You will all be pleased to know that my cold has subsided somewhat. Now I am only sneezing occasionally, which is giving my stomach muscles a much-needed break. Because you know those little cat sneezes? Where people delicately hold back their sneezes, emitting instead a muffled squeaky splutter? Yeah, I can’t do those. All my sneezes are the double-barrelled spit flinging sort. Several times today I came close to knocking myself out on my own computer monitor as my head snapped forward involuntarily mid-sneeze. I’m strangely proud.
This Easter we will be camping for several days near Mount Baw Baw, so if you’re in the area, feel free to drop by. I’m hoping it won’t rain, as wet dogs in the tent make for a humid and cramped experience. Yes, of course the dogs are coming. We’re smuggling them in by pretending they are travelling rugs. With animatronic eyes. Either that, or our supply of fresh meat. What? Either one of those fine animals would make an excellent spit roast.
And on a final Easter note, I am proud to say that my consumption of Lindt bunnies is in SINGLE FIGURES. I’d like to thank the Academy, and my cold for deadening my sense of taste. Thank you and goodnight! [exit stage left, detour to slap Billy Crystal, exit stage right escorted by security].
Weeping creeping Jesus, my nose just will not stop running. IT WILL NOT STOP RUNNING. (Here’s where you say: “Well you better go and catch it then!” I run a full-service, interactive experience here.) Also, I just sneezed mightily. Bluh. Some of it might have gone on the laptop. Sorry. I know you can’t see that, but I thought you might like to know the degree of filth to which I am surrounded. To wit: on my left, a Coke can, two-thirds full. When I incline my head towards it and press my delicate shell-like ear to its canny goodness, I can hear no clink-clink-clink of bubbles. That’s because I have NO IDEA how long that can has been sitting there. I really should throw it out. Not the least because Mr. T uses it as an excuse not to bring me a drink (“You already HAVE a Coke. There it is.”) This is Reason I Hate Mr. T, #4435. Oh, and? NOSE STILL RUNNING. … yes I have tissues. (Now I feel all guilty, like you all can SEE ME, and you know I am just sitting here sniffing, and I must now go and get a tissue. The Internet as Jiminy Cricket. GET OFF MY SHOULDER.)
Hey, did I mention my washine machine died? I think I did, in the sidebar. What do you mean, you don’t read my sidebar? What the hell else are you doing with your time? (Personally, I recommend frittering away money on eBay.) But I don’t have the funds for eBay dabbling at present – see above, re. Washing Machine, Dead. Well, the door fell off it. (It’s a front loader, so it does have a door.) And the washing machine repair guy (who, by the way, came to the house early, then opened the screen door before I could get to it, allowing the Brown Dog to burst out like a giant cannonball and greet him enthusiastically) had to ring Bosch for a part, and Bosch doesn’t have the part, but the part might come in today, or it might come in this week, but most likely it will come in after Easter, so I’ll ring you then? Sigh. This meant that Mr. T and I spent an hour of our precious Saturday at one of the many laundromats in the area. On the plus side, I got to read an Awake! magazine. Did you know that teen pregnancy is threatening our nation? You know what can cure that? Going door to door to convince others to join your religion!
I saw this guy today who had an unfortunate chin. Extremely bulbous. I’m pretty sure it went out further than his forehead, and maybe even his nose. (I couldn’t really stare too closely, of course; I’m trying to pretend I have social skills.) But what I couldn’t understand, and the reason why I kept sneaking glances, was … why would you accentuate your exaggerated chin by growing a goatee? Why? And a spindly, wispy goatee at that. It was like dozens of little punctuation marks all over his chin. I tell you, I couldn’t stop staring. Not in a good way, either.
OK, so after some Coke and everything I was all fine on Saturday morning. Good enough to stagger down High St and get some brunch with Shine. Discussed my recent holiday, workmates’ indescretions (DON’T tell your workmates your drunk boyfriend vomited in your bed, they will tell everyone and think less of you) and shoes. I like Saturdays.
But now it’s Sunday and I have to go and buy plants, because the dogs have killed two little shrub things. I blame the dogs rather than my absolute neglect of them. Trees don’t need water, do they? Hey, there’s a drought on. They can take their chances with the rest of us.
WOOOOO! first frunk blogger post. DFrunk. Drunk. jesus my hands won’t work. WWWWWOOO! Also the caps lock key? Totally in the way. man this wokda stuff is good. Bad. Vidka. Vodka. Shit my spelling is atrocuisu. atrocious. Yes that last one looks right. Man who would have thought that drinking your way through the duty free alocohol could be so bad. I could go to Richmond and drink with my drunk best friend (Shine) and her workrmatess. Or I could sit here and keep drinking mwith Mr. t. YAY! Me and mrT and the dogs. DDRUINK. My TV choices at present are “The Rats” (rats invade New york, I think), “American Idol” (scary people with rat teeth) or “Oceans Wleven”. I just told mr. T that Brad Pitt eats in every scene of oceans 11. Now he keep yelling at me. “HES NOT EATING.” Damn him. I just repeat things I read off the internet. and he is fucking with my enjoyment of bradd PITT . Also. Fruink. Drunk. That’s what is asayid. That’s what i said. WOOOOOOOOOO!….!!@!>
I spent four days walking the Queen Charlotte Track in New Zealand, which is over 70kms through the Queen Charlotte Sounds. Absolutely brilliant. You walk the track with only a daypack, and your main bag is picked up and dropped off at your accomodation by water taxi. Yes, accomodation – you don’t even have to camp. Needless to say, Mr. T and I did much walking and talking and eating and blissfully lowering ourselves into spa pools. Edited highlights:
Arrived at waterfront in Picton and were taken by water taxi to our starting point. Full of piss and vinegar, decide to do a side track to a waterfall. Estimated time = 30 minutes. At approximately minute 6, I fall abruptly to the ground. Slippery! Ah ha! Funny! Return to upright position and continue walking. Waterfall is very pretty. Take many photos. Return to track start and begin tramp proper. Dance gaily around 71km marker (we were walking the track backwards, so the markers counted down). Begin to walk – vertically up a large hill covered with shale. Ah hah! Shale! What fun!
Vertical hill shows no sign of letting up. Every time top is reached, the track turns a corner and continues climbing. Pant loudly, in manner of dog or asthmatic. Remark bitterly on the lack of mountain goats and snow which should be sure to appear any minute, due to our current altitude. Nobly bear Mr. T’s insults, as he begins a Ministry of Funny Walks walk to show me how easy this is. Mr. T skids on shale. Ah hah! Funny! Cheer up immeasurably. Stop and look at gorgeous views, while pretending heart is not about to jump out of chest. (In that photo, see that little white outcrop in the middle? That’s the wharf we were dropped off at. It’s a long, long way down.) Find out later that this part of walk is one of the steepest sections of entire track. Feel slightly better. Once high point is reached, terrain for rest of the day is relatively flat or downhill. Walk for approximately 4 hours through beech forests and other native bush. Hear only birdsong and cicadas. Cross innumerable mountain streams. Enjoy self immensely.
Short walk of about 8 kms from one accomodation point to the next. Scenery just as beautiful, with ocean views across the sounds visible almost all the way. Dip into scroggin mix (prepared earlier by throwing scoops of bulk bin seeds and nuts into bags, then adding scoops of bulk bin chocolates and lollies. Nutritious!) Find that Mr. T has bitten all the heads off my mini chocolate fish. Complain bitterly, as seeds and raisins are now sticking to the marshmallow. To apologise, Mr. T offers me a chocolate-coated peanut from his scroggin mix. Is not chocolate-coated peanut. Is chocolate-coated coffee bean. Flail feebly as coffee hit enters bloodstream. Realise this goes some way to explain Mr. T’s erratic walking style. See lots of birdlife including friendly weka who walks right up to us. Offer weka a cashew from scroggin mix. Accepted.
Very long day – over 20 kms. Manage to make good time while taking sidetracks up to lookouts and many stops along the way for photos. At end of incredibly long day, walk down to accomodation. Collapse. Haul self up to get clothes for dinner out of main bag. Clothes all appear damp, and in some cases soaking wet. A mystery! Decide bag must have been splashed by rogue wave whilst being transported by water taxi. Throw all clothes in washing machine and go to take a spa. Upon returning from the spa, waylaid by friendly fellow walker, who had seen my bag fall off the wharf and bob merrily about in the bay for 5 minutes while the water taxi people found a dinghy and rowed out to get bag. Let’s recap this bit. My bag FELL OFF THE WHARF and FLOATED around the bay. The water taxi people DID NOT TELL ME THIS, instead choosing to deliver bag to hotel and scarper. Feel very glad I had, for some reason, transferred all extra camera batteries, chargers and other electronics into Mr. T’s bag that morning. Mutter darkly about water taxi people, but cannot summon energy due to almost complete exhaustion. Nearly fall asleep over dinner.
Another 20 km day, which includes several very big hill climbs. Appear to have discovered some fitness somewhere, as hills are strenuous but not impossible. Parts of the track look like hobbits should appear at any minute. Keep stopping to look at plants and birds and rocks and things, and as always the incredible views. Dodge the occasional mountain biker coming the other way. Mr. T sets a fast pace as we need to reach the end of the track by 3.30pm to make the water taxi back to Picton. Arrive at end of track with almost 2 hours to spare. Collapse victoriously at small cafe. After about an hour, realise that body has stiffened up to such an extent that I will never be able to move again. Plead with Mr. T to push me off chair so I can roll down the beachfront towards wharf. Mr. T refuses, instead gaining much enjoyment from watching me lurch like the undead towards the beach. Collapse onto water taxi. Realise have just walked over 70 kilometres. Am athlete! Potential Olympian! Extreme sports-type person! Next stop – Everest!
Wizard and Glass, Stephen King
Where is the Love, Black Eyed Peas. Yes I know it has Justin Timberlake shut up shut up SHUT UP.
Jackass: The Movie. The papercuts had me cringing more than anything else.
Milk biscuits I brought back from NZ. They are like Marmite in that if you didn’t eat them as a kid, you will hate them now. I can’t stop eating them.
The pen pot on my computer desk, which is a stoneware jar for “Ma Spong’s Apricot Jam”. Man, I love eBay.
The door just fell off our front loader washing machine. Just … fell off. This does not bode well for future laundry requirements.