Commuting blues

I wrote this a month or so ago but didn't post it here:

It was Monday, today, and Mondays seem to be the second worse day to catch a train to work. Friday’s are the worst… too many GenX and GenY with headaches from Thursday-night pub-nights. Mondays, though, well, everyone seems depressed or cranky.

I have a 40 minute train journey from Wahroonga to Town Hall every day and if I don’t have some software to learn, or a project to do then I leave my laptop in the backpack and snooze on the way in. My iRiver has three playlists… walking, quiet and POD casts.
Today two things happened that got my goat. The first I am a little ashamed of, but the second I giggled to myself.

I set my iRiver to snooze mode, aka quiet, and got comfortable. In Paradisium from Faure’s requiem was first up. Sounds like angels singing, when in fact it’s the missus and 120 others in her choir. Anyway, I am usually subconsciously aware of what’s happening around me, except for last week when suddenly there were officials carrying a collapsed passenger from a few seats up from mine. I hadn’t realised that A. Someone had collapsed, B that someone had reported a sick passenger, C that the train had stopped, D that rail staff had come on-board and helped the poor lady out. But that was last week.

Today, however, I was vaguely aware of a person sitting down next to me. My station is one of the first so it fills up as we get closer to the city. What felt less than a minute later she elbows me lightly in the ribs and says “Your aftershave is making me gag!” or words to the effect. I was brought round to bright consciousness pretty quickly but not quite sure what I had just heard.
I looked at her to make sure she was talking to me; she sure was; she had this angry face on her.
Now, I don’t use too much aftershave, and had used the regular amount this morning, on account, like most husbands, SWMBO buys the most expensive aftershave thinking it’s better than the cheapest. The way things work I can’t argue as I’ve never had the chance to buy cheap aftershave since I was single and my fiancée threw it out. So, I hardly use any to make it last longer, that way, by the time to bottle is empty it's cheap.Think about it.

She looked at me in fury. I looked back at her in puzzlement. I was aware of people looking up to see the commotion. She then mixed in a questioning look with her fury look which clearly asked “What are you going to do about it?”. Knowing I must have looked much like a stunned mullet I dropped a an indignation look into the equation. There was a lot of looking.

I know people have allergies and I can appreciate the discomfort, even SWMBO is not allowed to wear perfume when in her choir so I am a little on the defensive side. But I am on a public train, sitting by myself, with scant amount of aftershave on anyway and here she is embarrassing me in front of the other passengers.
Bad move.
In my clearest… just woken up voice… I reply “I’m sorry about that, but your rudeness is equally gagging!”
The expression on her face was worth a million quid, and by the sounds of gwarfs behind us others thought so too. Instead of retreating, and these sorts of people don’t retreat easily, she started on me about how inconsiderate I was wearing perfume and how it’s affecting her and how evil I am etc all of which she managed to impart with very few words and so quickly that I can’t, now, remember exactly what she said, but I’d had enough. I looked her up and down and said “You seem as ugly on the inside as you do on the outside and while you don’t like my perfume at least I can wash it off” and with that I put my earphones back in and went back into my snooze zone.
The chuckles from behind, and the seemingly fruitless argument made her sit there for a few moments huffing and puffing before finally getting up and leaving.

I could have been nice to her, but it was Monday morning.

The second incident happened on the way home. Normally I work late on Mondays, but not today. I caught the peak-hour train home, shuffled downstairs and found a seat. Converse to mornings, afternoon peak trains are full straight away and empty out after they leave the city so getting a seat can be bit of a blood sport; especially from middle aged ladies with bags and elbows and heads down like footballers in a scrum.
Well, this afternoon the two-seater I am gunning for has a twenty something guy sitting in the middle with a bag next to him. He clearly has a “not sharing” attitude. There’s no choice for me but to plonk down beside him. I noticed first off that he was faking sleep. No one can have their legs that far apart, sit in the middle of the seat and balance upright at the same time. So, like I said, I slid in beside him, so little room that he’s pushed over a little.

The inside of a typical Sydney Tangara Carriage

He grunts.
I huff.
I find myself sitting with hunched-shoulders and leaning forward because he won’t give me my half of the seat. I’m squeezed in. I not a big guy, and nor is he… there’s plenty of room. I look at him with my best “you’ve got to be kidding me” look but he’s “sound asleep”. I try reading the paper, but it’s no good, I am not comfortable and he’s not budging. It’s not half obvious he’s pushing back against me to keep his extra space.
I am too bothered about more important things than this drongo so I pick out the only other seat in sight and move before the next station. Wynyard station is probably the busiest city station in Sydney, and if you’re not seated by then, then you stand much of the way home.
We stopped, a huge woman gets on and ploughs into his space. She’d almost bolted down the stairs to grab what was one of the only remaining seats. She had no intention of standing and no intention of worrying about this squirt taking up more than his share of real estate. The poor little fellow almost popped out of the seat! His bag was crushed against the wall, and his legs slammed together, he’s squeezed upright and wide awake.
I caught his eye and I smiled that self satisfactory smile that says “sucks be to you, loser!” and chuckled to myself. Goodness it was funny.

Twenty years weekend ended in bull

Twenty Years! If you were anti-socially inclined they would give you that with hard labour thrown in.

She Who Must Be Obeyed and I have been married for twenty years so we celebrated what could have been my release date by heading out of town to a lovely wilderness resort on the New South Wales mid-coast. SWMBO is one for luxury, so the eco-wilderness-green-lodge-in-a-rain forest had to be 5 stars. It also has to be out-of-the-way-with-no-major-road-within-cooee type of eco-wilderness resort, which, oddly, most of these places tend to be. When SWMBO wants to unwind, seriously unwind, then it has to be in a spa bath with mother nature at beck and call, along with wait staff.

It can’t be done with tents and cold water.

So anyway, apart from a 4 hour drive, 30kms of which is dirt road euphemistically called “unsealed”, cattle grids, flooded creeks, tacked onto the end of a long work-week it wasn’t that hard to find thanks to “Sally” our on-board English lass who digitally directs us; “In 620 metres take turn left”. SWMBO wants to ditch Sally for Bob, the American Mid-west guide, but he doesn’t do it for me like Sally does.

The resort was fine; more about the place another time, but the oddest moment came as we were leaving.

We checked out, angled ourselves into our Hyundai as only trekked out people can, and gravel-ly rolled down the “road” and into a herd of cattle.

We could have been cast in Jurassic Park. The first few beasties, many as big as they get which, for you and me, are the largest pieces of meat walking the Earth, didn’t mind our presence. It was quite apparent cattle only distinguish road from grass by the level of food. Road-sense these big boys do not have. Or probably need for that matter.
It was slow going, the cattle moving out of the way one at a time, clearing as we motored along in first gear, eyes wide with terror.

As if in slow motion, which is correct for these one-tonne pieces of dinner, the last of the animals parted to reveal the end boss. No kidding, the last bovine stood there in our way, across-the-road. Like across-the-road. Nose in one gutter and tail in the other. Taller than our car, wider than our car, and probably heavier than our car (if SWMBO had got out and run off).

We waited.

He waited.

We waited some more

He ignored us.

So I blew the horn.

He ignored with gusto.

We inched forward, thinking he’d be frightened by a hunk of slow-moving metal and two worried faces. Nope, he just looked at us with confidence. We’re on his turf, and he’s busy right now doing nothing in particular. I thought of things I might do such as scaring him, but even if it worked it had several downturns.
First up, he might charge at us; hurting himself and trashing our car. The prospect of contending with an angry farmer also crossed my mind. There was also the danger of him bolting off the road into the ditch on either side. He could do himself an injury falling down there. It also meant we couldn’t drive around him because the ditch was too deep. Then there was the prospect of me shooing one tonne of muscle while SWMBO is in the car laughing at me running across the paddock chased by a bull.

Oh, my kingdom for a rocket launcher and mega-health.

I needed this guy to move but each time I moved toward him he picked up that stance bulls take. Forelegs askew, head down and puffed up chest. Sort of like a friend of mine on his way to a prawn platter and beer tray. I backed up a little then noticed we’d been closed in by half a dozen more beef with heads turned our way. So many heads staring at us! The silent mammoths had surrounded us! Trapped!

We took the only course of action we could; locked the doors and wound up the windows. And waited. We had left Jurassic Park and joined Escape from New York.

It must have only been ten minutes, but it seemed longer. Eventually, with our air running low, the End Boss moved from the culvert and made way to greener pastures. We sneaked past ever so gently and took off as best a Hyundai can take off on a wet, soggy, muddy road.
Back to the city where it’s safe from murderous bovines.

Well, it's crunch time.

Tomorrow, in about 2 hours we've been married 20 years, known each other for 21, and it's her 50th birthday. All on the same day.

The Leader of the Opposition is a lovely, fine woman who I am very lucky to have married all those years ago. She has the patience, the understanding, the drive and the motherly love for our two wonderful children and for me. It truly is a blessing to be in her presence and to share the love we have for each other.

She's also the neighbourhoods' worst spendthrift.

On the weekend I took the children up the road to collect some last minute odds and ends for her. SWMBO was at an all-day rehearsal for an upcoming concert. The Princess had been talking about something called a Pandora Charm bracelet for weeks. I am sure now, as I write this, that there was some outside pressure happening.

It turns out that a Pandora bracelet is a rather nasty piece of work... why else would they name it so? You buy a "chain" and add baubles to it. But these baubles are either gold or silver, some with rubies, some with diamonds, some plain, some "exquisite" (read costalotta). You only buy the baubles for special occasions: big birthdays, child birth, wedding, special holidays etc. The reason being is that you have to spend a far deal so the reason better be a bloody good one.

Can guess what you're thinking?

So The Princess takes me to the counter and begins to point out the ones "Mum likes".
Plural.
The first is in excess of $400.00. Apparently that one is for her 50th birthday. Then points our another... that one's for her 20th Anniversary ($230.00). My loud claims that it's a china anniversary NOT A BLEEDING SLIVER one is hushed up by stern looks she obviously learned from her mother.
"What about the chain?"
"Mum's family is getting that for her. And that one there.." she says pointing to yet a third bauble.
The Earl the pipes up to say "I'd like to get her one from me."
The little piranha fish from behind the counter is onto it and produces a tiny "boy" figurine in silver (only $30) to remind her of him. He hands over the money.
The princess isn't to be outdone, but unlike her fiscally sensible little brother she has no money.
"I'd like to get mum the one with the cross"

Damn.

Seems I am sold out by a soft heart.

Nearly $700 later we leave with 4 impossibly small parcels with fancy ribbons.

Apart from that we pick up a few Miss Marple mystery videos, greeting cards, wrapping paper, ribbons, a bath robe "Mum just has to have one" and bits n pieces. Not much left from $1000.00. Thank the tax man I work two jobs.

I'm busted so we go to the best fish cafe on the North Shore and settle into seafood salad, fish n chips and calamari & chips for lunch. The princess then starts to mention "The Ring".

The story is that The Minister for the Dark Arts has picked it up the day before. It's well over what we've spent already; made to match her engagement ring and fit with the wedding ring. By the time she wears all three she'll be up for bandaids for grazed knuckles. Nothing in any of the rings is extravagant. No big diamonds.

Just a shit load of small ones.

What's more, get this, she only drew the ring, has never seen it, the jeweller has done a fitting but her eyes were closed. AND, blow me down, she collects the ring, again with the eyes closed.

"It's supposed to be a surprise!"

The chips had lost their crispiness.

It is quite a nice ring, and she deserves every cent of it.

sigh.

Anyway, she has rehearsals each night this week (except Thursday) so we only see her in the morning. Tomorrow, The Princess and I are meeting SWMBO, her brother and his wife for lunch at the Royal Automobile Club in Sydney on, thankfully, her brother's tab. In the morning we'll present her with all the goodies, the hugs and kisses but we wont see her at night.

On Friday, if the Pope's is still up for it, she sings with the Sydney Philharmonia Choirs and the Sydney Symphony Orchestra, Gianluigi Gelmetti conducting Beethoven's Missa solemnis. We tried to get me tickets to join his next-to-godliness but he's having 2500 of his closest friends instead. So I'm going Saturday night.

Then, in the wee small hours of Sunday I sneak off with three mates for a weeks skiing. So it's not all doom and gloom.

Way, the lost dog, the Daughter and a cat bite

4:30pm work, Thursday

"Hello?"
"Dad, I found a dog"
Silence. Forehead on hand, elbow on desk, thinking "No more animals, please!"
"She was lost so I brought her home and she's sick."
"Uh huh."
"But she had a number on her collar for Hornsby vet so I rang it and they said it's one of theirs and to take it there before seven o'clock"
"You found a dog?"
"Yes, she's sick; her name is Molly"
"How do you know?"
"She's being sick on the floor and she doesn't look good."
"Where are the cats?"
"They're outside. I locked her in."
"So you found a dog, thought it was sick, and brought it home?"
"Yes, it's a Shitzu"
"Right"
"Will you come home and take it to the vet?"
Sigh "yes, I'll leave soon."

6:25pm Home.

"Cailtin! Come on let's go"
"I'm on the toilet"
"Where's the dog? Never mind. Where are your shoes? Let's get going."
Discussion parallel to the phone call. Organising to leave the house.

"She's so cute!"
"No."
"But she's a Shitzu!"
"No."
"But.."
"No."

"What did the cats do when you brought the dog in?"
"They ran off but Murphy bit and scratched me"
"Why"
"I was putting him out and he scratched me and bit my arm"
Shows bandages
"It's swollen here"
"Looks like you're infected, off to the doctor with you."
"It hurts"
"Why would Murphy bite you? Did you tease him with the dog?"
"No! I was just carrying him outside."
Repeat several times.
"But if you just left the door open Murphy would have beat you to it and cleared out by himself?"
"I had to carry him, he was scared."

Right.

We take dog to vet, people in the waiting room assume it's ours, the "nurse" checks it over and confirms it's one of hers and that everything will be okay now, thanks. We leave. I'm thinking, great, they'll call the owners and claim a $50 finding fee OR they'll close up at seven then ring the people in the morning and charge $150 for an overnight stay.

8 :30pm SWMBO arrives home.
Repeat entire episode including cat bite.
"It looks infected, remember when you were bitten by Sam? She'll have to go get a tetanus injection."
"She needs antibiotic, possibly a wash inside with peroxide"
Daughter leaves room quietly.

7:45 am Friday morning.

"Come on, you'll be late!"
"I have to take Caitlin to the doctors."
Sigh.

Work, 4:30pm
"Hi Jude."
"Can you pick up the kids?"
"Ummm, not really I have a few things to finish"
"Well, I didn't get into work until quarter to eleven and I had a client lunch so I'm way behind."
Silence
"Alright, I'll pick up Angus, take him home. Do you want to meet me for dinner before the concert?"
"Thanks Jude. Yeah, Where?"
Arrangements. (6:30 Pasta Deli at Wahroongah, Concert 7:15pm Carmina Burana )

6;10pm Friday, On the train.

"I am almost at the station, meet you there."
"I'm at Abbottsleigh getting Caitlin's soccer gear, then I have to take her back home"
Sigh
"The concert starts at 7:30! If we're late we'll get rotten seats!"
"What can I do, she needs it for the morning!"
"Well why didn't she bring it home with her?"
"She didn't go to school"
"Why not?"
"The Doctor told us she needed to stay home and keep her arm raised above her heart!"
"What?"
"She has an infection, got a tetanus injection and a script for antibiotics"

So, saving a lost dog cost us a small fortune and at least one traumatised cat.

Way, SWMBO and a surprise

Last week The Princess spilled the beans.

SWMBO and I will be "sharing" our 20th Wedding anniversary in July.
20 years, besides being a life sentence, is china. Not paper, not ruby, not wood or something. Just China.

I was thinking of something like a new sugar bowl. Maybe a cat coffee cup.
Y’know, twenty years; it ought to be something special.

So, we're all sitting there, on the way to Granddads’ and the beans, as I said, got spilled.

SWMBO has not only worked out what we're-giving-her for our-anniversary, but she’s been to the jeweller, had it designed and getting it made.

Diamonds, not china. Gold too.
A done deal.

Something called an eternity ring.

Has a nasty sound to it. I signed up for “death us do part” not bloody eternity!

Anyway, justifications met my questioning looks at 60km/hr:

“It’s a nice ring”
“It’s something special”
“It fits in nicely with my wedding & engagement rings”
“It’s the same jeweller who designed my engagement ring who used to work at Rox in the Strand Arcade is now in Wahroonga…”
“I wanted it to be a surprise”

It’s the last one that got me.
Sure was a surprise.

I’ll be buggered if she’s getting a sugar bowl now.

Way, lunch and two flat batteries.

Why me? Scene: a lazy morning opening Christmas presents and having eggs, ham and toast for breakfast then the cleaning up and stock taking of all the new things in the house. Then it's time to get ready to go to the in-law family Christmas lunch. You've heard the idiom: You can choose your spouse but you can't choose the family? The Princess, two days before Christmas, declares she has nothing to wear for Christmas Day. At age 14 she is certainly primed for womanhood if her wardrobe and shoe sense is anything to go by. So SWMBO and The Princess nip up the road for some credit-wear. There we are, The Earl of Hornsby (aged 10) dressed in his suit but sans tie and jacket, me in mine, SWMBO in a black and white number and The Princess in her new dress sans tiara. Down the stairs to the Hyundai limousine...



I'm looking forward to lunch; it's at the Royal Automobile Club of Australia; a fine place to dine.

The arrangements for the day include collecting the Father In-Law, the right honourable Reverend Harry, from the nursing home in his chariot (wheel chair). So it’s just taking him and the chariot in my larger car, eating lunch and coming home again. I presume we’re going to do the hostage-style gift-exchange at lunch.
It's while trekking down the stairs that SWMBO drops the bombshell... "Dad's getting the taxi home, I've organised it.”

Tick tick…

“Why’d you do that?”
“Because he’s not coming home with us; he’s leaving after lunch.”
“Why? Where are WE going?”
“To So and So’s place, to open Christmas presents.”
“You didn’t tell me.”
“Yes I did!”
Repeat this a few times.
“They’re not our family” protested I.
“No, the others and us are too far away and So and So is closer.”
So and So are a single child family who hangs onto our Christmas and other major-event family-do’s.
“Great!” say I. Just when I thought I’d escaped the family and not-so-family close-encounter.

We’ve reached the car, all packed in, when I start it. Or rather, I didn’t start it. The battery is flat. “We’ll take the 121.” I say.
“The wheel chair won’t fit” says SWMBO all dressed up in the back seat.
“No problem, I’ll use your car to jump-start mine”
I half get out of the car and push backward so there’s enough room to get to the battery.
“Don’t hurt your back!” says she.
“Argghhh I don’t want to roll down the driveway” yells The Princess.
“Well, it’ll help if you got out, we won’t roll down the drive and I won’t hurt my back”
It’s okay, we’re early (for a change) so it’s just a simple matter of jumping the cars and off we go. The cars are side by side in the garage, but the leads won’t reach so I have to move her car closer to mine... I hop in but it doesn't start it either!

TWO flat batteries?

On Christmas morning…
with Grandad waiting at the nursing home…
and a lunch that’ll be delayed?
A lunch I’ll never hear the end of since it will keep the in-laws waiting?
Oh Baby Cheeses, why me?
“Judy, ring the taxi and see if they can pick your dad up?"
“Why, we’re picking him up.”
“Because if it takes too long to start the cars then at least he won’t be late and we can save time by not having to drive out of our way to get him.” She rings… the wheelchair taxi has another booking on the other side of Sydney.
“arggh!” My brain races at a hundred miles an hour thinking of a way out of this. My car is half-in-half-out of the garage blocking hers. It’s in a rotten position to hill start it down my drive (a feat performed previously) and it’s in the way of SWMBO’s car which could be moved to the right position for the down hill run to battery freedom. The NRMA (road side assistance) will take forever on a Christmas Day to get here…

Ding!

I’ll connect the battery charger to the smaller battery (her car) give it a few minutes before starting it.

Tick tick…

Ten minutes pass and I give it a turn. You beauty! It’s working but doesn’t get a chance to fire before the battery gives out… so I decide to wait 15 minutes. There’s still the problem of my car blocking the way… but no matter, once I have SWMBO’s car started I can back-and-forth until the batteries are close enough to jump it.
Sure enough, in twenty minutes we’re shooting down the road in all our finery.
Oddly, we washed my car the day before. I rarely wash it. Drought, laziness, all that.

Anyway. we pick up granddad from the nursing home with the motor running… funny to see all the old people lined up in the foyer, each in a wheelchair, all dressed nicely… reminded me of planes waiting to take off.

The hanger door opens, we load granddad in and off we go. We arrived in record where the valet looked at my car, a cheap model, with barely hidden amusement as we all piled out. After all, this was the Royal Automobile Club. It occurred to me if my car won’t start then where else better to be?

Surprise! We were the first to arrive at the restaurant a five past noon. The others arrived at twelve fifteen, and marched past us saying hi and merry Christmas in that air-cheek-to-cheek-kissing way they have. They had no sooner sat down that they all arose again and assaulted the smorgasbord of seafood and carvery. I sheltered next to our children and Granddad… whom they all ignored. It was then I realised I’d not warn the valet to park my car on a slope.

Time to decamp as the “family” all filed past like they had arrived; re-performing the same kissing ritual. Goodbye to granddad as he left in the wheelchair taxi. We piled into my car, which, by chance, was parked on a slope and drove off to the Military for “afters”.

The car had travelled 40km so I presumed the battery got over it’s little tiff. I managed to corral a few of my favourite people at the gift exchange and avoid any confrontations; so it wasn’t a bad afternoon in the end.

But it doesn’t end there. We left, the car started well, we drove home and had a lovely immediate family Christmas night together.

The next morning I go out to my car which doesn’t start again.
Nor does SWMBO’s car.
I was going to take the Earl to the skate park.

Bugger.

So I set up mine to charge over night and forget the skate park.
We’ll have to go tomorrow.
This morning the car fails to start. So I try my same trick with SWMBO’s car and the charger. No luck. Both batteries are dead as door nails. We call the NRMA. 30 minutes and $282.00 later our cars start without a whimper…

Way, LAX and two lifts

This is an old Way moment from 1991.

Oh man, I got stuck in two separate lifts on the same day, alone, at LAX, without a visa or ticket to my ultimate destination, during the first gulf war. The loud speakers were making security announcements, all day, about unattended luggage and vehicles etc. Things I'd never heard back home.

I didn't need a visa because I was in-transit through LA on my way to Detroit thence into Windsor (Canada). It meant I couldn't leave the airport.

I didn't have a ticket for the domestic leg as I was told I could by standby tickets for a fraction of the cost of booking one at home. Then when I went to buy one, Northwest said they didn't do stand-by anymore and I'd have to buy a full fare. I gave him my credit card to book a rather expensive one way ticket... but by the time the exchange rate took effect the card was rejected and then LOCKED. So I had no money, no ticket, no visa and trapped in the first lift of the day.

It stopped at a restricted level and would go no further. It just arrived, stopped, the doors opened, then nothing. Except a big sign on the opposite wall saying something like

DO NOT ENTER

RESTRICTED AREA

AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY

This to me, accompanied by the PA going on about being aware of suspicious things had me in the terrors... I didn't want to attract attention to myself until at least I had cleared the ticket problem....

To be found without a visa, without money, in fact trying to tender a credit card with insufficient funds & no ticket was just asking for trouble from the famous US Customs.

So I stood there.

Alone in the lift.

Facing the open doors for what seemed like ten minutes.

That was my first option. If facing something dreadful, like car headlights, just stand still and let it go away by itself. Of course, that failed. People who were obviously “authorized” passed the lift from time to time. I dreaded any of them doing it more than once and noticing something amiss. When that dawned on me I acted. I pushed that alarm bell on the panel with decisive action. Some may call it panic.

Cruel people.

The alarm button did just that. The alarm went off.Loudly.

Crickey!

I remember jumping out of my skin. Now people stopped at the lift and asked if I was okay.

Frack!

Before I could answer; the “help” person’s voice came out of the little speaker, so I just waved the Authorized people on.

Saved!

About half an hour later a big guy with utlility belt comes tramping up the hall way, enters the lift, introduces himself with “Where you from, pal?” and inserts a key into the hole and takes us home.

Free!

I spend the rest of the day, and my few US dollars on phone calls arranging a ticket from home to cover my flight and get me the heck out of here. But, being on the wrong side of the planet I am making calls very early in the morning. SWMBO, newly married I might add, to me, I further add, managed to get a travel agent out of bed and into his office at 7am to book me a ticket from Australia so I could get on a flight from LA to Detroit. He arranged it so I could collect the ticket from the Northwest desk.

As it turns out it’s the same guy at the Northwest desk.

Like 6 hours later.

When the entire area is deserted.

He sees me coming and he must see the dread on my face as I recognise him.

I walk up to him and ask if he has a ticket for me. He, naturally, knows exactly who I am and exactly knows my “alien” presence. So far, the only person in the US who knows I am still there, and that I shouldn’t be, and he knows for a fact I have no money to buy a ticket with. I tell you, he had this smart arse look on his face. Like I am half trouble and two parts idiot. And he’s very sure he has the power to imprison me shortly before my deportation back to Sydney.

Now remember this is before the internet. I couldn’t simply find an Internet kiosk and book my own ticket, even if my credit card had worked.

And if you buy a ticket in Australia for domestic travel you are actually supposed to be in Australia when you do it.

I am clearly not in Australia. And he’s clearly dubious as he’s looking up the flight and seeing if I am on it. That moment was one I cherished in the whole-trip-to-Canada thing. The look on his face when suddenly my name was there with a ticket bought moments ago in a foreign country was worth the day's anxiety.

Almost.

He argued the problem of being here when I should be there, and in the end came to the conclusion it was best if he just turned a blind eye and give me the ticket.

So, ticket in hand, seat allocated, boarding pass issued and enough money to get my luggage out from the cloak room, plus a little extra for some coffee and pizza hut slice I relaxed. (Note, the kiosk-style Pizza Hut was a novelty as we only had full restaurants in Aus at that time)

I remember sitting eating my slice of pizza (the first I’d eaten all day because I was worried I would need the cash) and puking at the boiled coffee while watching William Shatner doing 911 on the overhead TV.

Thirteen hours I was in that airport.

At the twelfth hour I decided it was time to collect my luggage and head over to the domestic terminal and wait in the departure lounge. That was until I was caught in another lift 40 minutes out from the red-eye flight… thinking, panicking, that at 11pm at night there’s going to be a slow reaction for help.

The lift, this time, left ground floor and then stopped. Nothing. No grinding noises, no jarring, no little electronic “pings” to say it had achieved something and was pleased with itself. Just a Stephen King sort of silence and dedicate inaction on it's part.

I decided in one nano second that the previous method of waiting ten minutes was not a wholly great idea. It lacked a certain urgency that was coursing through my veins.

Instead I hit that mother of a button like there was no tomorrow. The thoughts of missing the flight, of facing that same Northwest guy again, the thought of no money, no food, horrible coffee and a long night in LAX on a metal seat were fighting for priority in my tired mind.

Lord have mercy upon me!

And he did, in the static voice of the man in the speaker… the very same man who’d come to my aid earlier.

I just banged my head against the cold stainless steel elevator as he asked:

“Hey, are you that same guy I let out today?”

“Yes, it’s me”

“You got something in your bag that’s breaking our lifts?”

"Only a Philishaver, could that do it?”

“Nope. Don’t think so...”

“My flight boards in minutes, how long?”

“Oh, I’ll be right there.”

And he was.

I made the red eye, and funny enough the Northwest guy was there in the lounge, acting like he wasn’t watching me.

On board I sat between a young girl about 12 years old and a grunt on his way back from Guam. She asked where I was from etc whilst her mother kept an eagle eye on me and the grunt from few seats up. Finally after she stopped asking questions I asked her to show me the outline of Michigan; holding up an in-flight route map. It came out quite awkward, I was very tired

“Where is Michigan”

Everyone within earshot turned to look at me. Except the grunt who was so pissed it would take a nuke to wake him up.

I realised what I’d asked… after all I was on a non-stop flight from LA to Detroit… the capital of Michigan.

Ahh the moments.

Then we landed, I met my Canadian hosts who then gave me the fright of my life by driving on the wrong side of the road on the wrong side of the road.

arrghhHHHH

It's that time of the year

...when day light saving comes into effect and SWMBO starts with the "but it's really only ten o'clock" business. It drives me to distraction. Distraction with a smile; the woman is the light of my life. Frustrating logic I grant you. Oh, and a bit of a nag at times too. So, okay, she can give a dragon a run for it's money, but hey, I am in love with her.

Daylight saving.

It starts the night before with "We have to go to bed early because we lose an hour's sleep tonight." followed the next morning by "I am so tired because we lost an hour's sleep last night"
Later that day, this year like every year, as the sun starts to set later and our perception of time still isn't quite right she starts with the "But it's only really 5 o'clock" business.
This day-light-saving-jet-lag lasts about two weeks. Something will happen, the kids will squabble for example, and she'll excuse them with "They're tired. It's really only seven o'clock"

Cat Catch up

Here's a few photos of the captives. They'd run away but life is too good in the Way household.

The first is Mycroft in yet another of his sleeping poses.









then Murphy with Lestrade.












Mycroft... tough cat, eh?

Spider and Child

Following on from the spider dance story below, The Daughter came home from school the other day feeling very proud of herself.

During class the children had noticed a Huntsman on one of the walls. Some of them weren't too happy about it so The Daughter volunteered to help out.
She's telling me the story of how scared the other kids (and teacher) are but I am ahead of her by thinking she'd do what I do and grab a container with lid and do the deed. So here's a proud dad relieved that something is finally rubbing off. True, just spider catching techniques, but hey, there's a lot more exciting stuff I can teach her in life; we have to start somewhere!
Then she tells me she let it walk onto her hand and she calmly shows it about before taking it outside and releasing it.

Surprised I ask how big it was.

"Oh, about this big" says she as she traces a finger around her palm... about 7.5cm (3") across!

I asked her if she was frightened and she replied at first she was, but it just sat there.

"It tickled when it walked up my wrist"

Crickey!

Are you sure?

Sorry I've not posted in over a month, some people have emailed me telling me off for ignoring the blog.

Anyway, just tonight, during my chicken risotto, SWMBO did it again. She does it often enough, but just recently the children have become aware of it. It's been a hoot for them!

It's two fold, and each are opposites. SWMBO will offer drinks or desserts around at dinner parties we hold. More often than not I will not be asked if I want a drink, or what I'd like to drink, or if I want dessert, or coffee or something. She'll work her way around our guests and absent mindfully skip over me. It's quite amusing when we're all sitting at the table with our desserts except me.

Then the opposite happens.

She asks "Do you want ice cream with your dessert?" or "Would you like a cup of tea?"
I'll answer either way.

A few minutes later she'll ask again.

"Would you like a cuppa?"

"umm, yes please."

A few more minutes, sometimes half an hour or more, "Did you say you wanted a cuppa?"

"Yes"

"Yes what?"

"Yes please, but this is the third time you've asked and I've answered."

A few more minutes...

"Did you say you wanted a cuppa?"
"Yes"
"Are you sure?"

I mean, I can understand distraction, and forgetting the answer, especially over the course of now what seems several hours, but to then ask "Are you sure?" really tops it off.

So tonight, over the risotto, she begins again "Who would like watermelon for dessert?"...

Spider dance

You've heard of the spider dance, right?
It's a condition of human nature to do a little, but panicky, jig one nano-second after walking into a spider web. That moment of sheer terror as you realise it must be on you and ready to strike. You wave your arms about, hop from foot to foot, look left, look right, look over your back, brush your hair wildly with both hands and stare manically at anyone who can tell you exactly where it is.

It seems to me that no matter who you are, or where you're from, we all do the exact same dance.

I didn't know cats did it too.

For the last few days we've had a huntsman spider visit us. The novelty has worn off as they aren't uncommon in our bushland home . We have adequate fly screens so there's not much for the wayward spider to eat. If I don't pack them up and walk them outside they will disappear or die a hungry death on their own accord.

The family is dead against me killing them for convenience sake.

I walked into our bedroom to find three cats lined up against the wall waiting for the spider to come down and play. Obligingly, I used a small paintbrush to push it off the wall.

It landed on Mycroft.

He did a spider dance.

It only lasted about 10 seconds but to him it must have been an eternity. He ran backward a little, forward a little, shook his head madly, shook his tail and paws, spun around and generally panicked. He backed away from it when it fell on the ground.

Anyway, a few moments later I returned to the room to see all three cats staring at the wardrobe.
SWMBO's side of the wardrobe.
I debated whether to tell her. What sort of trouble will I be in now?

Later I told her the story and she freaked. It's all my fault, naturally. Now she needs to shake clothes out when she pulls them from the wardrobe but she'll never really know if there's a spider hiding.

I await another spider dance, this time from SWMBO.

24 hours

It all started about 24 hours go. One of those days when things just don't go your way.
Last night, after leaving work late I was off to do the grocery shopping at Woollies. I arrived just after 9:00pm, the place is deserted, just how I like it. I grab a trolley, pull out the list SWMBO wrote, (yes, a list, go figure) and set off down the aisles after the fortnightly supplies.
I make it into the fourth aisle before I realise I've missed the Radox bath salts . Bath salts are another story. Anyway I go back to where I left the trolley.

It's gone.

There's about a half dozen shoppers and the odd, lurking employee in a not-quite-white shirt. The point being there's not a lot of trolleys to get confused over. In fact I made a mental note that I was the only shopper in the aisle at the time.

So I go trolley hunting.

Nothing.
No one has my trolley.
If you're an alien abduction conspiracy theorist then you might have some news for me, but to my everyday mind either another shopper has mistaken it for theirs, or the lurking employee thought it abandoned and un-packed it at lightening speed (yeah, right). I give up, Radox in hand, I return to the front of the store. I need to leave the Radox at the counter so I can leave the store for a replacement trolley. I explain why I am doing this to the gum chewing check-out chick but the return conversation is a indifferent shrug. Hmm. Must happen all the time?
So, I re-start my shopping from aisle one. I pass the Radox. I realise I've left it at the counter.

Sigh.

I get home, start un-packing when SWMBO tells me we have a tour at one of the prospective schools in the morning. I have a huge day at work and really can't afford the time, but SWMBO's look tells me I-need-to-go-along-too. In-case I miss the look she tells me in long hand that I have to-go-along-too.

SWMBO drops The Daughter off at school a little while before I drop The Son off at his school so she goes to the Coonabarra Café and waits for me. We have a bit of time between school drop-offs and school-tour so it would be nice to meet over coffee.
A school mum walks past the window, waves and comes into the café inquiring about my back. SWMBO's eyes dart back and forth, she can't remember School Mums name and can't quite place her. During my year working from home I got to meet all the stay at home mums.
After she's left, SWMBO gives me the third degree with questions like "How does she know about your back?"

Sheesh!

We do the tour, nice school and all that then return to her car parked outside the Café. She's locked the keys in.

Sigh.

I make it to the railway station to commute to work, but as the 11:06 train arrives the station master announces that a tree has fallen across the tracks further down the line and delays are to be expected.

Sigh.

I board the train in hope it will take me as far as possible at which place I can either get a taxi or bus for the remainder. Well, the utter confusion of what to do was so funny I almost had a fit. I got out of the train, and back in several times before the railways settled on what they were going to do with a train filled with mostly old people on their way out during pension week.
Enough to say I managed to get a train to one station, a bus to another, then a taxi across the Sydney Harbour Bridge and downtown into work.

My workload tripled due to my lateness and compounded by my in-experience in using Cinema 4D modeling programme. I'm working to a tight deadline later in the afternoon.

Then the alarm goes off for a fire drill.

Sigh.

10 floors down and it's blowing a cold gale outside.

Anyway, I am home now, kids are all in bed, SWMBO has returned from Choir rehearsals and the 24 hours are up.

I hope.

Notebook time!

Hurrrah! Father's day. Our children treated me to a great day today with lots of hugs, breakfast almost in-bed and a selection of gifts including a brand new notebook! Yippee!

The Son (age 8) wrote a really nice card:

Dear Daddy
Thankyou for being such a good dad to me.
You are the greatest Dad of all time.
You are fantastic, awesome, strong, smart, funny, handsome, and
great!
I love it when you tuck me in at night, when you play games with me and most of all when you love me more than anyone else in the world!

From the best son in the world
your son

and his full name.

We built a train track between us:

While two of the cats, Mycroft and Murphy, found it an exhausting day...

The fun begins

Ever heard of the axiom "Under sell and over deliver"? It means you promise less to someone then when the time comes you give them more. It makes you look good and makes the other person very happy.

Dell did this to me.

They said I could expect delivery of the notebook on the 5th of September. So they deliver it today.
Today off all days.

Let's start from earlier today...

We managed to catch the train to work together.
She started the 30 second conversation. That's where she says something every thirty seconds whilst I am reading.
Anyway, today is THAT day so I new to be cautious. Soon enough she asks what the children should get me for Father's Day. I consider my options. Do I tell now, on PMS-Day, or do I say nothing? Do I drop a hint? Can I afford a "debate" on a crowded city commuter train?
"A laptop would be nice."
Silence.
"I don't think we can afford it this week." is her evasive reply.
Conversation ends, thirty seconds pass and the next subject comes up.

Phew, that was close.

Then later in the day the notebook arrives by courier a whole week earlier than expected.
I'm so excited I unpack it straight away and turn it on... ooooh it's so sweet!

I repack it, bring it home and leave it in the kitchen next the the briefcases & schoolbags.

Lingering.

SWMBO is downstairs watching Crossing Jordan and hasn't seen it yet.
My tactic of broaching the subject of the contents and origin of the large cardboard box was based in humour "Look what followed me home, honey." But it didn't work... She was in the other room watching TV.
I've one eye on this blog and the other on the door. As soon as she passes I have to wander up the stairs behind her...
I've decided to take the Father's day angle, coupled with the extra freelance work I've done, and the tax deductions and GST claim-back thus reducing the outlay for the notebook to around $400.00.

I sit here wondering if she'll buy it...
... she has no choice, but she might keep it until Sunday so the children can 'give' it to me for Father's Day. Oh the wait is going to kill me!

Bedside notes and logic

We were going to bed one night and SWMBO wrote a note on a slip of paper then placed it in front of her clock-radio, brushed her teeth and jumped in. All the while I am there propped up against the pillow wondering what she wrote on the note.

She's an avid note and list writer. I suppose anyone living a busy lifestyle, such as we do, realises notes and lists are important tools; they help us make it through the week. She normally leaves notes in that spot in the kitchen every house seems to have.. the place where the post sits, bills fester, school permission slips lurk until the-night-before...

But not this note.

This note is sitting in front of her clock-radio.

I'm not a home-note person. I write notes at work in my diary, but not at home.
Lists are worse. I hate lists with a passion because they're all about control. Write a list and suddenly it has a mind of it's own, not unlike a Ouija board. The worst travesty of lists is their ability to leave things out. Take a shopping list. First it demands you go grocery shopping (the control thing) then it tricks you into relying on it.
It works like this; I return home to where SWMBO is bound to ask "Did you get the toilet paper?"
"Was it on the list?"
"It should have been."
"Well, it wasn't on the list."
This short but regular dialog is followed by the "You're a forgetful twit." look.

You can see what I mean. People automatically rely on lists. And lists let you down.

But this is a note, not a list and its on the clock radio, at night, at the wrong end of the house.
It can't be for anyone but her, if it was for me, say a romantic note, then she'd leave it on my pillow, or if not, then out next to the forgotten permission slip.

I lean over her, reach out and snatch the note.

It reads: "Wake up early."

...and it's on the clock radio.

I give her my best Commander Spock raised eyebrow.

"It says 'Wake up early.?"
"Yes dear, I have to get up early in the morning."
"You don't find anything wrong with this?"
"No."
I hand it back to her, and she replaces it.

We read for a bit. I read the same paragraph until I realise I'm reading the same paragraph.
"That note doesn't make sense."
"Yes it does."
"How?"
"I want to wake up early."
"But it's a note."
"Yes." I can tell she's getting frustrated at reading the same paragraph as well. She stops reading then she sighs with a "I am patient with you" look. She turns to me and explains "I wrote the note to remind me to wake up early in the morning so I wont be late."
I think about this. SWMBO is an intelligent person, one whose intellect I respect.
"Darling, how can a note help you wake up early in the morning.. what about the clock-radio?"
"What about it?"
"Use it. Set the alarm earlier..."
"I have."
"And you've written a note?"
"Yes."
Now it's my turn to sigh.
I start to giggle in both amusement and frustration.
"But why have you written the note?"
"When the radio goes off, I'll hit the snooze button. When I do I'll read the note and remind myself that I have to get up early."

Snap.

Logic.

Later, lights out and I am lying on my side enjoying the complexities of SWMBO's mind and the way it thinks.
I start.
Something's wrong.
That's it.
Sigh.
SWMBO's clock-radio has always been set fast. It never tells the right time...

SWMBO and that logic

Women are funny things. I'm sure someone out there has remarked as much and certainly more eloquently.

SWMBO, as mentioned, uses logic in a way that never stops bewildering me.

Take the weather.

"Gee, the weather's funny today" she'll say from our bathroom at 7:00am, before she's left the house, only minutes from waking. I make these points because I expect any judgment on the day's weather to be borne with experience. I am sure you couldn't really make comment on the weather until, at least, you've been out in it for a bit. And you've something to compare it, requiring you be out in it long enough for a point of reference. To put your tooth brush down and come up with a gem like "Gee, the weather's funny today" strikes me as odd.
Naturally, I am compelled to respond, which for quite a while now goes along the lines of "Well, weather is not a stable system; it's in continual change. Some-days the change is rapid, others slower, but it's always changing. It's also very unpredictable much like the way dice will roll."
"Yes, but, yesterday it was windy and rainy and today it's sunny."

Sigh. "But why is that funny?"

"Well, it changed. Yesterday was windy and rainy, today it's the opposite."

Calling the weather funny because it changed defies logic.

Twilight Zone

The first day of deceit ends without SWMBO being aware of the notebook. Of course she doesn't know because I've not breathed a word.
It's a strange feeling living this double life, which Dell informes me should end on the 5th of September; the day the notebook arrives.

Naturally, I am torn between the excitement of receiving a new toy and the fear of facing her with the news.

Way, a LAN, snow, a dining cabinet, and speed shopping

Life with SWMBO is never dull.

I’ve been toying with buying a notebook computer for a few weeks now. I could use it on my twice-a-day 40 minute train trip to do work stuff, learn new modelling and CAD programmes I am behind on, plus the odd movie and music. I’ve read through nearly all of the novels in the house so I'm bored.

This is how things are developing…

Two weeks ago I drove with a mate up to Brisbane from Sydney for queensLANder; a TOG LAN party where we got together with 60 players for a great weekend playing computer games and catch-up. I started organising it over four months ago. It was a fantastic success due mostly to great volunteers and TOGgers themselves. Anyway, SWMBO was giving me my week's spending plus extra to go away. She had $200.00 in her hand and asked, "How much did you spend on petrol?" We'd recently changed our banking policies to avoid horrendous VISA bills. She now withdraws cash for the week. I get $25 spending, plus $32 train fare, and about $20 for petrol each week. Somehow this always appears as a single $50 note.
Hey! She's a lawyer, not an accountant.
I argued $25 was less than the $40 I used to get but she countered that "the bloody internet" cost about $15 per week and that came out of my "spending".
"But you buy all those vitamins, herbs, and that Rhodesian swamp water stuff! PLUS you go to the Gym and then there's all that Nutrimetics you buy"
"I need the vitamins & herbs to help me, and it's not swamp water; it's medicine that stops PMS each month. You don’t want a return of that, do you?" The horrors of a mad woman going through her cycle each month was worth $100 bottles of swamp water. "And the Nutrimetics keeps my skin wrinkle free and beautiful; you want me to look lovely, don’t you?"

One of the big errors in my life was to marry a lawyer. I've rarely won an argument since. Marrying SWMBO was wonderful; it’s just the Lawyer bit.

"Well, that's still a whole lot of extra stuff you get that I don't".

Bad move.
I can play a fair game of chess but I'm out of my depth with SWMBO.

She takes her usual "hand on hips" victory stance.
"Well, if you want to spend some money on gym fees I suppose we can find it; you do want to go to the Gym, don't you?"
Busted.
Cornered.
If my eyes were beady they'd be darting back and forth looking for a way out of the room as quickly as possible, but no, they had to be content with the wild-eyed-look-of-fear instead.

"Well, no, but I still get less than you, and the internet is mainstream now... like the telephone, electricity, water. Why should I have to pay for a utility when all those others come out of general revenue?"
I had her with logic. She's not strong in it, which I can't determine if it's purposeful or not. I am suspicious she uses false logic to advantage.

Either way, as financial director, she still has the purse strings.

The conversation ended, and two weeks later I'm still only getting the $50 note that’s magically worth $77.00.

Anyway, I tell her I had to fill the car up and it cost $60. She whips the $60 from the $200 and hands me the change. Sigh. A weekend away on $140.00.
Naturally, once safe in Queensland, nearly a 1000 kilometres away, I withdrew another $100 from an ATM. Actually, Demon_Keeler withdrew it for me.

It took a while after queensLANder, and the long drive home, and a busy week at work catching up on the two days I had off; before it dawned on me that SWMBO and our children were going away for a weekend in the snow. Hmmm… I could use that to help broach the subject of a notebook. They returned late Sunday night. After the luggage had settled I asked, “How much did the scout skiing weekend cost?” She was a bit cagey with the answer trying to add up this and that and making comments like “It was good value since we got two breakfasts, two lunches…” etc.
Ha! I had her justifying the “cheap” weekend away with the scouts. Turns out it was about $1050.00 plus “shopping, takeaway and some ‘other things’” Total somewhere around $1300.00.”
I’m working on the thought this is a good softener for my next big idea, but it can wait until Monday night. I don’t want to be too obvious.

Monday night, “I’ve been thinking of buying a notebook to use for work.”

Things got a little out of hand after that. Not by the words spoken but those which weren’t. It was a very short discussion mostly from me justifying the purchase. Surely she’d see the “fairness” on the basis she spent nearly as much on the weekend. I made no mention of the conversation the night before…

I needn’t.
She did.
Who was I trying to fool?
It ended with “You asked about the ski trip just so you could argue for a notebook.”
Dang.
I wasn’t going to give up so easily, it’d just take time, that’s all. I wasn’t expecting an agreement on Monday night anyway, just enough to seed the idea and wear her down with persistence.

But then I am dealing with a woman, a wife, a lawyer and above all an expect shopper.

We’ve been married eighteen years. You’d think I’d learn?

SWMBO was given a bonus in July for all of the long hours spent covering poor staffing levels. Our wages have always been consolidated so there’s no argument about petty things like bills and expenses or in-equities. The idea behind it is what’s mine is yours, what’s yours is mine. And to our credit we’ve never had a word about who contributes more or less. And it’s not happening now. Either way, the proceeds from mum’s estate will arrive soon to add to the coffers in a small way, but one thing I want to do for myself with the inheritance is get this notebook. Still, under the rules of consolidated revenue administered by the financial director this purchase needs both our signatures.

Tuesday morning I find myself at home with The Daughter who’s redecorated the bathroom with the recently internal contents of a 13yo child’s stomach. It’s my turn to stay home and anyway SWMBO has already left for The Son’s athletics carnival.
At about 4pm SWMBO returned home all excited. She’d dropped The Son off at a schoolmate’s house and made a field trip to the local furniture shop. For 13 years she’s been trying to get me to build a dining room cabinet. Now, today, she decides to visit a store. She drags me up to the place and points out a hideous stained-pine glass cabinet. It’s unsuitable to hold dinning room stuff; it’s for glassware, figurines etc.

• It’s made from pine. Like I am going to allow THAT into my home.
• It too narrow.
• It’s ugly.
• It’s about $800.00, Pfft on special it’s too much already!

There's the false logic at work again.

At the time I didn’t know it but now it all comes to light. The shop makes to order as well. After an hour she’s signing an contract for a custom made dining cabinet in Tasmanian Oak. $1730.00.

Wednesday.
24hrs.
It took me nearly a whole day to realise I’d been hoodwinked. Here I am hinting at the cost of the ski trip to help my argument for a notebook thinking I am cunning by playing it slow and calm.

I look so amateurish compared to SWMBO.

When will I learn I am playing with the best of them?

Over night she’d gone from hearing me suggest a notebook to her planning a counter-spend. She’s spent the last of the bonus. She’s beat me to the post. She’s signed the deal and sealed the fate of the notebook in less than 18 hours from Monday night to Tuesday afternoon.

God she’s good.

Thursday. I can't take this lying down so I placed my order for a Dell notebook at the cost of $1675.00.

So, laugh if you like, 18hrs for her to get the gumption up, and 48hrs for me. I figure the inheritance will be though before the credit card bill attracts interest. And there are all sorts of justifications such as value for money, sale ending today, tax deductions under my small business, and GST rebate etc. I even placed it on my personal Visa card so she won’t see it so soon.

It’s all figured out.

Except the part about how I explain the purchase to She Who Must Be Obeyed.

Home from hospital

Dateline: 29th May 2006

I live.
Thank you all for your kind wishes, phone calls, emails, PMs and offers to cut my lawn. My mind was drawn to TOG quite often and wondering how you all were doing just as much as I was with other close friends. I am heartened to see the concern you hold for me in this thread. I arrived home this morning, alone, by taxi, to an empty house, if you'll pardon the three cats who couldn't be bothered to do more than raise a sleepy eyebrow.I am still a bit zonked so you'll need to wait for the anthology of the eventful week I've had.Hmmm Meds...

...later that week... 3rd June 2006

Ah well, I had a low day on Thursday and from Friday afternoon up until and including this morning. Just feel week and unsettled. Not sleeping, waking in sweat etc.Most of the pain had gone but now I find it was the nice meds keeping it away. Now that I've run out of the strong stuff: the pain from the two incisions and swelling has returned. *I must take the anti-inflammatories and panadol more often.*I (we) saw the neurosurgeon yesterday morning (Friday) who gave me the all-clear. He took back some nasty drugs the hospital shouldn't have let me leave with (apparently some form of morphine that they normally only prescribe for cancer patients).He also gave me a DVD with some movie files showing the operation in action. Aww god - all that blood. Even made me feel woozy. (Yes MF I will send you a copy )Looks like I can return to work on Monday, the boss hand delivered a nice wooden gift box of red wine (Margaret River Reds) on Thursday night. Yum.

Here's some pictures: