Hi Folks,
Well hello there to my three readers.
I am flying out to Cairo tomorrow morning for 6 weeks of travelling through Egpyt and Jordan so wont be blogging for a while.
Now all I need to do is stop bouncing off the walls with excitement for a small while...... so I can pack.
Take care all
Ned
Monday, February 16, 2009
Sunday, February 15, 2009
Shopping at the Supermarket
I went to my local shopping centre on Saturday morning to collect my visas. It was rainy so the shopping centre was very crowded; I’ve never seen it so crowded before, even in the pre-christmas madness that takes over peoples sanity crowdedness was eclipsed.
I had to park on the roof; the only access from the roof to the centre is via the one elevator. It is a very big elevator and can fit four fully loaded Woolies trolleys in it plus a dozen or so children and their slave parents. The down side is that the elevator is slow to travel and slow to arrive, so you spend more time loitering with strangers shuffling their feet than you would normally do in a crowded shopping centre.
After I had completed my errands and commenced the return to my car, I had to join the group doing the head bent, foot shuffle dance of the loitering around the elevator. My enthusiasm for this dance was wavering, until I noticed a rather tense and emotional conversation being carried out beside and a little to the front of me. There was a couple, with a fully laden trolley and boy about 10 looking bored attached, chatting. The one doing most of the talking was in her 40s, fully made up, with blow dried short bottled blonde hair which seems the norm of a certain set of middle aged women, she had the crisp white shirt, white pants and chunky fake pearl necklace with glasses perched on her head look - think Kerry-Anne.
She was perplexed and seemed worried about a financial muddle they currently had found themselves in, it seems that they were about to put an offer on a house that they both really loved, but their current financial situation was such that for various reasons it would be two or more weeks before they could comfortably put an offer on the house and she was fretting because she didn’t want to loose the house. She kept on coming up with suggestions as to how they could juggle their finances around to come up with an offer so they wouldn’t loose this house. The suggestions were going into quite alot of detail about their financial portfolios, things that I think most people would like to keep to themselves. I gathered that it wasn’t their first house either.
Each suggest was made with a whine, some earnest intent and a little clutching at straws desperation, her partner was at first gently rebuking each suggest with a calm but progressively more tense ‘lets talk about this when we get home’, ‘we will be home soon’, ‘lets go through this when we get home’.
The blonde was not taking any notice of her partners calmer suggestions as she had what seemed like an insistent need to deal with this problem right here and right now and didn’t seem to notice that she was standing in the middle of a busy shopping centre where quite a few people including Ned could hear every word she was saying.
The blonde’s partner was well aware of this, and was slowly loosing patience with the blonde as she continued her problem solving exercise. It was the blondes partner that started to take my attention now, as the blonde kept on talking, her partner was getting more and more embarrassed as to what was being said, you could see that she was only a minute or two away from yelling at the blonde to get her to stop but she was holding it in, it would not of been an angry yell, more of a frustrated yell that means, just stop and listen to for 30 seconds. She seemed to know somehow though that the blonde would probably burst into tears, if she did, so was showing a great deal of restraint and was trying to bear the rising embarrassment she was feeling.
The blondes partner was about the same age, but she was more of a blokey woman, with no make up, short cropped hair, solidly built, wearing a non-descript set of t-shirt and jeans (are we even allowed to call her the man in the relationship?).
The kid was ignoring everything and everybody as kids often do.
Lesbian couples in their forties are common around Marrickville / Newtown so PDAs from same sex couples barely rate a whiplash.
What caught my attention was the ordinariness of this couple, the deeply personal and private conversation and the embarrassed facial expressions and body language of the partner. The partner seemed to know the blonde well, they’d obviously been together for a long time, and she knew that the blonde was too caught up in the worry of loosing the house to be aware of her surroundings or anything she could say.
I felt sort of sorry for the partner as she seemed to be the more private of the two and wasn’t at all comfortable with the blondes high maintenance public way of dealing with this issue.
I gathered that was not the first time.
Listening: Merriweather Post Pavilion
Reading: My insurance policy (its two more sleeps).
I had to park on the roof; the only access from the roof to the centre is via the one elevator. It is a very big elevator and can fit four fully loaded Woolies trolleys in it plus a dozen or so children and their slave parents. The down side is that the elevator is slow to travel and slow to arrive, so you spend more time loitering with strangers shuffling their feet than you would normally do in a crowded shopping centre.
After I had completed my errands and commenced the return to my car, I had to join the group doing the head bent, foot shuffle dance of the loitering around the elevator. My enthusiasm for this dance was wavering, until I noticed a rather tense and emotional conversation being carried out beside and a little to the front of me. There was a couple, with a fully laden trolley and boy about 10 looking bored attached, chatting. The one doing most of the talking was in her 40s, fully made up, with blow dried short bottled blonde hair which seems the norm of a certain set of middle aged women, she had the crisp white shirt, white pants and chunky fake pearl necklace with glasses perched on her head look - think Kerry-Anne.
She was perplexed and seemed worried about a financial muddle they currently had found themselves in, it seems that they were about to put an offer on a house that they both really loved, but their current financial situation was such that for various reasons it would be two or more weeks before they could comfortably put an offer on the house and she was fretting because she didn’t want to loose the house. She kept on coming up with suggestions as to how they could juggle their finances around to come up with an offer so they wouldn’t loose this house. The suggestions were going into quite alot of detail about their financial portfolios, things that I think most people would like to keep to themselves. I gathered that it wasn’t their first house either.
Each suggest was made with a whine, some earnest intent and a little clutching at straws desperation, her partner was at first gently rebuking each suggest with a calm but progressively more tense ‘lets talk about this when we get home’, ‘we will be home soon’, ‘lets go through this when we get home’.
The blonde was not taking any notice of her partners calmer suggestions as she had what seemed like an insistent need to deal with this problem right here and right now and didn’t seem to notice that she was standing in the middle of a busy shopping centre where quite a few people including Ned could hear every word she was saying.
The blonde’s partner was well aware of this, and was slowly loosing patience with the blonde as she continued her problem solving exercise. It was the blondes partner that started to take my attention now, as the blonde kept on talking, her partner was getting more and more embarrassed as to what was being said, you could see that she was only a minute or two away from yelling at the blonde to get her to stop but she was holding it in, it would not of been an angry yell, more of a frustrated yell that means, just stop and listen to for 30 seconds. She seemed to know somehow though that the blonde would probably burst into tears, if she did, so was showing a great deal of restraint and was trying to bear the rising embarrassment she was feeling.
The blondes partner was about the same age, but she was more of a blokey woman, with no make up, short cropped hair, solidly built, wearing a non-descript set of t-shirt and jeans (are we even allowed to call her the man in the relationship?).
The kid was ignoring everything and everybody as kids often do.
Lesbian couples in their forties are common around Marrickville / Newtown so PDAs from same sex couples barely rate a whiplash.
What caught my attention was the ordinariness of this couple, the deeply personal and private conversation and the embarrassed facial expressions and body language of the partner. The partner seemed to know the blonde well, they’d obviously been together for a long time, and she knew that the blonde was too caught up in the worry of loosing the house to be aware of her surroundings or anything she could say.
I felt sort of sorry for the partner as she seemed to be the more private of the two and wasn’t at all comfortable with the blondes high maintenance public way of dealing with this issue.
I gathered that was not the first time.
Listening: Merriweather Post Pavilion
Reading: My insurance policy (its two more sleeps).
Thursday, February 12, 2009
The Story of Saturday
Saturday was the day I decided to drive to Canberra to see the Degas exhibit that is currently on at the National Gallery there. This exhibit ends in March, and I wont be back in time to see it so it was this Saturday or not at all.
I decided to make a weekend of it, as I have not spent very long in Canberra in many long years, when you visit it you understand why, people go there for what they need then leave as quickly as they can, as Dad says, the best thing about Canberra is leaving. I booked a nice spa suite in one of the hotels and planned on doing a bit of driving for a sticky beak around town and a visit to the new National Portrait Gallery as well.
I’ve never been one to take much notice of what the weather is like, I don’t let it interfere with my social life or my planned activities as a lot of people tend to do, and seem to do more of as they get older. I’ve cracked mid 30s so I’ve jumped Hadrian’s Wall to mid-life so I’m getting older, and the people around me are getting older too. Oh dear, its too cold, I cant go out tonight, or its raining, I better stay in – not for me would this chorus be screamed.
It was supposed to be hot, we are - on the east coast - in the middle of a slight heat wave, yes its summer, yes it gets hot, so when the news said hot, I went ok, no worries, the cars got air conditioning.
I got up early on Saturday morn, packed a bag and headed off at a decent 10.15am. Its only 165 mins at a nominal hoon speed so I was expecting to reach Canberra at lunch, the plan was to have a bite, visit the Degas, do a bit of exploring then tea, and back to the hotel with a nice bubble and warm spa, followed by a little Rockwiz – sounds dandy. I was warmed by it, and fuzzed along, my mp3 blaring, voice in fine form (car singing is my specialality, completely tone deaf but I let it fly with relish once I hit the long Freeways of this country).
We were at half a tank when I left, so thought a little stop at Pheasants Nest for petrol, coffee, and a sandwich would be peachy - I had skipped breakfast, and I'd still get to Canberra around lunch time. This was just after 11, it was heating up, a little more heating up then I was expecting but I was not fussed, its summer. Coffee was truck stop craptastic and sandwich was mush but I had no delusions, it was just a fuel stop.
About 50km outside of Goulbourn the wheel starts to shake, subtly at first, I think the road is rough as the Hume is heavy with traffic, but the shaking gets worse so I pull over at the nearest bit of cleared side road. I am now in the middle of what looks like nowhere bush, its dry, there is no shade, its hot, its really really hot, the sun is beating down on me and the car at its strongest 40 + degree strength and I feel it as I slowly get out of the my cool air conditioning to circle the car to see what’s wrong. Front passenger wheel has burst. Right SS kicks in, I can change this, it can’t be too hard, I’ve never done it before but I am capable, surely. I get the manual out, though my little 4 cylinder gas guzzler is 19 years old, I keep the manual, I’m an instructions kind of girl. I’ve now been out of the car for 4.5 minutes and am officially drenched in sweat, my exertions consist of a circuit of the car, a scratch of the head, and a return to the driver side to read the manual. Yes I can do this.
The boot is opened, the bag, the rags, and the St Vincent de Paul bag of clothes I want to give away that’s been sitting in my car for 5 weeks because I haven’t dropped it off yet comes out onto the tarmac – cars whistle by at speed, no-one takes any notice of a lone Ned down from the hill in action. Up comes the carpet, outcomes the tyre, woops it looks a bit flat but I did ask them to check it last service so it should get me to a servo. Outcome the hubcap removal thingy, then the arm pushy pushy bit of the jack, it’s all laid out around the wheel, there is long grass, creatures are in it. I get scared of the creatures but not the tyre.
My makeup has melted off by now and is running into my eyes, mixing with sweat and my contacts and I have trouble focusing. Where is the jackie bottom bit of the jack, I ponder, it must be somewhere. I scour the boot for hiding places and find one underneath the light, clever, here it is. I take it out, move around to the tyre, and with the hubcap remover thingy I get the hubcap off – win. Manual says I should loosen the wheel nuts before jacking up the car, ok, I can do this. Grunt, grunt, push, shove, squeeze, wheeze, effort – no I cant.
Collapse.
Its very very hot now, my lily-white celtic complexion is burning, I can feel it melting off me, I am a Mc with blue eyes and very very white skin. Cosmetic counter vixens praise my whiteness every time I do the rounds of the department store bunnyvilles seeking the latest magic potion, can I sample it, freebies please.
I give in, I feel heat stroke coming on, I retreat to the car, and ring the NRMA;
Where are you?
Somewhere on the Hume Highway approx 145km from Canberra.
What town are you near?
I don’t know.
Can you see an emergency call box.
No.
I’m 145km, cant you just draw a line.
Ok, we will be 60 minutes.
Right ok, just tell my family I loved them.
I packed a sarong as I thought I might have swim at the hotel pool in the evening, so I take it out and try to set up some sort of shelter, but the wind is too strong. I lie down on the back seat, it’s a sauna inside but I only have the sun on half of me. Time passes. About 30 minutes later a car pulls up behind me, a nice middle aged couple get out, can we help you at all, we saw you earlier, then decided to come back and see if you needed any help as its so hot. I partially leap at them, sweat beads fly off me and land on them, they are clean and crisp, I have melted. I’ve called the NRMA but I can’t get the wheel nuts off, I’m not strong enough. He has a go, he huffs and puffs and puffs and huffs, he gets them moving, I smile. The jack goes under and starts being pumped up, I drivel gratitude, she shoves a cold juice down my throat. He looks at my spare and scratches his bald patch, I think I might just take that spare to the servo back the road a bit because I don’t like the flatness of it. I’m speaking in tongues, they ask me to come with them, I garble stay with car, she croons, its sweltering are you sure, they wont be long, we swap mobile numbers. They go.
I ring NRMA to cancel the call out, the operator thinks its amazing, the kindness of strangers, so do I, but I really cant focus more than hot, sweating, sun, burning.
Mrs Samaritan calls 15 minutes later, can you check your manual for what the tyre pressure should be, I mumble a number, its floating in front of my eyes, they seem to think it works so I let them.
I am now stretched on the back seat again with the sarong up to shelter my head. Another car stops, this time it’s a bloke coming home from work in workman clothes, he saw the sarong and thought I might have a baby in the car and its was too hot for kiddies, too hot for kiddies, too hot for Neddies. I smile dripping with black and blue and sweaty grim and tell him my tale of woe with Samaritans, as we chat Mr & Mrs S come back, he drives off.
Mrs S runs to me with a Lemon Calypso, a huge bottle of cold water and friendly smile, I collapse on the ground with gratitude sucking my ice block and watch as Mr S puts the pumped up spare on the car, bolts and screws, re-attaches and packs up. He tells me he is not happy with it and I should get all the wheels checked out at Goulbourn just to be safe, but head onto Canberra after that and get the tyre repaired on Sunday. I nod. Or my head drops, I dont know, I lost all feeling 45 minutes ago.
They have a daughter my age who they were going to meet in Canberra, she had driven up from Melbourne, all they could say was we are happy to help you out, we just hope that if something like this, on a day like this, happens to our daughter someone will help her out. I nearly weep.
They wouldn’t take any money, they wouldn’t take any gifts, but they wanted to follow behind me for a while just to make sure everything was ok.
I dragged the melted wreak of Ned back to the car and headed off with a massive toot toot and wave of gratitude – its now 1.30pm.
I sit on 90km, slowly hugging the Hume, praying for safe passage. After 15km, Mr & Mrs S pass me bye – sweet angels of the road, bless ‘em. About 35km later the turn off to Goulbourn is mine, nearest servo; tyre repair please? No sorry try Here. At Here, tyre repair please? No sorry try There. At There, tyre repair please? No sorry, try Around There. At Around There, tyre repair please? Yep sure, it will be two hours – go shopping whilst you wait. I'm still melting no it’s ok, I’ll just stick my head in the freezer.
I'm at the only servo open in Goulbourn after 1pm on a Saturday, its hot, I can feel the sauna wind blowing heat at me, I can see the tarmac melting as I wait. He exaggerates, it take 90 minutes, but I get two new tyres but I feel good, $170 poorer but good.
I head off again thinking I’m an hour away, I can still see the Degas today. I stick to the 90 km, as it’s a scorcher. I trundle along, I take the Federal Highway turn off, I trundle further, I pass Lake George. I have now stopped melting but am funny shaped. My water is hot, my head hurts but the kms are getting smaller and my destination is getting closer. 90km, 80km, 70km, 60km, 50km, 40km, 30k, 25km – shudder shudder shudder – oh my god, not again.
I pull over, deja vu, it’s on a slight rise, so there is no bush, no shade, no grass, just concrete and railings and lots of sun. I think its pushing 45 degrees out here now, its quarter to 4. The car circuit commences in dreaded anticipation. KABOOM Batman style, the front passenger side is flat again. The brand new tyre I got at Goulbourn has blown, the brand new tyre that’s done just under 90 km – gone.
I know the drill, I try again, I am really suffering now, I can see people with me telling me what to do but theres no-one there. Bits and bobs come out, the tyre we just took off the drivers front is now out of the boot, the jack bits and hub cap remover thingy are once again placed out for use.
The hubcap comes off – win.
I huff, I puff, I strain, I pain, one wheel nut comes off - win.
I need a rest, so sit down for a short rest and a drink of hot water. I get up to try again, part of me has melted into the ground, I don’t need it. The remaining three refuse to budge, I am someone I have never met.
Back to the car, back to the NRMA;
You called earlier.
Yes I know, its happened again.
Where are you?
On the Federal Highway.
Where abouts.
I can see a cross road up ahead, I think it says Macs Reef Road.
Ok, they will be 90 minutes.
Its so hot I don’t know if I will make 90 mins.
I know, lots of people are in the same boat.
I hang up, I circle the car a few times, I don’t know why, I don’t know what else to do.
I lie down on the back seat and pass out. Time passes, no-one stops, it’s now been 50 minutes.
The NRMA van pulls up in front of me. I stagger out, he offers me water, he is kind, he changes my tyre, tells me not to feel bad, when they tighten the wheel nuts with the machine even he cant get them off. The man at Goulbourn had the machine, the NRMA man had the machine - I have no machine.
He fixes me up, it takes 8 minutes.
I know Canberra is a ghost town on Sundays, I enquire about tyre repair as I am not leaving Canberra till I have a viable spare, he gives me the number of a call out tyre guy, it would be expensive but he’s just about the only tyre person around on Sundays.
I flash a melted stinking smile and head off, the 25kms are slow and uneventful, I am beyond any ability to do more than drive. Its now just over 7 hours since I left home.
My hotel is shabby but cool, the staff listen to my tales of woe, they are superb. My room is tacky, the lights don’t work, the air conditioner is wheezing louder than my 747 ex snorer bf (the wrestler) I cant sleep in here. I shower in rainbows then head back out for a bite. I ask the reception can they repair my room, they say no but will happily move me when I am out at tea. My gratitude lights up Black Mountain Tower.
Dinner was the worst pumpkin gnocchi I have ever had, but I devour the salad.
I return to my room, bottle of bubbles in tow, they have changed my room twice, as they didn’t think the air conditioner in the second room was good enough for me – the third room is perfect. I drink my bubbles, I watch my Rockwiz, I have my beautiful cold spa. I crawl back into my king size bed and dream the sleep of the just.
Ignorance is bliss.
I turn the tellie on in the morning to check the weather, it’s going to be 40 degrees again in Canberra today, it goes straight off again. I think I’m not going to drive back in the heat so plan to leave about 5pm as I don’t think I can live through another day like yesterday.
I am so sunburnt, my forehead, my ear, my arms, my neck.
I ring Dad to tell him my tale so I am expected. He says Victoria has burnt, 20 people have died, I think oh dear poor people and get on with my day.
I go to the nearest servo to find a tyre repair man, none are around so I ring the mobile man, he turns up at 12.30pm. I have once again been out in the heat of the day waiting for help for 90 minutes but at least I have a little bit of shade now and some cold water. He hears my sad song and is perplexed as to why the new one blew. He also points out that the Goulbourn guy has put the wrong size tyres on my car, so does a bit of replacement and swapping around, another new tyre and another $160.
Three tyres, over $300.
He is kind, and very handsome, I should of noticed, I didnt.
I mooch to the NGA, I see the exhibit, its an anti-climax, I don’t think even my favourite Goyas could do it for me today. I sulk across to the Portrait Gallery to sit in their café for a few hours, as I have flopped, I just want to go home. It’s so hot and dry, its unbearable outside, the rubber is melting in the trees.
The Portrait Gallery is dull, there is a performance piece by Cate Blanchett, I don’t get it, I watch it twice just because the room is dark and its cool.
I go back to the NGA, the galleries are separated by a concrete bridge, its about 600 metres across, flat and paved, I shuffle across it, its like I have run a marathon, I can barely walk by now. I just want to go back to my car, I just want to be at home. I am terrified of the trip back, if a tyre blows again I will break, I don’t think I could really go further if it happens again.
I loiter with vague intent till closing time at 5.00pm, I am not alone in the loitering as it is so cool inside.
I go back to the car and get ready for the long slow trip home. I grip the wheel so tensely my shoulders ache, I am too scared to stop anywhere, I am too scared to go over 90km, I sit almost in the middle of the road though I only take the slow lane. A packet of snakes and a bottle of water get me home.
The sun stroke, the tension, the drama, the heat, I know nothing, I hear nothing.
Ignorance is still bliss.
I go to work on Monday morning ready to share my tales of woe, my nightmare trip, my heatstroke and my sunburn.
I check the news as I have my coffee and I see it all, the photos, the pain, the agony, the death toll, country Victoria burnt on Saturday, people fought hard to save their families, their houses, their farms, a lot of people lost that day – so many people died that day. I sit at my desk weeping tears of exhaustion and empathy.
I thought my Saturday was a day from hell.
I am stupid, I am selfish, I am full of my own self-importance.
On Saturday hell was in Marysville, in Kingslake in Flowerdale, in countless other towns were people lost their lives.
Its 181 so far, they say there will be many more, whole families, whole communities; so many children.
I love this country with every fibre of my being, it is one of the most beautiful places in world. It’s a hard country. It gives so much to us, but it takes some back in the most horrendous and heartbreaking ways.
I am still weeping.
I decided to make a weekend of it, as I have not spent very long in Canberra in many long years, when you visit it you understand why, people go there for what they need then leave as quickly as they can, as Dad says, the best thing about Canberra is leaving. I booked a nice spa suite in one of the hotels and planned on doing a bit of driving for a sticky beak around town and a visit to the new National Portrait Gallery as well.
I’ve never been one to take much notice of what the weather is like, I don’t let it interfere with my social life or my planned activities as a lot of people tend to do, and seem to do more of as they get older. I’ve cracked mid 30s so I’ve jumped Hadrian’s Wall to mid-life so I’m getting older, and the people around me are getting older too. Oh dear, its too cold, I cant go out tonight, or its raining, I better stay in – not for me would this chorus be screamed.
It was supposed to be hot, we are - on the east coast - in the middle of a slight heat wave, yes its summer, yes it gets hot, so when the news said hot, I went ok, no worries, the cars got air conditioning.
I got up early on Saturday morn, packed a bag and headed off at a decent 10.15am. Its only 165 mins at a nominal hoon speed so I was expecting to reach Canberra at lunch, the plan was to have a bite, visit the Degas, do a bit of exploring then tea, and back to the hotel with a nice bubble and warm spa, followed by a little Rockwiz – sounds dandy. I was warmed by it, and fuzzed along, my mp3 blaring, voice in fine form (car singing is my specialality, completely tone deaf but I let it fly with relish once I hit the long Freeways of this country).
We were at half a tank when I left, so thought a little stop at Pheasants Nest for petrol, coffee, and a sandwich would be peachy - I had skipped breakfast, and I'd still get to Canberra around lunch time. This was just after 11, it was heating up, a little more heating up then I was expecting but I was not fussed, its summer. Coffee was truck stop craptastic and sandwich was mush but I had no delusions, it was just a fuel stop.
About 50km outside of Goulbourn the wheel starts to shake, subtly at first, I think the road is rough as the Hume is heavy with traffic, but the shaking gets worse so I pull over at the nearest bit of cleared side road. I am now in the middle of what looks like nowhere bush, its dry, there is no shade, its hot, its really really hot, the sun is beating down on me and the car at its strongest 40 + degree strength and I feel it as I slowly get out of the my cool air conditioning to circle the car to see what’s wrong. Front passenger wheel has burst. Right SS kicks in, I can change this, it can’t be too hard, I’ve never done it before but I am capable, surely. I get the manual out, though my little 4 cylinder gas guzzler is 19 years old, I keep the manual, I’m an instructions kind of girl. I’ve now been out of the car for 4.5 minutes and am officially drenched in sweat, my exertions consist of a circuit of the car, a scratch of the head, and a return to the driver side to read the manual. Yes I can do this.
The boot is opened, the bag, the rags, and the St Vincent de Paul bag of clothes I want to give away that’s been sitting in my car for 5 weeks because I haven’t dropped it off yet comes out onto the tarmac – cars whistle by at speed, no-one takes any notice of a lone Ned down from the hill in action. Up comes the carpet, outcomes the tyre, woops it looks a bit flat but I did ask them to check it last service so it should get me to a servo. Outcome the hubcap removal thingy, then the arm pushy pushy bit of the jack, it’s all laid out around the wheel, there is long grass, creatures are in it. I get scared of the creatures but not the tyre.
My makeup has melted off by now and is running into my eyes, mixing with sweat and my contacts and I have trouble focusing. Where is the jackie bottom bit of the jack, I ponder, it must be somewhere. I scour the boot for hiding places and find one underneath the light, clever, here it is. I take it out, move around to the tyre, and with the hubcap remover thingy I get the hubcap off – win. Manual says I should loosen the wheel nuts before jacking up the car, ok, I can do this. Grunt, grunt, push, shove, squeeze, wheeze, effort – no I cant.
Collapse.
Its very very hot now, my lily-white celtic complexion is burning, I can feel it melting off me, I am a Mc with blue eyes and very very white skin. Cosmetic counter vixens praise my whiteness every time I do the rounds of the department store bunnyvilles seeking the latest magic potion, can I sample it, freebies please.
I give in, I feel heat stroke coming on, I retreat to the car, and ring the NRMA;
Where are you?
Somewhere on the Hume Highway approx 145km from Canberra.
What town are you near?
I don’t know.
Can you see an emergency call box.
No.
I’m 145km, cant you just draw a line.
Ok, we will be 60 minutes.
Right ok, just tell my family I loved them.
I packed a sarong as I thought I might have swim at the hotel pool in the evening, so I take it out and try to set up some sort of shelter, but the wind is too strong. I lie down on the back seat, it’s a sauna inside but I only have the sun on half of me. Time passes. About 30 minutes later a car pulls up behind me, a nice middle aged couple get out, can we help you at all, we saw you earlier, then decided to come back and see if you needed any help as its so hot. I partially leap at them, sweat beads fly off me and land on them, they are clean and crisp, I have melted. I’ve called the NRMA but I can’t get the wheel nuts off, I’m not strong enough. He has a go, he huffs and puffs and puffs and huffs, he gets them moving, I smile. The jack goes under and starts being pumped up, I drivel gratitude, she shoves a cold juice down my throat. He looks at my spare and scratches his bald patch, I think I might just take that spare to the servo back the road a bit because I don’t like the flatness of it. I’m speaking in tongues, they ask me to come with them, I garble stay with car, she croons, its sweltering are you sure, they wont be long, we swap mobile numbers. They go.
I ring NRMA to cancel the call out, the operator thinks its amazing, the kindness of strangers, so do I, but I really cant focus more than hot, sweating, sun, burning.
Mrs Samaritan calls 15 minutes later, can you check your manual for what the tyre pressure should be, I mumble a number, its floating in front of my eyes, they seem to think it works so I let them.
I am now stretched on the back seat again with the sarong up to shelter my head. Another car stops, this time it’s a bloke coming home from work in workman clothes, he saw the sarong and thought I might have a baby in the car and its was too hot for kiddies, too hot for kiddies, too hot for Neddies. I smile dripping with black and blue and sweaty grim and tell him my tale of woe with Samaritans, as we chat Mr & Mrs S come back, he drives off.
Mrs S runs to me with a Lemon Calypso, a huge bottle of cold water and friendly smile, I collapse on the ground with gratitude sucking my ice block and watch as Mr S puts the pumped up spare on the car, bolts and screws, re-attaches and packs up. He tells me he is not happy with it and I should get all the wheels checked out at Goulbourn just to be safe, but head onto Canberra after that and get the tyre repaired on Sunday. I nod. Or my head drops, I dont know, I lost all feeling 45 minutes ago.
They have a daughter my age who they were going to meet in Canberra, she had driven up from Melbourne, all they could say was we are happy to help you out, we just hope that if something like this, on a day like this, happens to our daughter someone will help her out. I nearly weep.
They wouldn’t take any money, they wouldn’t take any gifts, but they wanted to follow behind me for a while just to make sure everything was ok.
I dragged the melted wreak of Ned back to the car and headed off with a massive toot toot and wave of gratitude – its now 1.30pm.
I sit on 90km, slowly hugging the Hume, praying for safe passage. After 15km, Mr & Mrs S pass me bye – sweet angels of the road, bless ‘em. About 35km later the turn off to Goulbourn is mine, nearest servo; tyre repair please? No sorry try Here. At Here, tyre repair please? No sorry try There. At There, tyre repair please? No sorry, try Around There. At Around There, tyre repair please? Yep sure, it will be two hours – go shopping whilst you wait. I'm still melting no it’s ok, I’ll just stick my head in the freezer.
I'm at the only servo open in Goulbourn after 1pm on a Saturday, its hot, I can feel the sauna wind blowing heat at me, I can see the tarmac melting as I wait. He exaggerates, it take 90 minutes, but I get two new tyres but I feel good, $170 poorer but good.
I head off again thinking I’m an hour away, I can still see the Degas today. I stick to the 90 km, as it’s a scorcher. I trundle along, I take the Federal Highway turn off, I trundle further, I pass Lake George. I have now stopped melting but am funny shaped. My water is hot, my head hurts but the kms are getting smaller and my destination is getting closer. 90km, 80km, 70km, 60km, 50km, 40km, 30k, 25km – shudder shudder shudder – oh my god, not again.
I pull over, deja vu, it’s on a slight rise, so there is no bush, no shade, no grass, just concrete and railings and lots of sun. I think its pushing 45 degrees out here now, its quarter to 4. The car circuit commences in dreaded anticipation. KABOOM Batman style, the front passenger side is flat again. The brand new tyre I got at Goulbourn has blown, the brand new tyre that’s done just under 90 km – gone.
I know the drill, I try again, I am really suffering now, I can see people with me telling me what to do but theres no-one there. Bits and bobs come out, the tyre we just took off the drivers front is now out of the boot, the jack bits and hub cap remover thingy are once again placed out for use.
The hubcap comes off – win.
I huff, I puff, I strain, I pain, one wheel nut comes off - win.
I need a rest, so sit down for a short rest and a drink of hot water. I get up to try again, part of me has melted into the ground, I don’t need it. The remaining three refuse to budge, I am someone I have never met.
Back to the car, back to the NRMA;
You called earlier.
Yes I know, its happened again.
Where are you?
On the Federal Highway.
Where abouts.
I can see a cross road up ahead, I think it says Macs Reef Road.
Ok, they will be 90 minutes.
Its so hot I don’t know if I will make 90 mins.
I know, lots of people are in the same boat.
I hang up, I circle the car a few times, I don’t know why, I don’t know what else to do.
I lie down on the back seat and pass out. Time passes, no-one stops, it’s now been 50 minutes.
The NRMA van pulls up in front of me. I stagger out, he offers me water, he is kind, he changes my tyre, tells me not to feel bad, when they tighten the wheel nuts with the machine even he cant get them off. The man at Goulbourn had the machine, the NRMA man had the machine - I have no machine.
He fixes me up, it takes 8 minutes.
I know Canberra is a ghost town on Sundays, I enquire about tyre repair as I am not leaving Canberra till I have a viable spare, he gives me the number of a call out tyre guy, it would be expensive but he’s just about the only tyre person around on Sundays.
I flash a melted stinking smile and head off, the 25kms are slow and uneventful, I am beyond any ability to do more than drive. Its now just over 7 hours since I left home.
My hotel is shabby but cool, the staff listen to my tales of woe, they are superb. My room is tacky, the lights don’t work, the air conditioner is wheezing louder than my 747 ex snorer bf (the wrestler) I cant sleep in here. I shower in rainbows then head back out for a bite. I ask the reception can they repair my room, they say no but will happily move me when I am out at tea. My gratitude lights up Black Mountain Tower.
Dinner was the worst pumpkin gnocchi I have ever had, but I devour the salad.
I return to my room, bottle of bubbles in tow, they have changed my room twice, as they didn’t think the air conditioner in the second room was good enough for me – the third room is perfect. I drink my bubbles, I watch my Rockwiz, I have my beautiful cold spa. I crawl back into my king size bed and dream the sleep of the just.
Ignorance is bliss.
I turn the tellie on in the morning to check the weather, it’s going to be 40 degrees again in Canberra today, it goes straight off again. I think I’m not going to drive back in the heat so plan to leave about 5pm as I don’t think I can live through another day like yesterday.
I am so sunburnt, my forehead, my ear, my arms, my neck.
I ring Dad to tell him my tale so I am expected. He says Victoria has burnt, 20 people have died, I think oh dear poor people and get on with my day.
I go to the nearest servo to find a tyre repair man, none are around so I ring the mobile man, he turns up at 12.30pm. I have once again been out in the heat of the day waiting for help for 90 minutes but at least I have a little bit of shade now and some cold water. He hears my sad song and is perplexed as to why the new one blew. He also points out that the Goulbourn guy has put the wrong size tyres on my car, so does a bit of replacement and swapping around, another new tyre and another $160.
Three tyres, over $300.
He is kind, and very handsome, I should of noticed, I didnt.
I mooch to the NGA, I see the exhibit, its an anti-climax, I don’t think even my favourite Goyas could do it for me today. I sulk across to the Portrait Gallery to sit in their café for a few hours, as I have flopped, I just want to go home. It’s so hot and dry, its unbearable outside, the rubber is melting in the trees.
The Portrait Gallery is dull, there is a performance piece by Cate Blanchett, I don’t get it, I watch it twice just because the room is dark and its cool.
I go back to the NGA, the galleries are separated by a concrete bridge, its about 600 metres across, flat and paved, I shuffle across it, its like I have run a marathon, I can barely walk by now. I just want to go back to my car, I just want to be at home. I am terrified of the trip back, if a tyre blows again I will break, I don’t think I could really go further if it happens again.
I loiter with vague intent till closing time at 5.00pm, I am not alone in the loitering as it is so cool inside.
I go back to the car and get ready for the long slow trip home. I grip the wheel so tensely my shoulders ache, I am too scared to stop anywhere, I am too scared to go over 90km, I sit almost in the middle of the road though I only take the slow lane. A packet of snakes and a bottle of water get me home.
The sun stroke, the tension, the drama, the heat, I know nothing, I hear nothing.
Ignorance is still bliss.
I go to work on Monday morning ready to share my tales of woe, my nightmare trip, my heatstroke and my sunburn.
I check the news as I have my coffee and I see it all, the photos, the pain, the agony, the death toll, country Victoria burnt on Saturday, people fought hard to save their families, their houses, their farms, a lot of people lost that day – so many people died that day. I sit at my desk weeping tears of exhaustion and empathy.
I thought my Saturday was a day from hell.
I am stupid, I am selfish, I am full of my own self-importance.
On Saturday hell was in Marysville, in Kingslake in Flowerdale, in countless other towns were people lost their lives.
Its 181 so far, they say there will be many more, whole families, whole communities; so many children.
I love this country with every fibre of my being, it is one of the most beautiful places in world. It’s a hard country. It gives so much to us, but it takes some back in the most horrendous and heartbreaking ways.
I am still weeping.
Thursday, February 5, 2009
All About The Puppies
My brother-in-law is a sound engineer and has been touring for 15 years or more, he does not just gigs, but events and tellie too.
Anyways for a while there a few years ago he also did the wrestling, and as I was the only one living in Melbourne - I got all the freebies, I used to see alot of big shows and festivals for free thanks to him but I digress.
One night, I had nothing else to do, I took myself off to see WWE at Rod Laver arena, these seats werent great, sometimes I got ringside, sometimes up in the bleachers, anyways this night there I was about half way up, in the start of the cheaper seats or right at the back of the last of the posh seats. A little to the front of me and to the left were two men and a couple of kids, boys around 8 or 9 yo. This was a full on show, Vince McMahon was even there, the full bells and whistles, some of the shows werent always as elaborate as this.
Now this was a while ago so we had Disco Inferno (they always boo the Disco but I always liked him), Big Sexy, Sting plus heaps I cant remember, we even got a special appearance by Brett the Hitman Hart but he didnt wrestle, he just invaded the ring and misbehaved for a while. This was not too long after his brother Owen was killed in a wrestling match gone wrong, so he was still playing the drunken angry looser role that he did for a while.
The bikini girls were there and came out to jiggle about during the intros and between matches as this is their role in this environment. There was lots of cheering, jeering and carry - on by the crowd and the performers, it is a show and everybody has a role to play including the crowd and when it works well and everybody plays along its a whole lot of harmless low brow fun.
The bikini girls had the puppies out on display, as they always do, puppies is the term used frequently by the commentators for tits. I'd never really heard it before a particular boyfriend and his WWF obsession came into my life, it must of been an Americanism thats since moved into common vocabulary. Anyways back to the point - after one particular match, the girls were out, the puppies were jumping, the crowd were jeering, fireworks were going off and lights were flashing, during this commotion, one of the kids jumped on his chair and started leaping up and down, screaming at the top of his voice "Show us your puppies, show us your puppies!!!"
He was 8.
The dad and his mate stopped their yelling, and looked at the kid in disbelief, you could see what he was screaming register with them, and they then leaned back in their chairs and started beaming with pride.
I giggled with so much mirth at that that I nearly lost my seat, thinking about this even now makes me smile.
Anyways for a while there a few years ago he also did the wrestling, and as I was the only one living in Melbourne - I got all the freebies, I used to see alot of big shows and festivals for free thanks to him but I digress.
One night, I had nothing else to do, I took myself off to see WWE at Rod Laver arena, these seats werent great, sometimes I got ringside, sometimes up in the bleachers, anyways this night there I was about half way up, in the start of the cheaper seats or right at the back of the last of the posh seats. A little to the front of me and to the left were two men and a couple of kids, boys around 8 or 9 yo. This was a full on show, Vince McMahon was even there, the full bells and whistles, some of the shows werent always as elaborate as this.
Now this was a while ago so we had Disco Inferno (they always boo the Disco but I always liked him), Big Sexy, Sting plus heaps I cant remember, we even got a special appearance by Brett the Hitman Hart but he didnt wrestle, he just invaded the ring and misbehaved for a while. This was not too long after his brother Owen was killed in a wrestling match gone wrong, so he was still playing the drunken angry looser role that he did for a while.
The bikini girls were there and came out to jiggle about during the intros and between matches as this is their role in this environment. There was lots of cheering, jeering and carry - on by the crowd and the performers, it is a show and everybody has a role to play including the crowd and when it works well and everybody plays along its a whole lot of harmless low brow fun.
The bikini girls had the puppies out on display, as they always do, puppies is the term used frequently by the commentators for tits. I'd never really heard it before a particular boyfriend and his WWF obsession came into my life, it must of been an Americanism thats since moved into common vocabulary. Anyways back to the point - after one particular match, the girls were out, the puppies were jumping, the crowd were jeering, fireworks were going off and lights were flashing, during this commotion, one of the kids jumped on his chair and started leaping up and down, screaming at the top of his voice "Show us your puppies, show us your puppies!!!"
He was 8.
The dad and his mate stopped their yelling, and looked at the kid in disbelief, you could see what he was screaming register with them, and they then leaned back in their chairs and started beaming with pride.
I giggled with so much mirth at that that I nearly lost my seat, thinking about this even now makes me smile.
Is It Really You ?
This form of writing, this form of story telling is anonymous, it clouds who you are and what you are into the what you want to be.
I drift around, I read some for a while then move on to another, its finding words that interest me at the moment and words that may lead to more interesting words that makes me come back.
One in particular has peaked my interest over the last few weeks, its not a long term interest though as the committment to reading this is too much to give these written words the attention and thought they earn. It is well written, in form and structure, it drifts along with snapshots of places over time, now and then, there and back again*. It rambles into thinkings on paths that seem unlinked but make sense to mine. It follows a chain that flits around until it wraps around you in a crocheted blanket of mumsey cuddles of warmth and toasty musings, melancholy runs through the writing in deep veins and it cuts you unexpectantly leaving you peevish and discontented.
I often wonder who is this person that manages to create these wonderlands of musings, as my untrusting nature and the gut that I rely on to keep me alive screams at me that there are elements of honesty in these lands of wonder but its not really as it seems to be. My Mulder is not convinced, what looks real and seems real is not as real as the writer wants it to seem. The parts of the past are too clear and layered to be more than remembered moments with now depth.
A thread today I've heard before, just a small moment, a tiny piece, its background colour and doesnt flavour the missive beyond a dot of ink. Have we read the same piece, have we eavesdropped on the same conversation, are we having the same conversation. Are we drawing from the same palette when our backgrounds are coloured in.....though mine hangs on the fridge, theirs is in the gallery.
I am watching.
Reading: - Egypt Lonely Planet
Listening: - Bon Iver - For Emma, Forever Ago
* I stole that from a hobbit.
I drift around, I read some for a while then move on to another, its finding words that interest me at the moment and words that may lead to more interesting words that makes me come back.
One in particular has peaked my interest over the last few weeks, its not a long term interest though as the committment to reading this is too much to give these written words the attention and thought they earn. It is well written, in form and structure, it drifts along with snapshots of places over time, now and then, there and back again*. It rambles into thinkings on paths that seem unlinked but make sense to mine. It follows a chain that flits around until it wraps around you in a crocheted blanket of mumsey cuddles of warmth and toasty musings, melancholy runs through the writing in deep veins and it cuts you unexpectantly leaving you peevish and discontented.
I often wonder who is this person that manages to create these wonderlands of musings, as my untrusting nature and the gut that I rely on to keep me alive screams at me that there are elements of honesty in these lands of wonder but its not really as it seems to be. My Mulder is not convinced, what looks real and seems real is not as real as the writer wants it to seem. The parts of the past are too clear and layered to be more than remembered moments with now depth.
A thread today I've heard before, just a small moment, a tiny piece, its background colour and doesnt flavour the missive beyond a dot of ink. Have we read the same piece, have we eavesdropped on the same conversation, are we having the same conversation. Are we drawing from the same palette when our backgrounds are coloured in.....though mine hangs on the fridge, theirs is in the gallery.
I am watching.
Reading: - Egypt Lonely Planet
Listening: - Bon Iver - For Emma, Forever Ago
* I stole that from a hobbit.
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
Cheese on Toast
I was waiting in the kitchen whilst my roll was being grilled, I had ham, swiss cheese and tomato on it. I was watching the grilling because if I turn around and faced another way, I'd have to talk to some of the people in the lunch room. I work in IT, I wasn't in the mood for Bombay.
The cheese started to melt, the slices slowly lost their cohesion, and started to leisurely spread over the roll, then it started to bubble, slow at first but built up in intensity and size and I was mesmerised watching the bubbles form and disperse........ the belch from Bombay pulled me out of this daze.
That was weird, I pondered as I took my toasted H, C & T back to my office.
The cheese started to melt, the slices slowly lost their cohesion, and started to leisurely spread over the roll, then it started to bubble, slow at first but built up in intensity and size and I was mesmerised watching the bubbles form and disperse........ the belch from Bombay pulled me out of this daze.
That was weird, I pondered as I took my toasted H, C & T back to my office.
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