09T23:22:00.000+08:00

Others may aspire to being a Bond girl but not me. I have a loftier goal. Now that Billie Piper is forever stranded in an alternate reality I can apply to become the next Doctor Who companion.

There is a precedent. Wasn't William Hartnell's first televised TARDIS trip in the company of a rather plain looking school teacher? Let's go full circle then.

Dr Who was the first tv programme that made any sort of impact on me. So scary that it was necessary to watch it from behind the sofa. I have remained a science fiction fan to this day.

Who's my favourite Doctor? Tom Baker still has the edge. Christopher Eccleston was impressive. The jury is still out on DT.

Your opinions welcomed. What was the first TV show you remember?

Victory

2006-10-03T22:47:00.000+08:00

A word of thanks to the West Coast Eagles for providing such an entertaining grand final. Their ultimate victory (by a single point) over the Sydney Swans greatly enhanced my Saturday, so thanks guys.

I am sure that my friends are somewhat mystified by these remarks as I have never previously shown any interest in Aussie Rules Footy or any other sport for that matter. My reasoning is as follows: when is absolutely the best time to go to the Perth Royal Show? During the Grand Final, of course, when almost every other person in the entire state is at home glued to their TV set. The only excuse for not viewing the game on TV is that you are already in Melbourne cheering the team on in person. So it was just me and a few dozen foreign tourists for the duration. Guaranteed no queues and plenty of space to amble round and admire the work of Geraldton's quilting champion or Kalbarri's finest fruit cake.

It's a technique I've used before to great effect. During Lady Di's wedding to Charlie Windsor I was the only person shopping on Newport High Street. When West Ham played Arsenal in the cup final I left my flat in Upton Park (spitting distance from the grounds) and spent the day on the pier at Southend. I'm hoping the Ashes captures the local imagination in the months to come leaving me with deserted shops for days on end.

Toilet Paper

2006-09-24T18:11:00.000+08:00

Staying with the bathroom theme, let’s look at toilet paper. The toilet was, of course, in the garden. The idea of having a toilet indoors was laughed at as being suspiciously unhygienic. We were pretty posh in our household because we always had toilet paper and it was usually soft, mostly pink and came in rolls. Public conveniences and eccentric aunties had stuff that was hard, scratchy and came in single sheets that could –and did- double as tracing paper. My grandparents thought the use of toilet paper a new fangled extravagance and an unnecessary luxury. They favoured squares of newspaper stuck on a nail in the outhouse. This early training stood me in good stead during my years of foreign travel to similarly minded nations. If you ever find yourself in a country where toilet paper is unavailable, as I did in Mozambique, then might I suggest a subscription to the airmail edition of the Guardian Weekly is the way to go.

I think we’ve come full circle with toilet paper. We’ve had the soft, silky years. Now folk are returning to abrasive re-cyclable. How much longer till it's back to newspaper?

Toothpaste

2006-09-17T16:02:00.000+08:00

Take toothpaste for example. When I was a child, toothpaste was white and came in a metal tube with a red screw-on cap. Said cap was the subject of much dissent in households everywhere. People (mostly children and men) were always being accused (mostly by women) of failing to screw the top back on the toothpaste. The top often went missing causing the paste to ooze out onto the window ledge where it was kept. This, in turn, would dry into a chalky white powder and give the bathroom a disused, abandoned air that distressed housewives nationwide. Failure to screw the top back on the toothpaste was seen as evidence of a dissolute nature and proof (if any were needed beyond the continual leaving up of the toilet seat) that men were a) incapable of looking after themselves and b) naturally inconsiderate. To corroborate this theory further one only had to look at how they (men and children) squeezed the tube at the top not the bottom. A quick, careless pinch near the top of the tube and a blob of toothpaste obligingly popped out onto the brush. However, due to the nature of the metal tube this meant that two weeks later you were left with a flat bit at the top and a bulge at the bottom. This necessitated rolling the end of the tube up in order to force the paste further up the tube. If people could only be trained to squeeze from the bottom in the first place how much more efficient the whole operation would be.

I think now you can see what I mean by progress. First they put cheerful coloured stripes into the white paste and then they put it into plastic tubes that needed considerably less coaxing. Then, finally, someone had the bright idea of attaching the top to the tube so that it could never get lost and practically closed itself. Nowadays we have pastes of all types plus a variety of gels and an endless array of flavours (bubble gum flavour was one that failed to attract me recently). Keeping your smile shiny has never been easier.

For the record, I favour Sensodyne blue gel for sensitive teeth and I always squeeze from the bottom of the tube. If I were to be stranded on a desert island then my luxury item of choice would be a solar powered electric toothbrush.

Do tell. What's your most vivid toothpaste memory?

Already too old to die young

2006-09-15T23:49:00.000+08:00

I’m fifty. Half a century. Already too old to die young. It seems like an appropriate time to take stock and look back. I was considering the changes I’ve seen just in my meager lifetime and thinking perhaps I would make a few notes before I forget how things used to be. Harking back to the halcyon days of my youth when summers were longer and people were nicer? Hell no. I’m not THAT old yet! (though I hope to be one day) I like having internet access and a mobile phone. I was brought up on Star Trek: the future’s so bright I gotta wear shades.