We is back!

Did ya miss us? Splodge went on a wee jaunt to the Flatcattery for a few days and Nushie came too.

We had a lovely time, went to the museum, ate lots of food, kids missed out on tripping around on an inner tube behind the boat because the weather packed a little bit of a snot and the water was too rough, and only one casualty occurred - Rudolph the Red Nosed Primera lost an antler on the coast road and Flattie, who was following us, ran it over in his Moo. It was no contest.

This is the Red Nosed Primera




this is the antler




and this is the Moo.




And this



is a tiny baby stick insect (about 1cm long, if that) that Adam found on his shorts in the back yard and has nothing to do with antlers or moos.

So anyway, we came home again yesterday to a rapturous greeting from Loopy (tinkling her collar bells all over the place) and Tommy (who managed to keep his nose correctly aligned this time) but my long awaited christmas present from America hadn't arrived.



I'm starting to think it's not coming and I was so looking forward to unwrapping it. Oh well, maybe the overseas mail is held up somewhere, I'll just have to be patient. In the meantime, I've been shopping at the Red Shed (where Xmas shit is now 75% off) and bought... more lights (they change colour) and a couple of huge gold balls and some toy soldier piggies to hang on the tree next year (as one does on the last day of the year). I'm feeling very proud of myself for taking all the lights down off the tree without getting them all tangled up or breaking them (well, only one of the big ones, I stood on it). In the wind.

I am very clever.

And if you aren't amused enough yet, pop across to Yaxlich's blog and meet Coprolalia, but put your drink down first.

Fatsy's Christmas

Fatima did not come home for christmas this year after all. But she appears to have had a jolly splendid time at home with her Mum and Dad.





Red really is her colour.

Done deal

'Tis all over for another year. Most of the food is eaten, no-one got a present they didn't like (therefore avoiding this), nothing got broken and everyone had enough of what they wanted.

It's technically Boxing Day, but it still feels like Christmas and I was just sitting in Tommy's chair, in the quiet dark looking out the open door at the tree all lit up and thinking "I wish I had more cashew nuts" "what lights shall I buy tomorrow?".

Well it IS Boxing Day sale at the Red Shed and they have 50% off Xmas stuff...

Listen! Can you hear them?

I hear bells!

The presents are wrapped, I have my dining room back (the train layout has been relocated to the front room), the strawberries, pav, ham and salads are in the fridge with the chocolate and the nuts largely intact (ok not the nuts), and the car all gussied up with Rudolph's red nose and antlers (we're gonna put them on flatties Moo next week, but shhhh, it's a secret).

And you know what that means, hmmm?

Happy Ho Ho Day is here and it's time to hit the Baileys of course!

So, we wish you a very Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays, a piece of good will to all (wo)men and all that stuff, speshully from Splodge to you. May you all travel safe, avoid alcohol if driving and getting wet (if it's raining) avoid fighting and eating too much and sunburn (if it's sunny) and gastro from the BBQ sausages and the piles of reindeer shit that prove Santa really woz here.



:o)

"So this is Christmas
And what have you done
Another year over
And a new one just begun
And so this is Christmas
I hope you have fun
The near and the dear ones
The old and the young" - John Lennon

Walking in a summer wonderland

It's almost Christmas. You can tell by all the houses and gardens lit up like, um, Christmas Trees all over town. Yes, the Americans have infected us with their love of display and Tim the Toolman is alive and well, creating lighting masterpieces of extreme tackiness in a garden near you. Well reasonably near to me, anyway. He's even been to the vet at Welcome Bay.



Ads and I did a bit of the Christmas light trail tonight, with a little random police breathtesting roadblock in the middle, just for a little extra "wow" factor. No, the sexy copper wasn't breathalysing tonight. I don't think detectives do that.





One house, less OTT than the others in a whole street full of OTT lighting had Snoopy's Christmas playing on repeat. It was a lovely touch. Lovely. None had any tasteful strobe lighting driven by computer, though like I want. But mine won't be like this one;



it'll be Floyd and U2 and maybe a little Frank Sinatra.

Actually, for Christmas it's bloody cold here, cold enough to make the camera shiver and take crappy pictures.

Ha! See, there is always a good excuse reason for the crappy camera shake pics and it ain't me!

**wanders off humming "My Way"**

Out of my tree

I had a tree at the far end of the section. A blue cedar of some sort. It was growing in an old washing machine bowl that Mum planted a little seedling in 17 odd years ago. Somehow it ended up under the plum tree and in against the giant bamboo and there it stayed,largely forgotten except by me each year when I suggested to the old boy that we drag it out and plant it close to the house for a nice outdoor Christmas tree, instead of buying a misbegotten pine bough each year. Each year he said "yes, we must do that".

After the giant Melia tree fell down 6 odd years ago, I suggested we move the cedar into that spot, but it never seemed to eventuate, but I really wanted a big tree out there to decorate, a bit like the huge Macrocarpa we had at the end of the garage when I was a kid that Reg climbed every year to string a huge array of colourful lights on that were visible for miles down the valley. You know, recreating memory Lane stuff.

When Tommy arrived a couple of months back, he took up sitting down that end of the garden on a drum in the sun - I thought he just liked the spot.

Finally, this week, we moved the tree and what a bloody mission it was. The little seedling had quietly grown into a 20 foot monstrosity, a bit deformed and a bit warped (so it really does fit in with this family) from its close proximity to larger neighbours and was hidden around the corner behind stuff that couldn't be moved.

It took a bit of accomplishing using simple physics, several wire ropes, a couple of snapped poles on my arbour and a little red car. Finally, after much huffing and puffing (that was just the car) we got it dragged down near the house, the bottom cut off the washing machine bowl with the angle grinder (it had 3 tiny taproots sprouting from 3 tiny holes in the base) and upright in its new home. Then Ads and I started decorating it with outdoor lights and big plastic bells, santas and christmas trees. It looked great - in the dark. In the daylight it looks forlorn and bedraggled but that doesn't faze Tommy, he likes sitting next to it in its new location, in the rain, casting his eyes up and down the tree whilst rocking gently.

Weird cat.

And then yesterday the bloody thing blew over in a big gust of wind (I refrained from saying "I TOLD YOU SO" at high decibel, it wouldn't have helped). So we picked it up again and with a little help from Muzz who rolled in for coffee at just the right time, got it upright, roped in place and stable enough to light it up again.

OK, so it's not a 40 or 50 foot tall pine wearing a huge garland of lights visible for miles, it's a bedraggled 20 foot cedar visible from the neighbours, but now it has room to spread its roots and branches, maybe it will make up for lost time and if I add a couple of mates in behind it, might one day stand proudly as the only outdoor christmas tree in our little village down here. This year, 3 sets of El Cheapo lights; next year, BIG lights pulsing to music and run by computer. OK, maybe the year after...



In town (well in harbour) yesterday was this



It's the Boadicea, reputedly owned by Australian magnate Reg Grundy. 70 metres long and $146m worth, it's a veritable floating palace. This pic was taken from the opposite side of the harbour as it looks like it's anchored more towards the Mount side, but even from 500 metres or more away, it's something worth driving into town to see.

You can read a little more about it here. If you can't afford to buy your own, you can hire it for a week for up to $US490,000 ($710,000), plus expenses.

Hmm, maybe next year, I have a couple of trees to buy first. And more lights.

A walk DownUnder

Date: December 2006
Altitude: 400 km
View: New Zealand in the sun



Look what's down under

Houston, we have a spectacular view.
New Zealand is the stunning backdrop to a spacewalk for Nasa astronauts working on the International Space Station at the weekend.

With the Land of the Long White Cloud 400 kilometres below them, American Robert Curbeam, and Swede Christer Fuglesang fix a damaged solar array. The accordian-like 34-metre array is supposed to fold up into a box when it is retracted.

Earlier attempts to fix the problem – including a highly unscientific request to an astronaut inside to do some exercise, hoping the movement would jostle the wing into place, failed. The solar wing is part of an interim power system for the space station.

A primary goal of space shuttle Discovery's seven-day visit to the space station was to rewire the lab and hook a new set of solar wings on to the permanent electricity grid.

The new panels rotate with the movement of the sun to maximise the amount of solar energy produced, but in order for the new panels to spin, the old panel had to be retracted.

The Discovery crew delivered a two-tonne, NZ$16 million space station addition, which was installed during the first spacewalk last week. Picture: NASA

Coppers

I met the sexiest copper today, dayam but he was fine.

I spent a bit over an hour this morning giving a statement at the local cop shop about the bloke in this article about theft of copper from public toilets around the area.

You see, the slimy, scumball dirtbag, sorry model citizen featured there is the same slimy, model citizen who stole the copper (and the lawnmower) from my back garden 6 months ago while we were away in Thames. It's a long story, but this prick spent a couple of weeks softening everyone up in the name of cleaning up the scrap metal the old boy has lying around the place while getting around to buying the Legend for his "daughter". Then, seizing his chance while Reg was out and we were away, he and his equally scumbag sidekick proceeded to nick the copper (but leave the cast iron bit behind) and dump my poor lotus out of its happy home, upside down and over the bank from where Adam managed to retrieve it a few days later when the theft was discovered and a search party mounted for Lotus.



Being in possession of the rego for his vehicle, we notified the local cop shop of the theft, gave the name, discription and rego number only to have the dumb bitch on the counter brush it off as not worthy of investigation, despite only being a desk-jockey without any actual power to do such a thing. Twice we tried, twice we failed. Shame they don't hire someone with intelligence to man the phones, 6 months ago they stood a good chance of catching him, now he is of no fixed abode and is possibly wreaking plumbing havoc in a public toilet near you.

For 6 months we have been on the lookout for this bastard's vehicle and today, the sexy copper said Scumbag has changed vehicles and gave me a new rego number to watch out for.

So, if you live in Tauranga and see a mid-40s Maori with a huge tattoo covering his throat and neck area,lurking around and checking out what you got, and who is driving a dark blue Toyota Sprinter with the rego number LJ 7166, you know what to do.

That's right, run the thieving mongrel down and then make an anonymous phone call to the cop shop advising them of an unfortunate 'carriage of justice' having occurred in a vicinity near you. Isn't that's what a model citizen would do? Oh, and the police want to talk to him, too.

This has been a public announcement proudly brought to you by the letters S C U and M, and the colour BROWN.

(Wow, a whole post about stolen toilets and I never once mentioned that the police have nothing to go on... sorry Flattie, just had to beat ya to it)

PS: Lotus was happily rehomed into the trough a week ago and is making fine progress. We expect blooms again next year. It's had a hard 6 months wintering over in a hole in the ground, I don't think it's feeling much like flowering this summer.

Fairytale

They've got cars big as bars
They've got rivers of gold
But the wind goes right through you
It's no place for the old
When you first took my hand
On a cold christmas eve
You promised me
Broadway was waiting for me

In 1987, a singer named Kirsty MacColl had a hit single with a lovely little song, co-written by Shane MacGowan (with Jem Finer) and performed with Shane and the Pogues. The song was called "The Fairytale of New York" and appeared on the Pogue's album "If I Should Fall From Grace with God". This month, the song has entered the UK Top 10 for the third time.



Kirsty MacColl had a long and not always overtly successful career in the music industry and was married for some time to Steve Lillywhite, a well-known British music producer and father of her two children.

This lovely lady with the fabulous voice was killed on December 18, 2000 while on holiday with her partner and children in Cozumel, Mexico when she was run down whilst pushing one of her children out of the way of a jetboat, owned by Mexican supermarket millionaire Guillermo González Nova, who was on board with several members of his family and which was allegedly travelling too fast in a diver's only area where boats were restricted to a 1 knot speed limit. Kirsty was killed instantly.

She was 41.

Sometimes the fairytale ending is not what one expects.

The boys of the NYPD choir
Were singing Galway Bay
And the bells were ringing out
For christmas day

Astronomical

America must have a lot of spare cash. Not only are their space shuttles due for retirement in 2010, now they want to build a permanent base on the moon within 10 years of it.

I guess the Powers That Be will call it Moonbase Alpha? Or maybe Moon Orleans, in honour of the city they forgot. Those people are hurting.

What is there to shoot at out there on the moon anyway, asteroids?

Free Henry

What do you do with one very large trough, a quantity of nutrient-rich water and a couple of hundred thousand mosquito larvae?

You release Henry. So I did.

I'm sure Henry is really a mix of Henries and Henriettas but I think that if they don't eat themselves to death, they'll be too pooped to make more just like them. There's room for hundreds in there.

Gotta give Tommy something to do. He needs the exercise.

"'Tis the season to eat lollies

fa la la la la la blah blah blah"

All over the commercialised world, people are spending shitloads of money on presents for Christmas. They are walking the shop aisles, hmm'ing and haa'ing, wondering how many presents they can buy with the credit card in their pocket that will take until next Christmas to pay off, buying gifts for show for people they know, and people who won't like what they get who might be disappointed, affronted and insulted, and people who will be rapt and happy and exultant with what they receive. They wish they knew which ones were which.

And then there's Santa - good old Santa who's working his elves to the bone to get all the presents imported, cleared through customs and the duty paid, delivered, priced and the shelves stocked so that people can stand in long queues to fill the tills with the joyous sound of over-indulgent materialism, and who will largely get the credit.

Fuck that.

20 Steps for a Traditional Family Christmas:
(aka Who Put the Christ in Christmas)

1) work out how much money you can afford to spend.

2) triple it.

3) start present buying early, Boxing Day Sales are good. The credit card's almost maxed out from Xmas anyway, a little more won't hurt.

4) hide presents in weird places to stop the kids finding them during the next 12 months.

5) don't forget to watch for bargains in the spring sales in August. You know you'll be sorry if you don't.

6) ask the kids what they want and don't want from Santa. Hide your dismay when you find out your purchases to date are out of fashion and no longer "cool".

7) after the dismay wears off, make sure you take notes to guide you in the second round of shopping, pre-christmas.

8) Have the annual family argument about who is hosting christmas dinner; who is bringing whom, who you won't be seen dead sitting at the table with. Etc. Plan to park car well clear of other vehicles so it won't be damaged when the first row ends in a blazing walkout. Plan to park car facing the street in case the walkout is you.

9) step up the pace a bit - panic when you realise that A) you have spent $1750 on presents for just 3 kids and B) you can't find half the presents you hid. Or the wrapping paper. Throw out the chocolate Santas you bought three years ago and couldn't find again. Send out 67 Christmas cards to people you haven't seen in 5 years and 15 people who you have. Make a list of the names and addresses (for next year) on Christmas cards you receive from people you don't remember. Buy 10 more rolls of wrapping paper. The big rolls.

10) Prepare self for the christmas work 'do' misery; babysitter's rate has increased exponentially; who will be sober driver; who will be sober driver when the sober driver gets pissed anyway. Kid ate all the candy canes and has allergic reaction - Mum stays home. Don't forget screaming row with partner when he arrives home hammered, driving drunk from said work do at 3.20 in the morning. After not calling. Or answering his cellphone. For 8 hours. If he's a nasty drunk, have a bag packed in case you have to leave in a hurry when the violent row starts. Go to bed not talking. Wake in a puddle of urine. Not your urine.

11) have a stiff gin before that final mad rush around the shops looking for that elusive widget you saw on TV last night for Aunty Maud. Fight through the supermarket crowd to grab that last oversized ham that everyone will hate the sight of by New Years. Send kids to grab strawberries, tomatoes and those last 2 pavlovas left in the shop.

12) console the pavlova kid who was mugged for his booty on the way back to the trolley.

13) complete final preparations; prepare as much food as possible in advance so that you'll manage to grab an hour out of the kitchen to let your lunch go down. Battle the bumper to bumper holiday traffic reduced to one lane for a road accident. For 15 kilometres. Try not to bite pavlova kid's head off when he asked "are we there yet" for the 273rd time. Take plastic bags, towels and wet flannels in the car - children can vomit many times during a 3 hour journey. Don't say the F word out loud when you realise a suitcase was left behind. Your suitcase. Don't say it.

14) Put on your best smile on arriving at your loved ones' home. Immediately bath children and put them to bed. 7 times. Put 3rd load of laundry on, wish for the 32nd time that you hadn't given them so much festive fizzy and cream biscuits to stop them asking "are we there yet".

15) unpack presents and put under the tree to perpetuate the lies parents have told their kids for generations. Hell, you were upset when you found out Santa wasn't real, why should your kids miss out on the misery? Fall into bed at 1am knowing you will be awake in 4 and a half hours to watch those little faces crinkle up and cry because they got a Barbie instead of a Bratz doll and the toy-gun-you-didn't-want-to-buy-but-it-was-75%-off has broken already - take mental note that 45.6 seconds is a new toy-gun record.

16) stagger through the day. Wipe the tears, serve the food, adjudicate the fights, punish the miscreants, wish you could get pissed before lunch, avoid arguing with sister-in-law, clean up the mess, thaw sausages, make salads and butter bread for dinner when the blokes decide they are going to cook.

17) clean up the dishes and retrieve cutlery, plates and glasses from the garden. Do three loads in the diswasher. Put the kids to bed. 5 times.

18) relax with a well earned beer. Get the men one while you're up.

19) assemble umbrellas, togs and towels for the beach tomorrow - it's going to be a scorcher. Write note to self to remember the Boxing Day sale starts at 8am. Make a list of what to buy, it saves time. Set the alarm for 6.30. Fall into bed at midnight to the sound of drunken singing and arguing coming from the lounge. Thank Christ it's all over.

20) step 1.

It's supposed to be all in the name of some bloke born a couple of thousand years ago, revered by billions in the interim but who came out of his Mummy's furry front bottom just like most of the rest of us (only Romans had caesars).

So, if Jesus is the reason for the season, get things rolling before your hubby gets hammered and gets caught out nailing the blonde in reception on the boss's desk - help him celebrate in style, dress him up right and get ready to party hearty!



In the words of Kevin Bloody Wilson (hard to choose which Christmas song though, he did heaps of nasties er goodies)

Ho Ho Fucking Ho
What a crock of shit
We all work for Santa Clause
We’ve had enough, we quit
Cuz we do all the fucking work
While he stars in the show
Stick your Christmas up your ass
Ho Ho Fucking Ho

:0)

You didn't want a cutesy, blessed be the baby Jesus soppy post did you?

Chance is a fine thing

If midnight is the witching hour, then 1am is definitely the bitching hour. And boy, am I bitchy.

I've just crawled out of bed for the second time since midnight. I find it easier to roam around when my legs are on fire than to pretend I can lie in bed and roast quietly. But while I was lying (and roasting) I was thinking of how easy it is for medical specialists to make broad pronouncements that are completely erroneous, potentially damaging and at best incompetent.

I received in the mail a copy of the report sent to my doc from my neuro (The Brick) about my appointment last week. Boy, I'd love to know who was in the room when he formed that little number because it doesn't sound like it was me.

It's filled with nonsense that starts with him getting the start date of my nystagmus attack wrong - by 10 months (he thinks it was January despite me giving him a piece of paper, as well as telling him that the date was November 17th).

Follows on with stuff about my last optic neuritis attacks never being clearly well documented over recent years (because the GP rang him while I was in the office in some urgency and was fobbed off with it appears no notes being taken of the call and subsequent problems were light and didn't warrant a doc visit).

Proceeds to mention that I have no clearly documented relapses in my MS in 4 years (but Im not theoretically considered relapsing/remitting so that is hardly surprising).

Goes on to mention that there is no evidence of improvement after my 18 months of chemo (considering my care was all GP based and he hasn't seen me since he wrote the script under instruction from my "second opinion" neurologist in Auckland before leaving the country for a 12 month sabbatical on the other side of the planet, although my doc and his locums saw me plenty).

Continues on to say that while I prefer to use a crutch, my walking is adequate (based on my walking 20 feet down the hallway to sit in a chair to have my eyes tested and after only a short, crutch-assisted walk from the back door to outpatients, not a long trek from the other side of the hospital carpark in the heat as is usually the case)

and finishes up with a rundown of some of the drugs that my GP has trialled in an effort to relieve some of this misery and suggests a new drug, Clonazepam, might be appropriate to relieve the intense burning and jerking spasm at night (despite my not requiring any of them 4 years ago, yet according to him my MS is no worse than it was then).

It's hardly any wonder that no-one I have spoken to (there have been quite a few now) who was ever had the misfortune to need to consult with this "professional" can stand him.

He seems like a pissy little boy who still holds a grudge for being forced to send me to another neurologist against his will, one who not only gave me the (effective) treatment The Brick wouldn't, but made his thinly veiled displeasure with the situation known in a letter, a copy of which was sent to me.

And yet The Brick is supposedly held in high regard in his field.

Just occasionally, there are apparent compensations for living in Auckland (such a shame I can't afford to live there) - having ready access to a decent neurologist at Auckland Hospital is clearly one of them. I do not understand how a District Health Board the size of ours, covering an urban population of over 100,000 people and a large regional population cannot provide an alternative neurologist in an area with, apart from other neurological disorders, a significant number of MS patients and a relatively elderly population well representing, no doubt, a significant number of stroke patients.

I suppose the bright side is that at least Clonazepam isn't an anti-psychotic, although this man is almost enough to induce, at least temporary, psychosis

Clonazepam:
• Clonazepam is in a class of drugs called benzodiazepines. Clonazepam affects chemicals in your brain that may become unbalanced and cause seizures.
• Clonazepam is used to treat seizures.
• Clonazepam may also be used for purposes other than those listed in this medication guide.

Cautions:
• Use caution when driving, operating machinery, or performing other hazardous activities. Clonazepam will cause drowsiness and may cause dizziness. If you experience drowsiness or dizziness, avoid these activities.
• Use alcohol cautiously. Alcohol may increase drowsiness and dizziness while you are taking Clonazepam. Alcohol may also increase your risk of having a seizure.
• Avoid other sedatives, sleeping pills, and tranquilizers. They should not be used while you are taking Clonazepam unless your doctor approves.

Side effects:
· an allergic reaction (difficulty breathing; closing of your throat; swelling of your lips, face, or tongue; or hives);
· sores in your mouth or throat;
· yellowing of the skin or eyes;
· a rash;
· hallucinations or severe confusion; or
· changes in your vision. (haha hahahahaha)

Other drugs will affect Clonazepam:
· only half the bloody drugs I take for various symptomatic and pain relief.

That's one hell of a drug to recommend for someone who has had no deterioration in 4 years.

Screaming Google

Edvard Munch

Eavesdropping

Overheard coming from the lounge...

Adam: Do you have to sit there?"

Heather: "Why? I can sit where I like."

Adam: "Because I don't like you."

Me (cracking up): "Geez Ads, last week you said you loved her."

Adam: "Nah, I was joking."

---

Recent Google search keywords/phrases that hit on splodge:
"figging husband"
"bondage muzzles"
"figgy pudding etymology christmas"
"Square Peg DILDOS"
"Sunkist 3107"


There must be some kinky anal fruity pudding sex cumming this Christmas. Stay tuned, I'll let you know when it arrives.

Discovery

Ray Bradbury once described a rocket ship as "leaping into the sky".

That's exactly what Discovery did yesterday. It was the first night launch in 4 years.

What a sight!







Oh to ride the big bird... you can follow Discovery's trip and watch them land in 12 days here.

---

Happy birthday Tig! We love ya and we miss ya babe.

Pretty Vegas

Yesterday, Adam and I went down the line to Rotovegas, to a museum open day with live model steam. They have a wee station and a gorgeous lawn track there, with tunnel, bridge and an awesome setting.



And although steam is not unusual in Rotorua on any day of the week, the only steam lurking where we were came from the boilers of the locomotives on the track, the vintage stationary steam engines and the traction engines. The smell of coal smoke and hot boilers was much nicer than the Rotorua sulphur stink, too.


'Baby' Burrell Traction Engine and big brother 1892 McLaren Compound Steam Traction Engine

Within 5 minutes of getting to the station to see what locos were on display, Adam was asked by a track visitor if he wanted to drive his loco for him while he ate his lunch. Of course Adam said yes. I managed to drag him off it after nearly an hour.



Then we went off into town to find a model shop there that has an HO layout on show



Adam especially liked the locomotives on sale. Of course, the $230+ price tags weren't the reason why I said he couldn't have one. Ok, so I lie, that was the reason. But he still can't have one unless he buys it himself.

After doing little train stuff in town for a while, we went back to the Museum so that Ads could do a few more laps on the loco and have a crack at the woodturning that was on offer at one of the live displays and then we came home.

You can read about the Te Amorangi Museum here, and see the rest of the pics we took today on Adam's blog here.

What a ripper day out we had :-)

Electioneering

Talia is a New Zealand woman and is a finalist in the "Best of the Rest" Category of this year's Weblog Awards. You can visit her blog, "The Centre for Emotional Well-Being" here and should you choose to vote for it, you can do that here.

Good luck Talia!

---

A hit on my blog today came from a French IP doing a google search using the keywords "was anyone disappointed by ginger figging?".

See the results for yourself.

Bricks and mortar

The phone rang yesterday morning. It was the hospital.

"The Brick has a cancellation at 1pm, this is his last day until February. Would you like the appointment?

A neuro appointment in only a week.

L'enfer oui!

Off I toddled to outpatients and on arriving in the back carpark discovered a fencing contractor parallel parked straddling both disabled parks. No, I didn't tell him he was the aborted offspring of a Klingon Whore, but I did say, quite politely "excuse me, could you back that up and free up a carpark? You are blocking 2 disabled parks." "Er, yeah, OK" says he. And did so.

Aborted offspring of a Klingon Whore.

Anyway, off I went to see The Brick and he was in top form. "Your eyes are coming right" (I know); "you are managing your MS very well" (of course I am, I gave up living so as to prolong this indefinitely); "that burning can be rather severe, can't it" (*nod*); "Your GP can handle this from here" (he already was); "now look at my finger, now my thumb" (it would help if you knew which one YOU were holding up, too); "you won't need steroids this time" (see "Your eyes are coming right"). "You can walk heel-to-toe backwards better than you can forwards" (I do everything better backwards, mate); "The baclofen didn't cause nystagmus, this is MS" (I'd pretty much figured THAT out too) "you really are doing very well" (of course I am, that's why I had to take Baclofen, and have nystagmus, eh); "Will see you again as situation requires" (yeah, see ya next time buddy. And bring ya MRI machine, I wanna have my photo taken).

Today we began the process of moving a 20 foot tall blue cedar into a new place in the garden. It lives in a washing machine bowl. Tomorrow we might tow it out with the car. Unless it rains. Or we forget. It's only supposed to be moved years ago to be Christmas tree in the garden. It's not like Christmas is close, or anything.

We have a ton of outdoor ornaments for it.

Then again

Scratch that, I'd rather have this for Christmas



It's only 290K. It won't hurt much and I'll let you polish it if you're very careful :-)

---

The cats pyjamas

Not content with flesh and bleat, real live cats, I have an urge to own one of these, too



It's a Cat in a Bag.

At least it wouldn't get its stupid cat nose out of joint because we went away for ONE night (cos it doesn't have a nose) and it wouldn't demand its dinner at 3 in the morning when it decides to stop being nasally disjointed (cos it doesn't have a mouth).

But be warned, when er if you DO buy me one, don't give it to me until after christmas when Fatsy has gone home...



... she'll eat it.

I hope she doesn't try to eat Tommy; he'll probably rip her face off and slap her with the soggy bits. It won't be pretty.

Snap!

I love my digital camera. It's excellent for taking pics of interesting things on our travels


Cornish Pumphouse resited in Waihi


unusual natural displays


Sky overhead (well, where else would it be?)


and incredibly rare and unbelievable sights like the kids playing monopoly together and not fighting



Wonders never cease...

Small changes

The Reserve Bank made a teensy tiny cock-up when they introduced the new coinage and threw out the nice, heavy, easily found old coins - they forgot to make sure they ordered enough 20c coins.

I think they should immediately revoke all local councils rights to charge for parking and remove the need to chuck money into the meters and thereby reduce the demand for parking meter-sized money. That will free up demand on the nasty new 10 cent, the new 50 cent, one and two dollar coins and save face for the Reserve Bank.

Doing thus might also mean more people parking and walking around in the cities, and the latest new gadget to stop pedestrians who aren't very bright being run down by cars will get greater exposure. It's a countdown timer to tell people how many seconds before the cars start driving all over their arse.

And it doubles as a counting game for children. Isn't that neat? Maybe on April Fools Day they could set it to display random numbers. That would be fun!! :0)



I'm sure blind people will really like the look of it and so will the boyracers who will now have a starting gun when dragging up Queen Street.

Fairy lights

Adam told me today that he has a loose tooth. I asked him if he was expecting the Tooth Fairy to come and he said no because he is too old to get money from the Tooth Fairy. No shit.

Tonight I found this lamp on a web site.



He isn't getting the lamp, either - he has enough big teeth, he doesn't need any more.

In other news, today was a red letter day around here. The old Ford van finally departed the back yard on her final journey, loaded to the gunnels with scrap metal and old computer cases, with the front wheels so badly seized that the winch was pulling the truck backwards until the ramps finally dug into the ground behind the wheels and it started to slide up them. Now the van has gone, I can finally get at my waterlily trough. AND the damned Privet that I seem to have suddenly acquired an allergy to. Getting the old boy to purge junk is worse than pulling teeth; he happily had all his removed 40 years ago to save the cost of regular dentristy appointments.



This means the Lotus will finally get a permanent home after being thrown over the bank by the thieving black bastards that stole the copper from out the front earlier this year, and with any luck the waterlily tubers might still be hibernating in the bottom of the trough. All I gotta do is find them... it's pretty manky in there.

One red van down, one white Honda Accord and one Bronze Honda Legend to go. And 40 years of accumulated engineering crap. Will any of us live long enough to be rid of it all?

Virgin on the ridiculious

The latest God Botherer movie has been panned by the critics; The Nativity Story isn't doing very well. Groucho Reviews says "The film has all the substance, visual appeal, and excitement of a Hallmark card."

Does that mean it's flashy, soppy and really badly overpriced? All that biblical begatting should have made it a big hit, especially as Keisha Castle Hughes has injected authenticity into this epic by becoming an unwed teenage mother, the father of these products of conception being a carpenter. Catching a bellyful at only 16 is such a sterling role model for our children.

Isn't that taking method acting a little too far? She should have stopped at 'feeling the love'.

So long & thanks for all the fish

Douglas Adams wrote that the Answer to The Ultimate Question Of Life, the Universe and Everything was 42. He knew his numbers and stuff, did Douglas.

For the past year, I have indeed been that very answer in that for 12 months I have been 42 but today Time demanded I give up this important role and move on to being 43. I don't like 43 because it's an odd number and I'm an even number kind of gal, but now I have a whole year to get used to it before I can be even once again.

In commemoration of the anniversary of my deliverance at the local maternity annexe we sat down tonight to watch Deliverance on the TV. But not for long. What started out great with a gorgeous hunk of Burt Reynolds 30 odd years ago and some good ol' down home banjo picking didn't take long to mature into backwoods sodomy and some retributive killing involving mountain men who like mountin' men. Yuk. We turned it off before it got any worse.

I feel rather odd; I must be losing my touch (as well as my stomach).

On my desktop

What's on yours?