Strange Brain Connections...

I am always quite fascinated with the memory connections my brain makes from time-to-time. I know what made me think of this but I'm damned if I know why.

I read an article today about a child getting his hair cut and being scared witless of it, and suddenly I remembered getting my own hair cut as a child. When I was a kid my mum used to get our hair cut by an ex-hairdresser friend of hers. This friend was someone she had known from her own child-hood when they lived next door to each other on Christmas Island. This is fascinating in and of itself, but it's not what I remembered. It was the way Debbie used to dress and her own hair-do, the way their drive-way in Warrandyte was the steepest thing I'd ever come across as a kid, the magnificent view from their lounge room, the over-abundance of green and very tall trees they had in their garden, the way their kitchen and lounge room ran into each other around a cabinet and what their kitchen looked like in minute detail.

Now, I have no idea if I am remembering it correctly or not, but I just spent a good five to ten minutes being bombarded by crystal-clear images of Debbie and Ian's house, a house I haven't seen for a good twenty odd years.

How bizarre.

The longest time I've ever spent in a public facility.

On the way home after ice-skating, we came across a set of isolated stairs in the middle of the pavement leading down to a bar underground. Puzzled and intrigued, we went down to take a look and a drink. Called CellarDoor, it’s a tiny place of ever-changing lighting and funky décor where the bar-maids all wear angel wings. Tiny but cozy, it serves cocktails and (legal) snorts of snuff and has an sms jukebox. It was so very strange we postulated the origin of such a place. M said public toilet, I thought entrance to underground station. M was right.

I now have the dubious honour of being able to say I’ve spent at least an hour drinking in a men’s public toilet. One to remember that's for sure! ;-)

A Pub, a Museum and an Ice-Skating Rink

It was Australia Day on Saturday, and although I didn’t celebrate wildly, I did wear the Aussie flag socks that Pat gave me for x-mas (thanks Pat!), so I felt appropriately patriotic. It was also Andrew’s birthday – the lucky devil – imagine getting a public holiday on your birthday every year!! And this one was quite a mile-stone for him, his 30th, so in true Australian fashion, he celebrated by getting dressed up and inviting the hoards of his friends to join him at a bar. Brondes-Age is in Kilburn and I had actually been there before during my two weeks of purgatory in the Kilburn Hostel. It is a pub, like any other, so nothing special. What was special was the gear that Andrew, Nathan and Ash were wearing. Nice one dudes and dudette!

On Sunday, I finally got my wish of escaping the house, and so visited the Transport Museum (Andrew’s idea, not mine!). Actually, it was a little smaller than I was expecting, although the beginning of the Tube system in London was interesting. My new piece of knowledge for the day was that ‘Omnibus’ actually means ‘for the people’ which is where the word ‘Bus’ is derived from. Neat.

Sunday evening I went Ice-Skating at Somerset House with Mark. It was a lot of fun actually. It was an outdoor rink in the courtyard of the house and so very atmospheric. I haven’t been ice-skating since I lived in Adelaide, and Mt. Thebarton was all the rage, so I was a tad (read extremely) unsteady to begin with, but it eventually came back to me (sort of) and I managed not to fall over. I was very chuffed over that actually. There were many participants who were not so lucky and ended up with coatings of ice all over their rear ends but I managed to keep my feet under me the entire time. Very proud. Ice-skating is the sort to thing you are supposed to do in this climate too, so it was nice to do something really European.

All in all, a busy and enjoyable weekend. Happy Australia Day, Australia!

Recognition of Double Standards

I realise that I have a double standard when it comes to this issue.

I readily and often call the people in my circle of friends either M’dear, Darling or Dearest. Dearest I tend to reserve for those I really love dearly, Darling for more teasing, sardonic or satirical situations, and M’dear for a catch-all phrase but only when addressing friends. And I do it without thinking about it.

But I have recently come to a realisation that may require me to re-think my automatic pet-name-application.

I hate, hate, HATE it when people call me 'hun' or 'love'. Yuck! yuck yuck yuck!

Specifically, I hate it when males that I know call me either of those names. I have no objection what-so-ever when a female calls me either; in fact I find it endearing. Nor do I really mind it much when a complete stranger calls me it, although it does annoy me and I lose a certain amount of respect for that individual. But when a male I know does it, it really sets my back up way high. I find it patronising and utterly demeaning. And I’m not really sure why. (Yes, I acknowledge, there is a double standard here. I said so at the beginning!)

Anyway, my automatic reaction to this situation has caused me to call into question my own use of such diminutives, as they may annoy someone I know as much as being called ‘hun’ annoys me.

So in the interests of self-education I’d like to take a pole. If it annoys anyone whom I know, or in fact anyone out there who reads this blog, to be addressed by any one of Dearest, Darling or M’dear, can you please either email or comment on this blog and let me know? Equally, if you find it endearing, or harmless, please also let me know.

If it does annoy people, I shall cease and desist this type of name calling immediately. Because I can tell you right now, the next bloke who calls me ‘hun’ or ‘love’ is going to get his head bitten off!

A year and a day

Happy Birthday to Me, Happy Birthday to Me, Happy Birthday dear Kaa-aat, Happy Birthday to Me!

Well, it was my anniversary yesterday at any rate, it being now past midnight. Mind you, I started receiving birthday wishes at about 10 pm yesterday evening (Monday night), it being my birth-date at that time in Australia, and it’s probably still my birth-date in America as we speak, so I think I’m entitled to still be celebrating.

Regardless, I had a lovely day / evening. Had a day of almost total anonymity at work (just as I had hoped) and then a lovely evening where someone else did the cooking. Thanks to our Excellent Cook of Astounding Indian Delights, Lady Hilary, our Convivial Host, Sir Richard and to the Marvellous Man-of-Arms Jason, and his Enchanting Lady Kathryn for providing entertaining conversation and company.

The food was rounded out by a six-pack of Coopers Vintage ale from home, and an absolutely delicious rhubarb and custard tart from Paul’s.

So, I am now officially another year older. Yay. :s

Much Better, Thank You!

I think I am really lucky. It would seem that I have plenty of people who care about me, many of whom read this blog, and take an interest in my life. I feel humbled when I realise that my words reach such a wide audience and that what I say has an impact on the other side of the world.

The latest instance of this is the response I've received to my problem with cabin fever. I sent out an sms SOS for things to do, and I have been overwhelmed with suggestions and invitations.

Thank you. I am now feeling much better.

It's silly really. I forgot one of the precepts of human interaction. You won't get what you want if you don't ask for it. I was moping around feeling sorry for myself and wondering why I had been abandoned by my friends. The minute I asked for company, I got an over-abundance of solicitations. Now I have to say no to a couple of things. Good Grief!

Now looking forward to a week filled with activities. So altogether very happy. Thanks guys!

This space is too small...

I thought I was coping with this place and that I had the ability to survive a winter of very little sunlight and loads of rain... now I'm not so sure.

What I am sure of, is that at the moment, I am going insane. I am restless and anxious and at the end of a day's work, I actually don't want to go home. I like home too. It has a comfy couch and a big tv and all the food I can cram into the cupboards. But I'm beginning to feel trapped there. Like I can't breath.

This it would seem is a case of Cabin Fever. Because it's been raining, because I've been injured, because I have no money and because I've been lazy, I have managed to spend too much time at home. Not something I've previously had a problem with doing!!

I'm walking home every night at the moment, rain or no rain, I've taken yoga up again which I have a dvd for, I'm going to squirril my pennies and see if I can't afford a couple of salsa lessons... but I think I'm going to be spending an inordinate amount of time at the wierd and wonderful range of museums and galaries in this old city in the next couple of weeks.

Because otherwise I will go Mad, Mad I tell you!!!

Recent movies...

Saw the movie St.Trinians. Not impressed really. Mildly amusing romp with no real story line and no satisfying conclusion. Would prefer not to have paid to see it really.

Also saw the movie Charlie Wilson's War. Better, although I hated the absence of an ending. Interesting story - it's based on true events - and it kept me chuckling along nicely but I found that it didn't inspire me in any way. And the director tried to manipulate the audiences emotions too much at the end, probably because there really wasn't one.

So two mildly disappointing films really.

Word of the Day: Pom

I'd recently been advised that, along the lines of 'When in Rome', if I wanted to get better service in this country, I should whinge like a pom. Since this piece of advice was given to me, on two separate occasions, by two English persons, I was slightly taken aback. I always thought 'whinging pom' was a derogatory term and I've read some hoo-ha about the word 'Pom' being an insult, but apparently it's not any more, or at least, not here. So I was curious; Where does the word 'Pom' come from? And is it an insult or not?

So I looked it up.

The word 'pommy' is actually yet another piece of Antipodean slang. It is (believe it or not) a contraction of the word 'pomegranate'. Why pomegranate I hear you ask? It's rhyming slang.

Pome-granate / Immi-grant.

Pom is a derogatory term for a recently arrived (English) immigrant. But of course!

The Oxford English Dictionary refers to a 14 November 1912 edition of Australian newspaper, The Bulletin which includes the statement; “The other day a Pummy Grant (assisted immigrant) was handed a bridle and told to catch a horse.”

So it is an insult of sorts, but seems to be loosing it's power. It may still be an insult in Aus, but here, it's become part of the popular culture, or so it would seem. Strange but true.

It 'aint broke, so don't fix it!

Bloody Bureaucracy!

Fall one; I'm in some pain but it dies down. I get back home and three day's later, it's not much better, so I think I'd better get it checked just in case. I go to the University College Hospital (UCH) A&E for a check up, they x-ray my wrist, and it's not broken, so I go home. Alls good.

Fall two; Now I am in major pain. I faint from pain. The bicycle ambulance paramedic man tells me it's not broken so just take loads of pain killers and go home. The pain doesn't go away though, it just keeps going and going and going... so I look it up on the ww web. This marvelous device tells me I may have a possible grade 2 or 3 sprain, with minor or major ligament damage, which may or may not require a surgical repair. Hummm... probably better do something about that. So three days ago I registered for a GP, and today I go to my GP for a check up, and get sent to a nurse instead. She tells me to go to UCH A&E for another check up, yes she thinks it's ligament damage too, but I'd need to go to the hospital to get a referral to an ortho specialist & verification that it's actually not broken this time. So I go back to UCH A&E. After a half hour wait, in thirty seconds flat the doctor tells me that yes, the nurse was right, it is ligament damage but no, I have to go to my own doctor to get a referral and no, it's still not broken. And then I wait for another two and a half hours to get a splint for my wrist so it'll be supported properly. So next Tuesday, I have to go back to see my actual GP to get a referral to go back to the UCH sports clinic... yes I'm a yo-yo.

I just looked up ligament damage on web. It's apparently fixed by time, deep tissue massage and gentle stretching exercises... ie. physio. That would be a hell of a lot easier!

Grrr...

10/01/2008 Addendum:
I think I was a tad vitriolic last night; I was in a lot of pain as they played with my arm and I ran out of drugs, really hungry as I missed my dinner time by three hours, and really grumpy as I could have cut out two steps in this whole process if I’d been more assertive and demanded to see a doctor in the first place… *sigh* Once I actually got to see the nurses and doctors at both the UCH and my GP, they were all lovely, very professional and very helpful people. And although I waited 2½ hours for the splint, it has been worth its weight in gold; I wore it to bed last night and got the first relatively good nights sleep I’ve had in two weeks, and the pain has been reduced ten-fold because the injury is now supported properly. So really, I have very little to complain about and a lot to be grateful for. The health system here is actually quite good - all except for the red-tape of course. That I could definitely do without!!!

Blog 101

I didn't even notice that the milestone had passed until just now, but I have successfully (?) completed over 100 blog entries since the start of this mad adventure.

Well Done Me! A very proud moment.

Here's to 100 more!

Please don't groan too loudly, you'll wake the children!

The lighter side of...

Yes I do realise that it is a tad ironic.

I spent a week traipsing around the Austrian Alps, practicing a relatively accident prone winter sport, and I ended up with only minor bruises.

It wasn't until I was back home and walking along the footpath during my lunch hour that I got really injured.

It still hurts though!

Christmas in Solden, Austria

While I am at home and going slowly insane from boredom, it seems as good a time as any to tell you about Austria, even though it will take me forever to type, being as I am the one-armed bandit today. *sigh* Well, what else are you going to do, hey?

All photos found Here.

It was actually a really lovely trip. I went with Jason, Richard, Martin, Rachael (cousin of Richard’s), Nicole (friend of Rachael’s) and Mark (workmate of Richard’s). We left from the newly re-vamped St. Pancras station with everyone except Martin, who was meeting us in Cologne, and with the addition of Hilary, who was coming with us for the first night to see New Model Army in concert. There’s a lovely giant statue at the station of a couple saying goodbye, and apparently a clock that used to be the focus of all fond farewells from the olden days. I was deathly afraid that we’d miss the train (being as I am a tad prone to the need to be on time), as both Richard and Mark were very late arriving. But we did make it. No time to take a breath, but we all got on the train, which was a good start… ich.

A brief stop-over in Brussels allowed us to have a drink at the Murphy’s Law Irish Pub…. hummm. I was hoping it wasn’t to be the theme for the week.

Then it was onto Koln (Cologne) in Germany for a night stop-over. Rich, Jase, Hilary and Martin went off to the NMA gig and Rach and Nic went off to their hostel, leaving Mark and I to wander around the Christmas Markets and get very deeply inebriated on Eierpunch (alcoholic eggnog) and Gluhvine (mulled wine). The night was fun. The next morning however, was not fun. Stoopid Kat.

Nine hour lovely and sedate train journey with hang-over, followed by 20 minute insanely scary cab ride with car-sickness later and we’re in the Snow… wow. Solden is a very large ski-resort. We could have skied up to our door were we of a mind to. We tromped through snow to get to the restaurant for dinner. I slipped on some ice and fell into the snow after dinner. Wow wow wow. Excitement all a bit much. Crash into bed and zzzzz

Day 1: Fitting and hiring of gear which was highly amusing (note to self, next time, make sure that you can’t move your heel up or down in the shoe – if you can, it’s too loose and you’ll get cramps), booking of lessons for the day after Christmas (ouch… money is fleeing me!), a gondola ride up and up and up and up and up (literally breath-taking and so very beautiful), a few terrified first slides down the smallest of beginners slopes, then a mad-dash back into town and through the grocery store to buy everything we may need for the next few days whilst shop assistants looked at us with daggers as we made them close the store late…oops. Dinner in the apartment and games after.

Day 2: Christmas calls home (*sniff* miss you guys!), back up to the slopes for more practice (bend ze knees!), back home to shower and change (bruises… when did I get bruises?). And then, it was Christmas time. Rachael and Nicole absolutely out-did themselves. With next to no supplies, no oven and very little time, they produced a scrumptious feast for us all. Pot-roast chickens, zucchini, carrots, brussel sprouts and potatoes made a yummy, if somewhat odd, Christmas dinner, followed by cakes galore (pudding isn’t on the menu for Austrian’s at Christmas – my one regret!) and they even had Tim Tams. Thanks guys. It was really lovely!

Day 3: First day of lessons. Ouch. Between the discovery of muscles I didn’t know I had and one’s I’ve never even heard of before, the continuous burning of cramps in calves, shins and thighs, and the amount of time I spent sitting on snow, flailing in frozen mid-air and landing hard on ice… I mean, OUCH! I did learn that my arms weren’t strong enough for me to get up on my back edge, and my knees didn’t like getting up on front edge, so I was kind of stuffed, but I persevered, and apart from one nasty fall when I winded myself, I actually managed to sort of snowboard down a blue slope with the group by the end of the day. Yay.

Day 4: Day two of lessons was stopping, cornering and turns… scary as hell. I failed entirely at turns. Just too damn scared to do it. It’s counter-intuitive; you have to lean DOWN slope when you’re going down hill and all I think of was crashing face-first at speed. I couldn’t get over that fear. I did manage to sort of master corners a little, and I could stop myself by going up hill, as long as I wasn’t going too fast, but by lunch time, all my stamina, all my energy was gone and I was running on adrenalin alone… I fell mid-afternoon. Badly. Sprained my wrist and so that was the end of lessons for me.

Day 5: Sightseeing! Was kind of glad for the excuse actually. I did want to see a little of Solden before I left, and so did so. The views were… Magnificent, spectacular, breath-taking... It’s so cheesy, but it’s so true. wow. It was really gorgeous. We all got together and had dinner at a traditional Austrian restaurant, which was lovely, if a little strange, with stuffed animals perched everywhere.

Then it was another nine-hour train ride back to Koln for another night’s stop-over (hoar frost is really beautiful), and a day of sight-seeing in Koln itself… which I strangely forgot to take photos of… and then back home to London. And sadness, because I didn’t want it to end.

I will master turns. I will become a snowboarder. I was in loads of pain from all the falls but I was exhilarated by the speed and the danger, and I had very sore muscles but a feeling of deep satisfaction that I’d stretched myself so far and had actually used my body. And it felt good too - healthy. And the air! It is crystal clear and so clean!

I want to go back, after I’ve healed of course, but I want to go again. That was fun! Suicidal, but fun!

An act of incredible folly.

I am currently typing this one handed and am on a cocktail of drugs and am very pissed off with myself. In Austria, I had a few minor mishaps, and then one slightly more serious one where I sprained my wrist. All was good and it was healing nicely until lunchtime today when I tripped over a paving stone. I wasn’t watching where I was going and had my head in the clouds. I put my hands out, as you do instinctively, to break my fall. I forgot about my injured wrist. But it remembered it was hurt I can tell you. I couldn’t stand up without help and then actually blacked out from the pain for a few seconds. Two lovely police officers helped me into a nearby shop, put my head between my knees, shielded me from curious onlookers while I cried in agony, and called a paramedic for me. He said I had just fainted from the shock, but I was horribly embarrassed. I went back to work but couldn’t stop shaking so one of my lovely workmates called me a cab and sent me home. Now, it hurts a hell of a lot more than it did when I first injured it. And I’ve tripped and almost fallen in the exact same spot before. Why wasn’t I paying attention when I knew I was hurt? Crap.

Happy New Years 2008!

It is now officially 2008. There are fireworks going off everywhere around me at the moment, even some in our street, and they're quite loud... I'm glad I'm inside. But is is very pretty.

As someone sent to me last year: Life is short, break the rules, forgive quickly, kiss slowly, love truly, laugh uncontrollably and never regret anything that made you smile.

WISHING YOU A VERY HAPPY NEW YEARS!

May it bring lots of love and laughter to everyone.