Taff Down Under 19

 

Oh gawd.

At work we’ve been given a shitload of cash by some nice people. The Rotary Club, the local health promotion team, and various locals firms, have all chipped in, for us to make a vegetable garden for the clients to use. "What’s wrong with that"? I hear you ask. Well everyone that knows me will tell you that, as opposed to "green fingers", I have two brown thumbs. (And not for the reason you’re thinking) I only have to look at a garden for plants to wither and die, with a face like mine that should come as no surprise. I’m to gardening what George Bush is to semiotics.

But they’ve given us loads of hard cash, and what’s worse is that they expect to see a garden growing here soon. My co-worker has agreed that she will take on the running and the management of the garden. This may not be the relief-giving thing that you would expect. How can I put it politely? She’s a "flower hat", a hippy, and a born ditherer to boot. And boy do I want to boot her at times.

Anyway, the other day we had, and this was on a Saturday I’ll have you know, a working party for the garden. I managed to talk Lee Anne into going, as I wanted her to meet my work-mates and some of the clients. She wanted to come to meet the "flower hat". She was not disappointed.

First of all old flowery spent the whole morning rushing around getting under everybody’s feet and being a complete pain in the arse. Barnum, who we’d taken along for nuisance value, was more help than she was. But the cracker, and you may not believe this, was yet to come.

At the morning break, we all looked rather smugly at the new raised beds we’d constructed, full of soil, all ready to get plant laid. Flower hat introduces a man who had kindly agreed to come that day. Had he come to help us lift the railway sleepers to form the beds? Nope. Had he come to help us shift the tons of soil? Nope. Was he an expert on gardens for the mentally ill? Nope.

She’d invited him along to advise us on crop rotation.

I’ll say that again, and this time, picture our tiny garden of sleepers and soil with not a fucking plant to be seen in it yet.

She’d invited him along to advise us on crop rotation.

You get my drift?

This is the woman who, having arranged to only work one day a week for five hours, phoned in the day before her first shift to say she; "has had the opportunity to go to the coast, and would be back next week, hopefully."

This is the woman who kept me hanging about after work for an hour, on a day I was supposed to collect Bethy from after school care, as she "had something important she needed to discuss with me." When I finally got her to say this important bit of news, that couldn’t wait until next week, it turned out to be; "I’m thinking that some time in the future I may want, if it’s ok with you and the rest of the team, I mean if it’s sound with professional ethics, I may sort of like to run some meditations sessions in the garden, at some point, is that ok?"

This is the woman who I have known to take three and a half hours, to do a cooking session with clients, that took me forty-five minutes.

This is the woman, who, and some of the staff actually made a chart of this, for three weeks was not on time for a single thing she had arranged to do, even though our boss had drawn her up a timetable.

I haven’t killed her. Yet.

Oh, while I’m on the subject of work, they’ve asked me to stay on until January. They didn’t get down on their knees and offer to blow me, (though our charge nurse Kieran who’s built like brick shithouse but as gay as a spring fair may have thought of it,) but they did plead with me to stay.

So I’ll stay on till then. I’m itching to get back to community work though; working in an institution ain’t good for me. (Insert your own wise crack here.)

The other morning, as I was having my early morning ciggy outside on the veranda, I noticed something that filled me with sadness. L For some weeks now just after sunset, loud growling have been coming from the large gum tree in the back yard. Even a numbskull like me could work out we had a possum resident in our tree. Beth named it "growler" in that wonderfully litteral way that Ozzies have with names.

It’s a been great fun at nights, watching Barnum go noisily mental leaping and barking at the tree, or hiding himself on the veranda in the hope of a chase. One night he did actually scare the possum so much it darted up the bird table down there, so we all went down and had a damn good decco at him. Cute little thing, with big eyes and long claws. I didn’t have any film in the camera, so no piccies.

Anyway, this particular morning I saw, on the edge of the veranda steps leading down to the garden, one stiff possum. We couldn’t work out who’d killed it, Tigger for all his ferocity hasn’t the teeth any more, and niether him nor Barnum had any scratches on them. If you’ve ever seen a possums claws you’ll know how unlikely it would be for another animal to kill one without getting heavily scratched.

So we comforted Bethy, who was ever so fond of it, and gave it a traditional burial.

Ok, we dustbinned it, but don’t tell Bethy.

Funnily enough, a night later we heard the same old call from the same tree. We think the dead’n must have been an outsider, possibley a youngster encroaching on the resident possums territory. That’ll teach him then.

Talking about animals, the other day I was out walking the mutt, as I am wont. He was just nosing about off the lead, and wondering too and fro in a sort of half-witted dream, the sort that’s normal for him. Up the park came a middle aged couple with two small yappy dogs on those harnesses you can get for yappies. Barnum makes his way down towards them, and stands off about five meters. The reason he does this is obvious, as soon as they see him approaching these two yappy fuckers levitate and bark their bloody heads off.

As I approach the two owners, who buy this point are being dragged hither and thither, and being pulled about like they are in a "Tom and Jerry" cartoon start remonstrating with me; "Put your dog on a lead, it’s not under control this is a public place!" Yadda yadda yadda….

I looked at their two yappies, who by now were foaming at the mouth and practicing tying reef knots in the leads, and laughed. "Go head" I said to Barnum, who co-incedentally chose this time to wonder on.

"My dog isn’t under control? Yeah, that’d be right." I said in my best Ozzie. See I’m getting the hang of things here.

Oh talking of which, I heard my first "Fair dinkum" the other day, and he wasn’t taking the piss either. Funnily enough the next day the cleaner at work asked if I was "being fair dinkum" about something. Neato, only "crikey" to go now.

It’s spring here now, and all the flowers are coming into bloom. The wattle is everywhere and a lovely yellow.

"This is the wattle, it’s the emblem of our land.

You can stick it in a bottle or you can hold it in your hand."

Monty Python.

Bright yellow daisys everywhere too. Australias gone all yellow on me.

It was Lee Anne’s birthaday the other day, I’

So it was due a good celebration. Of course all I got in the weeks before was; "I don’t want a present, just going out for a meal will be fine." Yeah sure. Anyway, I booked us a table at the Telstra Tower Restuerant, aboslutely amazing place, looks down over all of Canberra.

Telstra Tower

The tower, rising 195 metres above the summit of Black Mountain, provides splendid 360-degree views of Canberra and surrounds. This regional landmark has open and closed observation decks, two cafes and a revolving restaurant. An exhibition, 'Making Connections', traces the history of Australian telecommunications.

I also bought her a book I knew she’d like. I knew she’d like it as I made sure I read it first. I also bought her an evening dress, a nice little backless black number. I asked the girl in the shop if I could try it on before buying it. She said; "Sure, I’ll see if there’s a changing room free for you." Clever bugger.

Anyway, on the morning of her B’day I waited till she was in the bathroom, doing whatever mysterious things women do in there, and laid the dress out on the bed. Sticking my head around the door, I asked ; "What you wearing tonight?" I knew that would wind her up. After recieving a volley of the usual abuse, I retired. She came out and went into the bedroom, and came out with a big grin on her face, and I got a lovely kiss and the promise of a blow job later.

Bethy came to see what all the fuss was about, Lee Anne showed her the dress, and Bethy held it up against herself. "You can’t wear this, your left boob will be sticking out!" She looked shocked and close to tears. We had to explain to her that she was holding it sideways on.

I had a haircut that day too, but god knows why I bothered.

It normally works like this. I go into the shop, and after waiting a day or two, get called to a seat. They then ask me what I want. "Very short on the sides and back, and leave the top long enough to curl," is my standard request. They give me a long sad look, then do odd things to my head that leave me looking like a startled galah.

 

Anyway, the girl massacreing my hair had a fine pair of tits, that, even without my glasses on, I could appreciate, and I got a nipple in my ear, so I’ll go there again.

So that night, dressed in our best bib and tucker, Mary drove me, Lee Anne and Beth, to the resturant. It was wondeful. The girls had champaign to start, I had a scotch, I’m a philistine. The food though not quite great was very good, and lord be prasied, they had a separate vegetarian menu. I had for my main course stuffed tomatoes braised in pernod, Lee Anne had char grilled veg on a potato rosti, Bethy had fish of the day, and Mary went and compensated for us vego’s by having several species of dead Australian animals on a plate. Her dish included Balmain Bugs which look like huge baked cockroaches. Nice.

But the best thing of all was that the resturant rotated. Slowly thank fuck. Yup, the whole thing revolved around, so we got a stunning, and I mean stunnning, moving panorama of nightime Canberra unfolding below us. It was very special.

The came the desserts. I had the cheeese board as I don’t like sweet things. I got a fair range of cheeses all Ozzie ones, and did my best to polish off the lot of them. But Bethy had earlier spotted someone on another table having a flaming dessert cooked at the table, so there was no way she was going to go without trying that. We ordered it, it was some sort of merangue cooked in flaming Grand Marnier at your table. The guy who cooked it was very good, well at least he didn’t catch fire, and he talked and involved Bethy all the way through. She loved it. Unfortunatley he didn’t cook off all the Grand Marnier. This resulted in, as I pointed out to Lee Anne; "Bethy’s got pissed." And she was. Off in a world of her own, rambling and not making a lot of sense. She fell asleep as soon as we got in the car fortunately.

A lovely night.

Oh as part of her "treats" Lee Annes been having laser skin care on her face. She had something called a ‘pregnacy mask" following Bethy’s birth, and has been somewhat self concious about it. I can’t say I’d ever noticed it myself, but I’m a bloke so I wouldn’t. After her first treatment she came back saying it had stung like buggery, but she didn’t look any different. The next day she looked like someone had worked over her face with a steam iron. Wherever we went that week I got filthy looks off everybody.

I asked "her from work" what she thought about cosmetic surgury. This resulted in a twenty minute diatribe on how men push women into conforming to stereotypical norms, etc. I then told her that Lee Anne was having some. This resulted in a twenty minute diatribe on how it is a womans right to chose to do to herself as she wished. This of course made her forty minutes late for her next appointment.

 

Every Tuesday night, for a few weeks now, I’ve been hitting the climbing wall with Neil from next door. It’s not a sad reflection on what I used to consider as my main hobby, that I am now getting out climbed by Neil, who had been to the wall once before we started going regularly. Nope, it’s a sad reflection on what an unfit fat sod I’ve become. Thanks Neil.

One of Lee Annes workmates was leaving Canberra the other day. She’s packing it all in and going to live somewhere lovely in Western Australia, on a farm with a big house and lots of acreage. Not that we are jealous of the cow, no way.

As all her house and possessions were packed and in transit, she decided to have a big barbie by the river as a going away party. Nice idea.

The place she chose, just outside Canberra, had electric barbies provided free of charge by the local council. That would seem incredibley generous of them, until you realise that people lighting their own barbies willy nilly, wherever they please, would give Canberra the opportunity to have much more fun and games of the type we had with the firestorms of this year.

Anyway, we were amongst the first to get there and so as we got organised we sent Bethy off to fall in the river. She didn’t actually do that, but she did come running back shouting and waving excitedly. So we went over to where she was pointing to, and found what she had spotted, a spiny anteater, or echidna.

 

So we clowned about by the river, and then realised that people had the barbies going, and they were covered with meat. No problem for us as we’d had the foresight to bring a frying pan along to cook our stuff in. We didn’t have the foresight to see that electic barbies don’t get hot enough to heat through a frying pan. Ah huh!

So after a decent amount of time we came home and had a barbie on the veranda here, and very nice it was too.

Oh seeing as we’ve just been through winter here, you know the "wet season," guess what?

We’ve been put on water restrictions.

"The ACT will proceed to Stage 3 water restrictions on Wednesday 1 October 2003. Stage 3 restrictions are designed to achieve a 40 per cent reduction in water use, and will require a significant level of commitment from the ACT community.

Mandatory water restrictions are enforceable. Please note that individuals who breach the restrictions may be liable for fines of between $200 and $1000, and corporations may be fined between $1000 and $5000"

Bloody marvelous, looks good for another big brew up around Xmas again then.

Oh for those of you gagging, and I use that word advisedly, to hear the latest update on my vasecotomy, here we go. We did the usual collection routine, see past letters, and got it to the test station with a minimum of trauma. We did it a day early as we were hoping to have a weekend of kinky sex following a "go ahead and shag like bunnies" ok from the test people. Should have known better of course.

I rang for the result; "Ah, Mr Thomas, sorry to tell you but there were still three live sperm in your sample. Wait another month and do a retest, do not have unprotected sex before then."

Three?

See the problem is, that while we are waiting for the all clear, our sex lives have become a bit limited. Not that I’m complaining, there’s still plenty of fun to be had, but it lacks a certain "je ne sais quoi." And there’s the condom issue.

Putting a condom on me has the same effect of a nude Anne Widdecombe walking into the room, it just kills the poor bloody thing dead. And I have to use large size condoms. Now most of the guys readng this will think I’m just boasting, I‘m not. It’s just that ordinary size, for all their expanding capability, tend to strangle my willy. So I have to buy "larger size" condoms. The last time I did this, I quietly took them up to the counter, with a batch of other things that I didn’t need, and whistled to myself while the girl at the till totted things up. She picked up the durex, looked quizzically at them, looked at me, I gave her my famous "I’ll just crawl away and die shall I?" look. She then looked at my crotch, caught herself doing it, looked at me, and the pair of us went scarlet. "I’m not doing that again," I told Lee Anne on the way out of the shop.

We’ve solved that problem now, Lee Anne takes them to the counter and just smiles happily at the till totty with a "I’m a lucky girl" grin on her face.

 

Bethy’s just become a big sister.

No, my vasectomy hasn’t failed that badly; we’re sponsoring a child. Bethy has been banging on about doing it for some time now, something at school set her off.

Well the other day we were at the local mall, and these people had a stall there.

http://www.worldvision.org.au/index.asp

Ok, I know they are a crispy bunch, but the work they are doing is good stuff. You want to know the worse bit? You know what a big soft sod I am, well I couldn’t even begin to think about choosing one, cos if you see all those sad little kids looking up from the photographs, and you know if you chose one then the others may not get chosen, it’s absolutely fucking heartbreaking. Luckily we had Bethy with us, she just chose with no problems.

So we are sponsoring this little girl.

Sethu Jabu Mamba is from Swaziland. She doesn’t attend school, and runs errands for her family. She’s four. Her father is dead, her mother unemployed.

Some facts I didn’t want to know about Swaziland.

Aids is taking a heavy toll with nearly 40% of the population believed infected with HIV. Life expectancy has plummeted as a result. Many Swazis live in chronic poverty and food shortages are widespread.

"Food shortages in Swaziland are compounded by the country's high HIV/AIDS adult prevalence rate, and it is therefore essential that the special nutritional needs of vulnerable people are met," said Angela Van Rynbach, World Food Programme (WFP) Country Representative

So we lob them $35.00 (about a fourteen quid, $24.00 US) a month and feel a little better about ourselves.

Think about it, for the price of a packet of fags a week, you could make a fucking big difference to a kid. Think about it.

Last weekend was wonderful. As we hadn’t been on holiday since we went skiing, all of a month or two, we decided to treat ourselves to a beach holiday.

I let Lee Anne do the booking, as usual, and she came up a treat. We got this place.

The first night, Friday, we just dossed, very nice to kick back and do fuck all. We did get to feed the Roos that come to the vans to scrounge grub, which was fun.

 

The second day we climbed Pigeon House Mountain.

http://www.galactic.net.au/bushwalking/parks/Morton/PigeonHouse.html

On the way there, and few clicks up a dirt road, i.e. miles from fucking anywhere, the car started dying on us, or should I say me. We cured this by letting Lee Anne drive, the car likes her, hates me, likes her. I can’t understand that.

Anyway we got there eventually, parked up and set off. Bethy was dragging her arse a bit, it is a long fucking walk, and me and her had ‘words". Lee Anne mediated, and I walked off in a huff. I just looked back for a mo, just in time to see Bethy take a really nasty tumble. Poor sod she skinned a shin, and ended up with a huge rainbow coloured bruise on her thigh. Funnily enough this seemed to really make her pissed off with the mountain, and she stormed on up it for the rest of the trip.

She even sailed up the huge ladders they have put on the top pinnacle to prevent erosion.

On the way back down Bethy slipped on the ladders and frightened the life out of herself….And us too!

That night we had a visitor. We’d put birdseed out for the parrots, mainly rainbow lorikeets, as they are very tame and will eat from your hand.

 

The next day Bethy and Lee Anne went off horse riding. I managed to get out of going. I hate horse riding, I always end up with bollocks like coconuts after a day in the saddle.

So I took the car and went off to this place.

http://www.nationalparks.nsw.gov.au/parks.nsf/parkContent/N0304?OpenDocument&ParkKey=N0304&Type=xo

This reserve protects what is regarded as the largest midden on the south coast. To local Aboriginal people, the site is a tangible link with the past and a place where their ancestors were sometimes buried. The lagoon, to the north of the headland, is home to a serpent associated with traditional religious beliefs about the creation of the land. The area continues to be used by local Aboriginal people for fishing, recreation and educational activities. The site is important because of its size and the diversity of cultural remains, providing a wealth of information on the antiquity and complexity of the traditional dwellers.

 

The area is also popular for surfing, beach and rock fishing, diving, swimming and exploring the rock platform. The walking track offers panoramic views of the coastline.

Largest midden? I always thought a midden was a shithouse? Live and learn.

Just as I approached the entrance I almost trod on this bugger.

After I recovered use of my bowels I took some photographs of him, and slowly backed off. Boy did I walk carefully for the rest of the day!

That night the possum visited again, and we fed her some fruit. Lovely.

The next day we visited our favourite conservation place in the area "Birdland". There we got to handle a snake of the same type that had scared me shitless the previous day. It’s a diamond back python, just in case you are interested.

The Diamond Python is a distinctive large, black snake with cream to yellow markings. It is found in large bushland areas and national parks of Sydney, but often goes undetected because of its nocturnal, slow-moving habits. During the day, it may be seen basking in trees and occasionally it is found in roofs and rafters. A Diamond Python in your roof will not cause any damage but will help control rats and possums.

Distribution: Coastal areas of New South Wales.

Habitat: Urban areas, forests and woodlands, heath.

Status: Common

Size: 2-3 m.

 

Oh and the chalet we hired had a spa bath in it. I had to fight Bethy to get to use it, but I did get to use it. Once.

So all told, a very nice weekend.

Now then, Xmas is coming, and I know you all want to make me a happy man. So, in return for these long-winded diatribes, I know you’ve been scratching you heads and wondering how you can ever thank me. Well if you would be so kind as to send me a single packet of "Safeways Own Brand Loose Leaf Assam Tea", I’d be ever so grateful. Just that brand and type please. Thanks.

Of course, if you send me one with a nice letter asking me to please stop sending this shit, I can do that too!

Lee Anne’s Mum went to Melbourne where they have a branch of Safeways. I asked her to bring me some back from there. She brought me just about every different type of tea they sell, absolutely none of which was the type requested. Cheers Mary.

Oh, just in case you’ve lost it;

Taff, Lee Anne & Beth

4 Amangu Street

Aranda

ACT 2614

Australia.

 

You can send the Xmas cards there too!

Lee Anne at the moment is using a steam cleaner to clean the house, I kid you not. More on this next letter. She’s doing this as we have visitors coming from the UK next month. Now you know why I hate you so much Nicol.

Fifteen fucking pages, and what will I get in reply? J