Saving Private Rockstump

There’s good news and there’s bad news. The good news is that my own blog, Blogstump, is being read. The bad news is that it’s being read by a machine and a very critical machine it is. It recons Blogstump is irrelevant, repetitive and that it contains nonsensical text. Now I’m not so thin skinned that I can’t take a bit of criticism and perhaps some of my text is nonsensical but repetitive and irrelevant, wow that hurts. As I read on it becomes obvious that this machine has a highly inflated opinion of its own worth and has decided that my blog is spam blog, a sort of canned blog you might expect to find in army rations, and has decided to delete it in twenty days. Yes it’s threatening the old ray gun treatment unless in the meantime I request a review. Requesting a review consists of filing the simple review form attached to this vaporisation warning. This form conveniently filled out with my identification particulars only requires that I prove that unlike it I am not a machine. This can be achieved by interpreting the drunken lettering image and repeating it in machine talk in the box provided. Unfortunately this smarty pants opinionated critic machine in its lust for a kill has forgotten to include a drunken lettering image. I’ve tried ‘no image’ and many variations of ‘f--- you’ to no avail while the clock ticks inexorably forward to d-day. Gotta go now and continue with all the five and six letter/letter number combinations afforded by our twenty eight letter ten digit system. Thank Nigel I’m not Chineese.

On the Road Again

We have been living in Goulburn now for four weeks and have been very busy. We have unpacked, repacked, found things we had forgotten about, lost things we thought we had, lived with the painters for 6 days, cleaned windows and walls, weeded the gardens, entertained visitors, bought and put up curtains, searched for and purchased furniture, light fittings, appliances, decided on a kitchen design and signed up for a new kitchen, arranged a fence for Olly and all the rest. It has been fun but as we had promised to meet friends in Mission Beach again in July we heading north tomorrow for the winter. So we are really looking forward to getting back in the van but we will miss our new home and probably will be keen to get back to it. The kitchen will go in while we are away so I know Sue will be itching to get back.

I have included a few pictures as follows:

View from the front over the Cookbundoon ranges.
Our sunny winter court yard.
Brendon the painter at work.
Misty sunrise.
The reserve at the back.
Three of our 4 water tanks, a Goulburn must have.
The caravan in its new carport home.Garage for the car is on the other side.
Frost on the dormant vegie garden.

Bunnies Bugle

Dear all,

Speaking to a teen / early twenties lass who had approached me with a wood screw / self tapper, not much difference nowadays, wondering where she could find a nut to fit, I patiently explained that these did not fit to nuts but screwed directly to a medium. After further discussion I suggested that a machine screw or set screw as my father would call them might be what she required and established using a gauge, more for her benefit than mine, that her screw was closer to one eighth than any other size. I indicated the packages bearing the 1/8 symbol and under pressure from half a dozen other pleading petitioners, on this busy day when I was their only succour, was turning away when something in her expression told me that she understood my reference to one eighth no more than had I been speaking Latin. The idea that 1/8 is a fractional representation of a portion of antiquated measurement preserved to this day by conservative, god fearing, illiterate Americans is more than we should expect of any GenY, let alone that 1/8 represents the fraction one eighth, not one forward slash eight.

At the other end of this age and education spectrum I was approached by some nob TV presenter from backyard blitz wondering where we kept four inch hose. “What fire hose” I was about to ask, “panty hose, or do you want ducting you boofhead? Don’t you know that liquid is hosed and air is ducted? You should with the amount you let off.” But I was gazumped by four sycophantic red shirt groupies who didn’t mind how naked this make believe king of DIY was. Just as well too I suppose as the parting glower he gave me looked like he’d read my mind.

Catering to these extremes is the hardware giant flogging second grade trash and outright rubbish, capturing the market with low prices that put any competitor of integrity out of business leaving us all with no option than a trip to hell in a hand basket full of blister packed crap. Thank Nigel Bunnings has not yet gotten into the ballast business least our trains would surely sink right through to China where their nuts and bolts came from. Every day I thank him that I am at the latter rather than the founding end of my career in this business.

With the end of financial year immanent what remains of our banks of hours had to be paid out in the last pay period and along with some travel allowance that was part of my bargain for going all the way to Kirrawee that Saturday I had some three hundred dollars extra banked this week. It doesn’t seem like much I know but to one still getting use to the simple pleasures of regular pay even such small windfalls are a delight.

The recession doesn’t seem to be effecting Bunnings too badly we always seem to do nine to twelve percent better than budget. The figures are published daily on a white board upstairs. I have no problem with the daily takings but am very confused by the budget side of this equation. From where is this budget derived? Is it representative of the cost of running our store for that day including everything from purchasing stock, paying the wages, the insurance premiums, the lease, and all the myriad other costs of running such a business? If so then why does it vary so from day to day? Why is it always so much more expensive to open on Saturday than it is on Tuesday? Isn’t it strange that the budget fluctuates in a similar pattern to that of daily takings? I guess I’ll never know or understand the answers to these questions.

I still hold out hope for our annual bonus. We’re told the upper echelons of Westfarmer management have ruled out bonuses or wage hikes for themselves this year, bearing up stoically on their existing millions. They have not yet ruled out ours though. Danny the big boss, he whose integrity would require the services of a nanno scientist to defend or even detect, passed through the store today handing out postcard pictures of a backgammon set which had been intended as a reward for our successes over the last four months. He stopped this when he noticed how under whelmed we were and now the staff room is littered with pictures of backgammon sets with a ra-ra message on the back. The set itself may still arrive but as they say it’s the thought that counts and isn’t that true.

Flu shot season has come and gone without as much ballyhoo as usual. Now several staff are off on sick leave every day and rumours of swine flu circulate. These are given more credence by the mysterious return of hot water to the taps in the wash rooms after so many years.

I’m well, thank you for asking, and although not completely over my condition, we, it and I, have a better understanding of each other and have agreed to live with respect. I can also report that my bottom lip sting retreated as expected at the end of February, I haven’t felt the moth in hair effect for months but I have got a blood clot in my right nostril that I recall having had last winter. Mmmm! Another annual, don’t ask or even wonder how I know of its presence.

Best wishes to all,

Your loving aunty

Sunshine and punting in Cambridge

Hi everyone

Mart and I went up to Cambridge (north-east of London) on Sunday for one of his uni mates' birthday. It was gorgeous! The sun was shinning, we went punting along the river Cam, and then spent the afternoon soaking up the sunshine (and some cider) in the park near Jesus College. It's such a cool city - loads of fun with all the students running a muck, and beautiful,old architecture etc.

Here's some pics...

Love Kel xx

Sam, our spunky punter!


Me and Mart at Mathamatical bridge over the River Cam


The boys soaking up the sunshine

Shire shenanigans

Well, as the Taliban tightened its grip and I concurred with ever growing beard I blessed the day my mother bore me male. I don’t think I could cope with the hijab style apron I’m sure Bunnings has on the drawing board. On Wednesday last, the first of my work week, I was greeted with the news that a big wig had captured myself and three other team members on film, congregating and discussing web downloads which sounded subversive and not at all like Bunnings dogma. This group was duly rounded up and given a lecture on their responsibility not to enjoy themselves in company on company time. The incriminating photo was circulated as evidence ‘item 1’ and it was noted that Wayne whose hair is certainly as grey as mine does not in fact have my face or regulation beard. None the less he was lectured and I, just as when I was apprehended by police in Roberts Road Greenacre, aged seventeen, for causing a motor vehicle to travel at a speed in excess of the limit, escaped reprimand by being out of the wrong place at the right time. At that time it was my sainted mother who had never driven a car nor experienced the exhilaration of speed who had borne the police lecture on my behalf.

By my Wednesday arrival priorities had changed and though resentment lingered over injustices at a staff (oops team) level, management had moved on and instead of reprimanding, begged me to serve my Saturday time at the new Kirrawee store as guest hardware expert. This brand new store (in Bath Street for the benefit of those of you from the Shire) which I learned had opened Monday week ago had been so overwhelmed by Shire folk bored by footballer’s shenanigans and the sterile nature of their environment on the previous weekend and I was being sent in the first line of reinforcement. Post bargain with an agreed extra hour and travel allowance I set out on this terminally overcast morn for a day in the shire.

Here the first thing to strike me was the half height roof on this barn at least equal in size to Mascot, in fact slightly larger I was to learn. This accompanied by at least twice as many lights at half the height presented a warm bright working environment that best of all was clean. Yes no blanket of TB infested Chinese dust here, not yet anyway. Separate staff toilets one and a half times the size of Mascot’s only toilet, with private shower were available only to those with the code for the very expensive digital locks guarding all staff areas. For one such as I who might spend more time more times a day in such facilities the relative calm is a godsend.

As the day got underway under looming skies to the east, a real panorama from this elevated position where on a clear day I venture that ocean glimpses are possible, an array of entertainments began to loom. Jumping castles, basket ball castles, wood turners, laughing clown games, fairy floss, face painters, coast guard, the Dulux dog and of course the inevitable sausage sizzle all clamoured for space and prayed that the rain would hold off. Well all but the coast guard I imagine who would have relished any calamity in which to tout its wares. When roadies from 2DAY FM arrived it looked very much like an over booking till they too settled for an outdoor location and prayed with the others.

Meanwhile inside, I met the other two ‘shelf hardware’ attendants for the day, Steve a Bunning’s veteran and John a new recruit who were joined about midday by young lady whose name I don’t recall. All queried often was it ever this busy at Mascot and I had to concede that it was a bit slower here than there where often I manage on my own. In the staff room enjoying my afternoon tea break I began to understand that the majority of this team were new recruits. There was none of the desultory cynicism, distain and contempt that pervades our recreation time, rather this Bunnings seemed an extension of Hillsong and these folk born again bunnies. When the brass band struck up mid afternoon just before the first inevitable downpour that sent all scattering I would not have been at all surprised if team had thrust their arms skyward waving cigarette lighters if such behaviour is not now politically incorrect.

All told it was a long day when starting an hour late meant ending similarly during which time I tried to help independent minded shire folk who mostly refused and failed ever to assemble more than two red shirts (a blood clot is vernacular for this) to discuss web downloads. I saw many Kellys out shopping for bath fittings with the folks but they mostly ignored me no doubt recognising my northern foreignness.

In other news I met Leo Sayer this week though I suspect I’m the last Sydneysider to do so.

Love you all

R






Here a couple of views of Walters window reveal which may almost be finished