Flatties

Hi everyone

Sorry it's been such a long time since I've blogged! November has been such a busy month. Some of the things keeping me busy...
- gigs at the Brixton Academy - JET and Wolfmother
- Birthday celebrations (for Alice), farewell parties (for Brad and JP - my flatties) and arrival greetings (for Melissa)
- Pampering and new hair, courtesy of the Marriot Hotel and Kim
- Shopping at Portobello Road markets, Notting Hill (I'm such a name dropper!)
- Tate Museum art gallery
- Drinking at my favourite drinking holes in Camden, Angel and Borough

Speaking of flatties, as Robert mentioned in his latest blog (which has no photos from the family day!!) I have created a new word. Flatties are the people with whom I share a council flat in Bermondsey. At the moment they are...

- Nicole
- Katy (English girl from Blackpool, north of Liverpool, who speaks funny, likes boy bands and gets drunk after 1 glass of wine - we love her!!)
- Amanda and Darren - Aussie and Kiwi couple who've just moved in (replacing Brad). He works in a bar, talks really slowly and is constantly watching the Ashes - I hate cricket!! And she is an umemployed make-up artist who eats more than anyone I've ever known. They are both really cool and good fun.
- Leonardo - gay, Brazilian journalist here studying English. Such a lovely guy, calls us darling and blows us kisses whenever he sees us. Desperately missing his boyfriend from home and is on the seek for some loving in London!
- JP is leaving today to be replaced with a brailian girl. We'll see what she's like tonight.
- Maria Pia - another brazilian girl, never home but when she is so is her tiny, computer game playing boyfriend. Kind of annoying.

We have a ball with our flatties, even when they are at fault, and to top things off our landlord, Rafael (I know it sounds like teenage mutant ninja turtles with leonardo and rafael!!), is hopeless and unresponsible but friendly most of the time. In the six months we've been living there, our plumbing has needed fixing a million times! Never quite manages to get fixed completely though!

An important thing to note about flatties is that they are constatnly changing. Nicole and I worked out the other day that we've lived with 10 people in our flat in just six months. Brad (funny Aussie guy who looks like Mr bean), Hana (goth, Englsih lesbian), Eduardo (spainish, gay, 19-year-old fashionista) and Marco (the hot Belgium workaholic) have all lived there too. We miss the old faltties sometimes too.

And while I'm reminising, I figured out that I've now been living in London for longer than I lived at Dulwich Hill! Scary thought, isn't it?

Lots of love xxx Kel

Something old and something new

Well obviously, Kell, it’s much too soon to expect to see any photos posted from Luke and Jamie’s recent family day. Getting the film developed takes time you know, that’s if the rolls finished I mean, don’t want to waste film do ya. Not to mention the difficulty of having the snaps digitalized to fit them into the computer thingie, most of us would need some hi-tek assistance with that. For the time being you’ll just have to soothe your home sickness with with daily doses of those picks of the Gabba on TV that I’m sure you, as a fellow habituate of public houses, have been recently subjected too. As I write Peterson and Colingwood are driving, sweeping, hooking and generally slogging Warney to every boundary in a cause seemingly as hopeless as Galipoli that has at last woken the barmey army god bless them. Whoops there goes Colingwood for ninety six and here comes Flintoff who we love to hate.
Wednesdays heat and humidity moved in and took up residency in my poorly ventilated corner of Bunnings so that by Saturday I was recognizing breaths I had exhaled on Thursday. That sort of defined a week the theme song for which I chose as ‘I Don’t Feel Like Dancin” by the Scissor Sisters, not even had I been allowed to change into my dancing shoes. The girl buying aluminum tube to make fire twirling sticks was the only memorable light spot, did she have some moves. I think I rate baton twirling next to my favorite, Phisy (physical culture I think, Alice can explain) as my second favorite erotic female display.
I don’t get so much time to read the papers or watch the TV news these days though I was fortunate enough to catch Johnnie George and their mates in drag sometime this week. Those Chinese outfits don’t suit our Johhnie, though maybe his was a little too tight under the arms – he probably shouldn’t have worn it over his Wallaby’s tacky -
I just cant wait to see them all next year in their Steve Irwin Kakis, I recon Janet should lash out and include slouch hats, mmm that would show our Johnnie in a better light.
Actually I do have an item for the Bunnings paranoia file. They have a PA system playing elevator music most of which I fortunately, do not like, thus not running the risk of associating favorite tracks with work. Savagely cutting across the music come announcements from team – genuine human pleas for help in various causes such as “Team member from shelf hardware please take a call 610” and pre recorded random announcements such as “Security check to gate three” much too promptly answered by “Security acknowledged” to be believed by even the dumbest crook. In addition to this so called security device on some days they have live, so called store detectives usually disguised as bag ladies and junkie punks who’s role becomes obvious to we - team members - as we ask “can I be of assistance?” for the twenty fourth time or less in some cases.
Most of these so called undercover security staff just see out their shifts as we do but on Thursday we had a couple of bag ladies who must have watched too many episodes of the Keystone cops. It would not have surprised me if they had suddenly started moving at forty eight frames per second. My friend John visited that night, and after having recently received payment for a job that I had organized for him half a year ago, handed me an envelope. As I opened it and proceeded to count his much too generous wad of fifties I felt eyes boring into my back. You guessed it, the Keystone Cops. What they made of this I may yet find out.
Just now reading Kelly’s latest email where I think she has invented a wonderful new word. The word is "faltties" and all that is needs is a meaning. It’s not in any dictionary that I can find and a fuzzy search of Macquarie turns up "flatties" which it correctly describes as “plural noun colloquial a pair of flat heeled shoes.” In kell’s context it appears to be describing her flat mates not what some of them may be wearing, and certainly not in the weather conditions she describes. It seems therefore that she has deliberately created this new word which I find most appealing in its context as a collective noun for flat mates that tantalizingly hints at other words such as fault as in “who took my yoghurt” or “who left the iron on” and ties as in “the ties that bind”
How’s this sound then: FALTTIES collective noun for those with whom we share accommodation and forgive transgressions for the sake of camaraderie. Wadd’ya think Kell It’s your word.
Love to you all and keep those cards and letters coming
Robert

The Bunnings Mascot Translator Service

I know I don't blog often, but I felt I should blog this given the large amount of the O'keefe family blog that is donated to Bunnings Mascot. Today, I had my very own Bunnings Mascot experience...

Acutally, my experience started about four-six weeks ago when one of my drivers suggested that we needed a shed to store the extra bus seats in at the garage so he didn't have to come up to the office all the time, and I didn't have to come into work early to let him in.* So, after taking some measurements with my driver, working out the size, how much the organisation could afford and viewing the Bunnings catelogy online, I wandered down to the local Bunnings, at Mascot, to order said shed.

(*note in the story. I work in community transport, for all you who didn't already know, and we have a wheelchair accessible bus. This means that three seats at the back of the bus come out so a wheelchair can fit in. Being the inner city, our garage where this bus lives is about a five minute drive from our office, and we have no lockable storage space down there. So when the seats come out, someone has to let the driver into the office to drop them off at about 8am in the morning before the day starts.)

So needless to say, busty girl at Bunnings looking at sheds went down a treat. When I finally found someone who actually worked in the shed section, the real fun started...

Cat: "Are you Chris, the guy responsible for ourdoor fixtures?"
Chris, the shed guy: "Yeah?"
Cat: "Those guys smoking inside by the outdoor plant section said you look after sheds"
Chris, the shed guy: "So?"
Cat: "Well, I need to buy a shed."
Chris, the shed guy: "Buying a shed's not easy. You need to do more than just pick a colour."
Cat: "Yeah, well..."
Chris, the shed guy: "Yeah, you got to measure your space, what you want to put in it, where it's going to sit, what weather conditions it will have to withstand. You know, maybe you should bring your boyfriend down, and then well talk."
Cat: "Yeah - well, I don't have a boyfriend so you'll have to deal with me. I want a Tidymate 52, 1059x679 for my 2000x900 space which is $349 delivered and I don't care what colour but I believe zinc's the cheapest so that will do."
Chris, the shed guy (looking a little scared): "Ok - I'll take you over to orders"

So yeah - Bunnings Mascot not in my good books from the start. But I filled out the paper work, making it really clear this was a business so delivery was only able to be done in business hours, I explained that the office and the garage (where delivery would take place) WERE NOT THE SAME PLACE, left my phone number and paid. Today, I got the phone call to say the shed had arrrived.

Cat: Community Transport, Catherine speaking.
Asian Female: Hello?
Cat: Hello, Catherine speaking.
Asian Female: Hello?
Cat: Yes?
Asian Female: I wish to speak.
Cat: Who is this?
Asian Female: I Bunnings. You shed.

Cat takes a moment to pause on this sentance. Then realises this is the call to say the shed has arrived and to arrange delivery. Eventually, after confirming the address... (Cnr Dowling St and Cowper Wharf Rd. Woolloomooloo. W-O-O-L-L-O-O-M-O-O-L-O-O. No, not Wollongong, Woolloomooloo. City - Sydney, yes, city, yes Woolloomooloo. Near water. No, no number, it's the car park. Yes, car park C-A-R-P-A-R-K... yes, where car stays. The entrance is opposite the Shell Service station. No, no bell. Call on approach. Telephone when coming. Yes, telephone. We talk. We talk when shed comes. No - no mobile. Only land line. Land line. Phone with cord, no mobile. F%^K, where's the phone number of the Eastern Sydney Multicultural Translator Service!)...

I established the shed was to be released to transport this afternoon, and would arrive soon. 6pm tomorrow in fact. (No - business hours only. No - we business. Yes, you business, we business too. No deliver 5pm. No, no deliver 7am. Between 9am and 4.30pm. Yes, we do business time. Business time only. Driver ring. Ok. Bye....)

I have no idea when the shed is actually arriving. But I'll be sure to keep you all informed.

I hate Bunnings Mascot.

Cat xoxox

A Blast From the Bunnings Bugle

I know what your all thinking. Where’s the Bunnings report? Who cares about his hangover, bugger his paranoia about the thought police. Whats the blow on the Bunnings Bugle. We want our report. Well, you know, one of Hugh’s friends found the O’Keefe blog by Googling Tommy Murphy. Imagine what might happen when some bored board member at Westfarmers Googles Bunnings, my name will be mud and who cares? Well I do! Sounds good really, Robert Mud, Mmmm. So here’s the much anticipated report and hang the consequences.
This Saturday was somewhat disappointing, not enough toddlers and babies I think but the pregnant mums and gays were well represented. Those mums, there amassing, they really do defy gravity. I like the way my job gives me the opportunity to talk to them but don’t worry I don’t ask for a touch, I don’t even want to really, it’s enough for me to just bear witness. The new character I’ve noticed is the Merchant Banker, let’s call him Clive, who wants to fit his own gate. He complains that all our gates are fifty millimeters wider than his opening. I have difficulty understanding that whilst he is quite confident of his ability to hang and catch the gate he seems so challenged by the concept of cutting twenty five millimeters off each side to make it fit. As we warm to one another he tells me of the space up the side of the house where there are lots of “um thingies” that he would like to protect his little treasure from and he wonders how he could fit one of those expanding barricades he saw out back. After some confusion I conclude that an expanding barricade is lattice and suggest that he put a post at each side of this, passage to peril, and nail the so called expanding barricade to it. This he finds quite beyond comprehension and his blank gaze as I attempt to explain inspires me to reflect thus.
In another time, not so long ago, this guy was the new middle class, or upper middle class really, he’s probably pulling ninety grand at twenty seven. In that other time there’s no way he could have even contemplated fitting his own gate, his class prevented this, priding itself in having no knowledge of such mundane endeavors, indeed there was another servant class between him and the trade that effected these things so that he did not even have to think that he needed it, it just was, and his treasure was safe.
I suggest that it’s a credit to our democratic traditions that Clive sees it as a lifestyle decision that he fits his own gate, he feels he’s identifying or rubbing shoulders with his clients or constituents or what ever. He’s chuffed at his next BBQ to be able to show Nigel his handiwork and pass on his expertise. Bunnings is also chuffed as whilst having been able to sell its shoddy wares to Clive and probably Nigel as well, they have not disturbed the trade of Bob the builder who Clive’s wife eventually employs, when Clive’s interstate, to fix the bloody mess, hopefully before the little treasure meets her / his demise amongst the “um thingies”. A win / win / win situation you could say.
Clive of course drives a BMW convertible similar to the one I saw laden with the three eight by two foot* lengths of white melamine (*more on this expression later) expertly secured with octopus straps one from the number plate to the arial and the other from door catch to quarterpain the eloquence of which only inflames me with jealousy. Who cares if a sudden braking maneuver sends all through the windscreen, it’s insured and anyway I only use the old bus to go to Bunnings on the weekend.
*I’m somewhat perplexed to use these antiquated, (or so I had thought) terms of measurement although “two point four meters” just dosen’t seem to convey in my mind’s artist’s mind the eloquent of “eight feet”. Nonetheless I still struggle with the need to use this antiquated and ridiculous system of measurement and shall seek here to justify this need. If said timbers had been two meters as apposed to six feet seven and a quarter inches I should surely have preferred the simple artistry of the two meters version but alas coming from a lazy land that converted from imperial to metric without making the effort to change it’s manufacturing practices we wound up with standard timber lengths such as one point two meters / four feet, one point five meters / five feet (probably the most eloquent conversion though not a very common measurement as it doesn’t apply to the dozen rule, another aspect of the imperial system), one point eight meters / six feet (very popular as a manly size) two point one meters / seven feet (not well respected generally though very common as a door way height), etc.
It’s Gabby and Adrian that I have in mind now as I plod further into this murky swamp of conversions, you who were schooled in the mathematical purity of the metric system will one day come to Bunnings for some six millimeter bolts or nuts only to be disappointed - as I know you have been before - when you discover the very limited range of Bunnings metric, as apposed to its massive range of imperial stock, and begin to contemplate whether it is better to adapt to thirteen sixty fourths or seven thirty seconds, the two imperial sides of six millimeters. Whilst contemplating this never loose sight of the fact that within the imperial range of thread sizes there are at least two and a half thread standards, see SAE, UNF, etc. “Why is it so?” I hear Gabb cry or is that Adrian? Well the answer is this. There is this behemoth called the USA the citizens of which, having been deprived of an education by their rulers - many still think of the world as a flat in the shape of Jimmy Baker - are not capable of understanding the intricacies of feet and inches let alone a conversion to another system let alone a system popularized by a wog named Napoleon. So fuck them I hear you say though I don’t like to hear that kind of language from you Gabb, and don’t try to blame Adrian, but I agree, fuck them, trouble is like most behemoths there bigger than us and despite their stupidity they rule this thing called the global market and they have this factory called China where everything in the world is made to their IMPERIAL specifications and that’s hard to fuck. The irony of this is that we don’t need to fuck them as they are doing an excellent job of this all by themselves. In the mean time they and their like minded global partners (here I wont name names) have to hire clever dicks like me (a clever Robert) to do their conversions. Viva La Stupido!
Just in case you’d thought the events of the last two weeks had taught me something let me here bring you up to date. On last Tuesday, completely unoverhung and taking care of business, I had a medical appointment at RPAH, 4.45 PM to take up a bit of the slack I’ve been giving the rest of you fellow Medicare levy contributors all these years. I decided to take the bike rather than any other form of transport as I figured it would be easier to park. With plenty of time to spare and Jonestown in hand I stopped in Newtown Park on this sunny afternoon to absorb some more of my prescribed vitamin D. Arriving at the bike rack opposite the hospital only to realize I had not brought the important bike chain. No worries, whizzed home, got the chain and back still in time for appointment. Heading home at about 5.45, still peak hour, decided to take back streets through Newtown. Riding down a two way, no longer than one of Bunnings isles and two car width with one car parked all the way a car turned in ahead and came towards me. Had I been another car the driver would have awaited my passing before turning in but what of course she saw was only a pedestrian attached to a bike that didn’t need much room at all don’t you think. Thus forced into the curb I made the bitter mistake of continuing to pedal and my pedal hit the curb and my steed once more bucked me. Coming down on the same left arm, no gravel rash this time, the only apparent damage to the back of the palm where my watch band bedded in. Later though I had very sore shoulders the left one noticeably swollen, though the ball of my thumb which had still been painful from the previous fall was remarkably repaired. Perhaps this is evidence of the theory that hitting yourself with a hammer say on the head can relieve the pain of the tooth ache whatever. I’m thinking of trading the bike in on a BMX then I won’t have so far to fall, whadd’ya think
Lots of love fellow bloggers,
Robert

For Robert

Ok Hello everyone,
so I promised Robert that I would post a blog even if I didn't have anything to say. However I actually do have something to say and it is regarding your favourite place Robert - Bunnings.
So Adrian and I went to Bunnings warehouse on Sunday to purchase some shelves for his mum. We found exactly what we wanted. Then I remembered that we needed a staple gun. We walked down the aisles and found the one we wanted, it even had 'staple guns' written on the side, so you would assume there would be staple guns in this aisle wouldn't you?
We proceeded down the aisle only to find that there were no staple guns in sight, there wasn't even a empty space where they should be.
Very disappointing!
Love Gabby xox

#7 dosen't feel like heaven

Ooooh! You’r supposed to get over a hangover in about twelve hours or less. Twenty four hours is way over limit so why do I still feel seedy some forty hours later? This is what I think. Normally after my four by ten hour shifts I’m in melt down and need the first of my three days off, Sunday usually, to just chill and nap after which I have two live days. This week, on the chill day, Saturday this time, I rose early to travel by public transport three times, the second of which was the arduous grind from Central to Palm Beach which made the delightful ferry crossing to Ettalong, - during which I was subjected to the largest dose of vitamin D. I’ve received in the last ten years, seem even more spectacular. Next to dash via the Bottolo to Luke and Jamie’s where I proceeded with the company to eat, drink and generally carouse in that most wholesome of Australian ways to who knows when – well I don’t though I’m sure there are many who could inform me, especially the designated drivers. Now you’ll note that I have yet to mention any pastime that sounds remotely like nap in this day’s – my traditional meltdown day – proceedings. This would have seemed the appropriate time to partake in this relaxation but it was not to be. To the betrothed couple and I it was perfectly obvious that the correct way to proceed was to go to the supermarket and there purchase the ingredients of a slap up meal thus maintaining our level of sobriety, however still daylight, it was obviously too soon to eat especially after having grazed all afternoon at L&J’s so the pub next to the supermarket seemed the obvious venue to waste some time. Back at Jack’s place with a bottle of something to go with dinner our host proceeded to whip up what I’m sure was a delicious fare if only I could remember eating it or at the very least what it was. Alice passed out sometime after dinner and, like the gentlemen we are not wanting to disturb her with our cigars and men’s talk we decided to take a bracing constitutional around the waterfront. As we would obviously have become thirsty on such a trek we took the remains of the bottle of bubbles and a bottle of whisky that Jack had presented me with at some stage that night to thank me for what I somehow don’t recall. Probably some sort of secret men’s business. I woke at Bunnings and could not find the light, I must have regained some subconscious recognition as I didn’t pee on the floor and I somehow found water I could not find any bedcovering though but I was smart enough to take the pillow case off and sleep under it.
Now this was a far cry from my usual chill day and by my estimation could be regarded as being almost as taxing as two more ten hour shifts and regardless of what anyone else thinks this is going to be my rationalization and I’m certain that to-morrow I’ll be better, in fact just re reading it I feel better already, lets go for a beer?
Needless to say having pressed the delete button on my brain a number of times during the afternoon and evening I don’t have many clear memories of the highlights of L&J’s first family day other than that it was extremely well attended the result I suspect of it’s being presented for the first time by the next generation, along with the competing attraction of an opportunity to bear witness to the newly betrothed, and indeed, for many the opportunity to meet Jack for the first time. I’m thinking of Kelly now and I hope Kel there are others out there prepared to enlighten you as to the many and various subtleties of the relationships that would have transpired – in simpler terms the goss. For my part Kel I can remember only that Olly and L&J’s dog got on shamelessly, your mum and dad have not gone feral as you might suppose, and that I met Jamie’s dad - whom I had no doubt met at the wedding but had forgotten as I was then similarly inebriated. Many photos were taken which I would hope both you and I will eventually, in this digital slow zone, see.
It’s now Tuesday and I’m pleased to report a full recovery. Have to publish now as I have a busy day of catch up before work to-morrow. Love to all
Robert

At last - tales of Merrie England

Well, I got the film developed, but it didn't help much - most of the shots are on a digital camera I borrowed and I'm still fiddling with that one. So here goes from memory...

I really would have liked more time in the UK, as all the catching up with friends left no time for theatre and such like. Not that I could really afford it - even the cheapest same-day tickets are 25 pounds - that's $63!

But the friend catching up was fun. You already know about lunch with Kelly and my surprise bumping into an old Grammar boy. But besides seeing again the ever-obliging Clare and Colin and their wonderful family I also had lunch with Brett Brown. Brett is one of our Shakespeare Globe boys (he was in the group that performed on the Globe stage in 2001). He is one of only two Australians to be accepted into RADA (Royal Academy of Dramatic Art)in the last 15 years! A condition of entry is that you can't take part-time work, so Brett had to raise $160,000 dollars and before he had left Australia he already had $120,000. So he's a cluey boy. When he turns up on the big screen, remember you read it here first!

Then I went down to Devon. My friends Doug and Marcia have retired to a tiny village called Manaton, right on Dartmoor and not far from places with crazy names like Bovey Tracey and Newton Abbott. It's all narrow lanes banked by hedgerows which make for scary driving, esp at night in the rain (which it does a lot of).

I went there with three Oz friends, Billy and Erin and Annette, and a wonderful couple from Miami, called Michelle and Peter. They are real charmers. Michelle is a real pussy cat blonde (a bit Mary Tyler Moore) who tells the filthiest jokes you've ever heard, looking like butter wouldn't melt, etc.

Doug and Marcia were determined to treat us regally. On the first night they took us (a party of 12) to Combe House Castle in Devon, and Elizabethan 5,000 acre farm (arabian horses and pheasant), where we sat down to a private dinner in what used to be the Georgian kitchen. I had had to borrow a jacket and tie, as I was not expecting such style in the provinces - more fool me! I reckon the night would have cost around $10,000!

Next day we went to Taunton, a market town (bought some presents, a new wallet and clean undies)and we had lunch at Brown's hotel - the best Ceasar salad I've ever eaten. Day three we drove to Dartmouth, once home of the Royal Navy, a beautiful harbour town full of bustle and life. Suddenly we bumped into David Thurston, the official Bela Vista photographer, who lives there, so it is a small world. Lunch in the New Angel on the waterfront was superb - my Dover cod plus wine set me back $100, but it was a real treat.

The final night was dinner at the neighbours, Edwyna and David, because THEY HAVE THE PIANO! Yes, I got to sing for my supper. Doug had put me into a nearby b&b as the house was in overflow. My hosts were charming, but no smoking, no drinking, no dancing, no partying Calvinists. Next morning at breakfast I replied to the wife's enquiry that we'd had a wonderful night singing round the piano. "Yes," she said,
"we heard you!" When I relayed this story to Doug, he thought for a moment and said "Shit! Thursday - Prayer Meeting night!"

Back first class on the train - gins and tonics at 11.00 am. It is a beautiful journey and less than 3 hours from London. As Kelly is learning, nothing is too far away.

Blog time is running out here at the Kings Cross library, so better publish.

Hugh

She Can Be Taught!

Well, well, well... I have been well and truely taught that I have to keep checking the blog! (Or was that the case when you all RSVPed to Mum's and was calling you all the day before).

Alice and Jack - CONGRATULATIONS! I'm so glad someone else will be joining be in O'Keefe-by-nature-not-by-name land. I can't wait to see you both on the weekend!!! I think it's perfectly legit to be engaged but not have a party for five months - Ijust don't do something werid like have a formal wedding with a "no-shoes" theme as I am going to in a fortnight's time.

Anyway, I guess I'll see you all on the weekend. Looking forward to seeing Jamie and Luke's place as well.

Hugs,
Cat

P.S. I'm trying to talk mum into making lemon delicious... xoxo

Guy Fawkes Night in Bermondsey

Hi everyone

To celebrate Luke's birthday (happy 24th BTW!) this weekend was Guy Fawkes cracker night - the occassion where any British idiot can get his hands on some colourful explosives!

Thankfully, there's plenty of British idiots in our council flat in Bermondsey so we were treated to a fireworks display on our front lawn on both Saturday and Sunday nights!

Our neighbours literally stuck fire crackers in the ground outside our block and lit them up! One moron comlete with a lit cigarette in mouth! Bang! They were so loud and our lawn was smoking! It was really a bit scary! All weekend you could hear pops and bangs all over London! I'm not sure if you can tell from this photo, but the brick wall is our flat - that's how close they were! Made me homesick for the shire when you could hear the bangs at Holsworthy!

But Bermondsey's not all bad. In fact, our little flat, No. 19 is a lovely place! On Saturday night we hit the town with our flatmates, Brad (Aussie) and Katy (Pom). We had a great night out, drinking and dancing before heading home togather and enjoying a late night snack!

We're really lucky with our flatmates, as they are all so lovely and we all get along really well. Sad news this week though is that Brad's moving out (to a bigger and better place) so we'll soon have another flattie to take his place. Sometimes our place is a bit like a bus stop, always a new face! But living with six other people is always entertaining! Plus we've made some really great friends.

Anyway, hope you like the photos and glad to see everyon blogging! Keep it up. hint, hint, I'd really like some photos from this weekend's family day at luke and jamie's!

Love Kel

Cograts and more 2

Well, I'll try again. I'm so scared of blogging (a) because I can't compete with the family philosopher and (b) the machine keeps publishing stuff before I've even started. However...

First, big congrats to Alice and Jack - I think that's great! Mind you as a flower child of the sixties, I did think that MARRIAGE (there, Robert, I said it) went out the window long ago. But the nicest people keep doing it, so it must have something going for it. Also, in this case, I spoke to Jack's old English teacher (Ms Owen, Jack) and she thinks he's a bit of OK.

Next, big happy birthdays to anyone I've overlooked in the last twelve months. (That should cover it.) Maybe I should add in the next twelve, just in case.

Am still meaning to bore you all with London and Dartmoor, but can't do so until the film is developed and I see where I have been. However I'll finish the roll this week (Melbourne Cup at the Bellvue Hotel in Paddo should provide a plethora of big hats and fascinators tomorrow) and bring the piccies on Sat (not Sun, as I had in my diary until corrected by the aforementioned philosopher).

Spent five days last week at Jan's farm near Maitland - still very dry and dusty, but it was good to get out of town and do nothing - although I did take my homework with me. The nice thing with this uni marking is that I can do it wherever (but not whenever, as there is a deadline). Went to Rosehill races on Saturday - never been there before, it's as good as if not better than Royal Randwick, but I'm not fussed as I never was a horses man - even though I could ride Rex on the farm without saddle or bridle. But that's different and was a long time ago. The past is a different country (who said that? - no prizes, no texting).

Tommy Murphy's new play is previewing to packed houses. It's called Holding the Man. It's adapted from a memoir by Tim Connigrave. When Tim was a good Catholic Melbourne schoolboy (under the Jesuits, half his luck!) he fell in love with the Aussie Rules captain and, surprise, the love was reciprocated. They lived together - a sometimes stormy relationship - for the next fifteen years until John (the footy player) died of Aids in the 80s. Tim wrote their story and died in the early nineties. I have been editing Tommy's drafts and wiping away the tears each time I finished - it is beautifully written. And to my complete surprise and pride, Tommy has dedicated the published work to me.
If you hang around long enough, the rewards come along. I'll be seeing it later in the month.

Well now, let's see if I can publish this bugger...

Hugh

Blog#6 Pick up sticks

So you all see it’s true, not just me bullshitting they're engaged, parties planned, everything. I’m taking it well aren’t I? Of course no ones said the M word yet and I’m not sure I can either, or that I want to hear it. Engaged that’s not so scary, but M., mmm scary. Bet you all thought nothing would scare me Eh!? I didn’t either. Maybe that’s why some people live so long, they just keep finding something to frighten them, and they like it. Wadd’ya think? Kids like scary movies, a rush of adrenalin says you’re alive Woo!
Before I stray inevitably into the Bunnings Report - none of that groaning children or there’ll be extra homework for everyone – let’s have a report on what we saw in the papers this week. My eye was caught by the photo in the “Terror” of Sharpe, Neville and Walsh, re-enacting the old P&O joke from OZ Magazine oh so long ago. What wonderful memories, but doesn’t Rupert own this paper? Of course I get it, subversive grows into establishment, it’s just like walking through Woolies listening to ‘Sally Can’t Dance’ by Lou Reed, god bless the subversives who live to see it. I ripped the page out to show Alice even though I knew she’d just say “yes dad, ok dad” and when I took it out of my pocket I saw the article about Phil Koperberg the new Labor candidate for the Blue Mountains at the top of the page. I knew that that ever increasing mass of bling on his chest was leading somewhere. They’ll be looking for a new fire chief. I could do that. Then I noticed at the bottom of the page an article about that lovely Crocodile fellow Irwin, recently departed but still fondly remembered by the children of South Park. Can’t wait for the Simpsons episode. Ahh Fame! there’s fifteen minutes worth lurking out there for all of us according to the god of pop. Is it better to get it done with a-la Sharpe Neville Walsh and live with the consequences (or) pin it on day by day year by year Koperberg style or go out in a blaze that might have consequences beyond the grave, the Irwin way Waddya think? SMS on0432936536 and just press 1. for S.N.W., 2. for Kop’e and 3. for The Croc hunter. Spelling and neatness will be taken into consideration.
For those of you who know nothing of Sharpe, Neville, Walsh , Google “OZ Mag.” and if you can find “The Gas Lash” I was there. Those who don’t know Koperberg are probably dead. Those who don’t know Irwin are certainly of a yet undiscovered Papuan tribe and are likely to be cannibals as indeed I suspect was Irwin but don’t quote me.
Now for what you’ve all been waiting, Ta! Ta! “The Bunnings Report” (I swear I’ll soon start putting the apostrophe in, even if Bunnings don’t, just to keep Word happy, all that red wriggly line, Bahh!) The weather was cooler in the latter stages of this week which helped my feet to feel not so heavy during the latter stages of shifts. Meghan is still my favorite but her voracious appetite for gossip is quite exhausting and probably beyond me ultimately. I showed Mahesh and Chris my Senior’s card this week so there acting more deferential, especially Mahesh who has a Imperial reverence for history. Week days are spent mostly stocking shelves but Saturday is a special treat with plenty of customers of all colors and creeds from all walks of life. Builders and would bee’s are pacing the car park at ten to eight and need no help as they rush to the isles they know at eight. That’s not to say there not vocal when we’re out of that or they want to know “why don’t we have it in metric” My retort about the muscle bound giant who rules the world and who’s minions are too dumb and isolated to understand a world standard (“ why not our standard?”) usually goes over their heads, no one cares or listens at that time of day and by ten past eight there gone leaving us in a void till about nine when the first families arrive. Bless you lord for creating families, there such fun. I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many extremely pregnant women, theres something about pregnancy and home renovations and it doesn’t end with birth either. Clever Bunnings have shopping trolleys with baby cradles attached, they know. Mums and dads split up and via the magic of the mobile communicate their discoveries. Toddlers career around or ride in trolleys. Little boys with their daddies watch attentively anxious to learn about this mans world, ready to try anything they can get their hands on. Little girls more interested in the producer than the product are easily engaged for hide and seek or any other eyeballing game. The laid back Aussie has nothing to prove so thank god for our more recent stylish arrivals forgeing their way. The South East Asians are good. They always cooperate and present as a group complementing each other with their Ali-G or like styles. I saw a group of Japanese, father with teens, the boy in high back sneakers with out laces so that he stepped out of them with each step. Girl in lolly mixture carrying a yellow semi collapsed collapsible floral brolly which she twirled as brolly twirlers do. Not full blown like her peers in the homeland but certainly aware and doing her best in this cultural desert. A black girl with braids, Waist length jacket and soft loose moss green trousers the right leg of which she had gathered with yellow fluorescent tape ,presumably to keep it out of her bicycle chain looked like she’d stepped straight from the pages of French Vogue. Then at about two in the afternoon the Aristotles arrive. Five foot four with carefully brushed silver leonine curls, olive skin, tight for their age, expensive silky polo shirts without any buttons done up, gold chains, hairy chests and reeking of Arrack and Poschuto. What they’re there for I’ve yet to asses, perhaps it’s a beat though I’ve not yet noticed the Cleopatras or Angelos. They certainly don’t seem that interested in the hardware.
The big seller this week has been smoke alarms and I’ll leave to you law abiding citizens to guess why. The number of calls I’ve taken this week from Matraville mums or Lewisham landlords who want a concise report on what we have and what it costs and why so much and will it take thallidiom battries and can it be hard wired and how many do I need and where should I put them (no I didn’t tell anyone that) but I did get around to telling a few that if they had left it till now it was obvious that their motive for having them was one of legal compliance only, and that therefore all they should really be interested in was price and ease of installation, and that I understood that and I was unwilling to take on the burden of their guilt in that that was all that they cared about. Was I too harsh? I don’t think so. I also read in the paper this week that there were no inspectors. I could do that. Imagine the potential for graft. One of the reasons for variations in price was obviously length of warranty. What a laugh. If your house burns down, and you are all killed, and the alarm doesn’t work just being it back and we will replace it. A sort of loose - loose situation as I see it, am I being too cynical?
Before I sign off I’ll let you in on my most recent learning experience. Got home last night about seven armed with Thai fried rice and two long necks of Resh’s Pilstener which along with the one in the fridge would get me through the night and Sunday as well. All went to plan till about eight when I discovered Australia and England slugging it out in the league, how good was this. Well before half time I began to feel snackish and went for the White Castello I knew was in the fridge, but what was this no crackers, not possible. Half time came and I’d kill for a snack, Why I’d just ride quickly up to the IGA grab the crackers and be back in no time. Unlock the bike and off we go. Whats this in my hand, keys, I’ll put them in my pocket. Whoops I’m heading a bit quickly towards the roundabout, better brake, Whoops that’s the front brake and the roads greasy from that recent light rain. Amazing how fast you can go over the handlebars and how slow it can seem. Well I’m alright anyway, bit of a gravel rash on the left palm but damaged ego seems the worst of it. Opps what’s that feels like blood from the brow, better just go back, perhaps I’m a little pissed. Inside in the light I survey the damage, as is typical of such an accident it’s the extremities, the outer corners of the body that sustain the damage, apart from the palm rash there’s a rash on the elbow and the eye brow has a nick just like the footballers get but wait a minute what’s this , a gravel rash in the middle of my belly, that can that be an extremity can it, apparently so. Oh well no real damage, lucky eh!
Woke in the middle of the night with a very painful wrist and hours of pain later realized that what pain killers are for. In the clear light of day I have a very sore wrist a romantic nick to the eye brow that a make up artist could not improve on, a very embarrassing gravel rash to the stomach that no one shall ever see, all of which will owing to my competent immune system heal. Unfortunately a close examination of the bike this morning reveals both gear pods totaled and its immune system seems dependant on my hip pocket where I risk further gravel rash. What have I learned; If your going to drink and ride, don’t drink, or don’t ride or don’t drink and don’t ride but whatever you do don’t drink and ride. So simple really.
Love to the world
Robert

Congratulations Alice and Happy Birthday Luke

Congratulations Alice and Jack. I am so happy for you and so proud. I was with Jane when Alice rang and she and I were both pretty excited as you are when your children grow up and make big decisions like this.
Happy Birthday to Luke 24 today,pictured above with Alice when she said she was going to marry him when they grew up.
Also Happy Belated Birthday to Robert.
Hope to see you all at Lukeand Jamies next Saturday.
Lukes address is 10 Pioneer St Umina
love to all Dot

So you've heard the big news...

Hi guys,

Thanks for your congratulations and good wishes! Yep, Jack proposed to me on Sunday, it was completely out of the blue. Jamie reminded me that I caught the bouquet at their wedding… so it really works!! Watch out Gab, Kel & Cat! We plan to have a big engagement party in March 'cause that works best for us – at the same time that Kel, Chris & Sue will be spending St Pat’s day in Ireland, I hear! Do you think it's weird to announce an engagement and then not have a party for 5 months?

I’m going well in every respect – I’ve been promoted to position of editor for one of the magazines my company publishes. It’s a fairly dodgy magazine though – more like a catalogue really. But hey, I’ll learn new skills, it’ll look good on my resume and it will hopefully lead to bigger and better things! I don’t want to get too excited though ‘cause I’ve been moved around in this company so many times in the last four or so months that I can’t keep up. Every time I’m about to start on a new mag, someone quits so I take their place and someone else takes my place. And it may be a bit hard for me to do it because the last person in charge of it was full-time and I’m still only part time because of uni – plus I’m going overseas for 7 weeks just before the first issue will be published… don’t know how that’s going to work!

Jack and I are going to Thailand, Laos, Cambodia and Vietnam, leaving on New Year’s Eve… I can’t wait!!! I get more and more excited every day and as soon as uni’s over in a couple of weeks time – for the year, not forever! – I’ll go and get all my injections and make the final plans.

So I have one more assignment to finish before the end of semester, it’s a 15-minute radio documentary about the security industry. It’s been fun to make, hopefully some of you will get to hear it on radio once it’s finished – it might never get there though.

It’s been great to hear/see what you’ve all been doing in different parts of the globe – I’d love to see your photos, Hugh. So hopefully I’ll see lots of you at Luke and Jamie’s in one of my ’hoods on the Central Coast – they’ve recently laid new wooden floor boards to try and impress us.

It’s so cool Chris, Sue & Olly are coming down. I wonder how Olly will get on with Luke and Jamie’s new pets! Unfortunately I don’t know how long I’m going to be able to hang around that day because my assignment is due a couple of days later and I’m nowhere near finished! I’ll just have to work my arse off this weekend to make up for it.

Love to all!
Alice