Wednesday, 19 July 2017
Regular reader(s) may recall that my dad is a master of the unfinished
project. Case in point: the Georgian Bay kayak he has been building me
(or rather failing to finish) for the past three years. So when he and
my mum were away in Queensland for a couple of weeks, I decided it would
be nice idea to finish off a room that has been semi-renovated ever
since my brother Luke moved out nearly two years ago. In fact, all that
had happened to the room in the first year was that Dad had pulled the carpet
up. Inspired by Cathy's renovation of the Oslo Room at her house, I
talked dad into buying some floorboards from Bunnings. Which promptly
sat on the floor of the adjacent room for over six months.
That was partially my fault for insisting we paint the room before
laying the floorboards. Which led to us dismantling the wardrobe. Which
led to the project stalling again.
Here's dad silently cursing the shoddy job done by the previous owner:
Conveniently, Cathy and I are unemployed at the moment (or as we like to
call it, meaningfully engaged in other fun stuff). So Cathy was
available with her staple gun and her many carpentry skills, both of
which I am lacking.
Our first step was to plane back the uneven particle board on the floor
of the room (thanks to Cathy's brother-in-law Rob for this tip!) Here's
Cathy hard at work:
Next step was to lay the insulating underlay (the gold roll in the photo
above). Unfortunately we soon realised that we didn't quite have
enough. And so off we headed on the first of our many supplementary trips to Bunnings.
Once we'd correctly laid the underlay, it was time to lay the floorboards. Ha! Just kidding. It was actually time to watch a lot of YouTube videos on how to lay floorboards. And then it was time to lay them...oh wait, first we had to ring the customer help line to ask what the little bits of plastic between the boards were for (instrumental to the 'click in' mechanism apparently, although you could have fooled us). THEN it was time to lay the floorboards.
The first half of the room was relatively straightforward, although it did mean venturing out to the Big Shed (many, many times) to use dad's drop saw. Cathy was envious, claiming that it was much better than hers and that she'd be an awesome carpenter if she had access to such good equipment. This many have seemed like a perfect opportunity to point out that a good workwoman never blames her tools, but since Cathy completed the Oslo room with only a jigsaw and a teeny-tiny tape measure*, dad's alternative saying came to mind: 'A superior workman knows when his tools are truly at fault'.
With the first half in the bag, it was time to contemplate the slightly trickier proposition of cutting boards to go around obstacles. Fortunately dad had the perfect tool for this too - a fancy bandsaw that I had seen him use (complete with OHS approved 'poking device'), but never actually used myself. How hard could it be?
Luckily, it turned out to be pretty straightforward, but I was glad to have Cathy there for moral support (in fact, she has now become such an expert that she has been using it to cut boards for her new kitchen).
Much like my bike maintenance skills, it turns out I had subconsciously absorbed a lot of dad's carpentry tips without actually doing any carpentry. Including the most important rule:
After a long day - or possibly two - we had the floorboards in place. Next task - another trip to Bunnings to buy skirting boards and admire the mini-circular saws. Then more YouTube.
I have to admit that we weren't the most efficient skirting board layers in the history of the world. The first problem was that YouTube recommended using something called a coping saw for the (possibly) uneven corners. This allows you do a flat cut on one end of the skirting, with a second beautifully cut piece slotting neatly into place.
The first step was to call dad and ask if he had a coping saw (I told him Cathy needed to borrow one). Yes, he did have one - and it was even where he said it was. Yet another trip to Bunnings for Cathy for a new set of blades (Zali's tip from highschool woodwork was that the blades break easily...a prescient piece of advice) and we were in business. For some reason we'd decided on an evening skirting board session, so I was soon out in the Small Shed trying to use a coping saw on one of our skirting board ends.
Much like straddle press handstands, it looked so easy on YouTube, but was fucking difficult to replicated in real life, in poor light. Strangely, the first one I did was my best. Perhaps it was just that I got a little impatient after that, but the next few were consistently crappy.
The next issue that we encountered was that we had either failed to measure efficiently, or just fucked up so many ends trying to 'cope' that, although we technically had enough skirting boards, one wall was now made of little itty bits. Not the desired effect!
Fortunately, they were only $5.39 each at Bunnings, so off I went the next day to buy another.
In the meantime - while lying in bed at night thinking about skirting boards - I realised that we should have painted the boards AFTER we cut them, as cutting/handling them fucks up the paint (thanks for nothing, YouTube). And that I could probably cope better if I a) coped in the daytime when I could see what I was doing, and b) left a bit of an edge which I could carefully file back.
And voila - the perfect coped edge:
We ran into few more dramas while attaching the boards to the walls - basically we should have used screws the whole way around, rather than a combination of nail gun (which didn't always work well) and screws (which always did).
Here's Cathy with the industry-mandated three drills, counter-sinking like a pro:
Despite a few 'learning experiences', we were extremely happy with the result:
And if I fail as a writer, I can always get a job as a tool catalogue model.
*she now has a much better tape measure, after dad po-poohed her little one!
The secret renovation also gave birth to a side project - a set of steps up a slippery slope* next to the Small Shed.
During one of our many trips to the Big Shed - during which Cathy was, admittedly, wearing Crocs - we struggled to climb this slope and I mentioned that I had suggested to dad that some steps there might be handy. 'Let's build some,' said Cathy. Her brazen plan wasn't without precedent - my landlord (and Cathy's brother) Paul has been busily building steps all over the property, as part of a walking train linking our house to another road at the bottom of the valley. I'd been checking out these steps admiringly for a few weeks, while also noting that there were a bunch of small star pickets in the back of his car.
Here I am struggling up the slope, pre steps:
And here we are walking easily up and down the new ones!
We completed the project in a couple of hours (not counting the
compulsory trip to Bunnings) between room
renovation tasks. It made all subsequent treks out to the Big Shed that
much more enjoyable!
*literally, not metaphorically.
Friday, 12 May 2017
During my recent trip to New Zealand, at a barbeque on the
shores of Blue Lake, Rotorua, Cathy put it to us that New Zealand was actually
better than Australia. Purely on the basis of fun activities, it’s pretty hard
to argue with that proposition. But our friend Alexa, a geologist who travelled
to New Zealand as an undergraduate to study stuff like volcanos and pillow
lava, quickly dashed Cathy’s statement to the ground (or rather, blew it out
the top of an active volcano). ‘Australia is much more geologically stable,’
she said. ‘My vulcanology professor was convinced that half of the north island
of New Zealand was going to be wiped out in a volcanic eruption.’ Aside from making me want to
become a vulcanologist (‘I answer to no one but Vulcan, god of fire and really destructive stuff!’), it did
make me a little less enthusiastic about moving to Auckland. Well that, and the
crazy house prices.
Instability aside, New Zealand is a pretty great place. But
then again, so is Australia. So we decided that we should have a debate on the
topic: That New Zealand is better than Australia. Cathy would be first speaker affirmative,
Alexa would be first speaker negative, and I would be third speaker negative
(my old debating position in high school. I was the master of having the last
word on a topic – something that my friends and family probably won’t find surprising).
Cathy’s brother Paul was more in the ‘New Zealand is better’ camp, while Alexa’s
husband Andy was in favour of Australia. And our friend Tracy cited NZ’s poor
While we never organised a formal debate (much to my disappointment),
the subject had a lot of discussion over the next few weeks. Here are some of the
pros and cons:
Pros: Cheap beer, no snakes, better hiking*, impossible to
get sunburned (at least in April), smaller and therefore easier to get around,
better skiing, better adventure activities, better camping/camper van
facilities, better orienteering terrain, better ice cream, better apples, better
film industry, hot springs, generally prettier, lovely birdlife, single centralised government,
more critical of USA, less crowded, more independent, friendlier.
Cons: Obsession with rugby, obsession with beating Australia
at sport, obsession with feijoas, shit TV and radio, generally expensive, sand
flies, 90c premium on decaf, incredibly over-priced honey, unaffordable real
estate in Auckland, active volcanoes, earthquakes, tidal waves, no native
mammals, poor environmental record.
Pros: Generally cheaper, more varied terrain, better beaches
and islands, better football code, better environmental policies, closer to
Europe, better native animals (except for snakes and sharks), geologically
Cons: Snakes, sharks, hole in ozone layer, shit skiing,
federal system of government, unaffordable real estate in Melbourne and Sydney
(and probably Brisbane and Perth), expensive beer (compared to NZ but
admittedly not compared to Norway).
*There was much debate over this factor. Personally I think
the hiking is better in Australia – at least in Tasmania, although we did have
to remind ourselves that we were comparing NZ to the whole of Australia, not
just Tasmania. The two hikes that I did in NZ – the Queen Charlotte Track and the
Milford Track – are both very famous hikes. And they were pretty nice. But a
lot of the hiking was quite boring and flat, with average views. I guess it
didn’t help that we missed out on THE view on the Milford track…but that’s kind
of my point. If there’s only one spectacular view, then it’s not really such a
great hike. I mean, it was still pretty good, and there were lots of things I
really loved about it, but compared to, say, the Overland Track, it was a poor
cousin, and I’d only give it three and a half stars. Still, I’ve only done a couple of
hikes in NZ and I guess I need to do all nine of the ‘great walks’ to make a
comparison. I’d still put money on the fact that there’s nothing as pretty as
the Walls of Jerusalem though.
What IS a lot better in NZ is the track maintenance and
planning. There was a section of the Milford Track, coming down from the
non-existent view at McKinnon Pass, where the track descended through some
pretty inhospitable terrain. In Australian (or at least Tasmanian) hands, it would have been a
nightmare. It was still pretty tough with my terrible toes, but the number of
bridges, steps and even concrete-reinforced sections meant that instead of
scrambling, pack-hauling and fearing for your life, you could walk down in
relative safety and comfort. If only the Frenchman’s Cap track has that kind of
thought and effort invested in it (at least on the steep sections – I’ll admit
that Dick’s Highway is pretty good!)
So, as you can see, New Zealand pretty much craps all over
Australia in most categories. And if the whole country wasn’t about to be
covered in volcanic ash and/or slide into the sea, I’d probably move there.
Monday, 1 May 2017
I've just returned from my
three-and-a-half week NZ adventure and am now (sigh) back at work.
Due to logistical reasons I couldn't take
my laptop and my plan to blog on my tablet didn’t really work out. So, as
usual, for better photos and stories refer to Cathy’s blog.
Speaking of Cathy’s, one of the
highlights of my trip was Cathy’s second place in the World Masters
Orienteering sprint distance final. After qualifying in fifth place, Cathy had
a fast and smooth run, with the exception of a small mistake after what became
known as the ‘tunnel of disappointment’. My friend and arch rival (actually she’s
not really my arch rival because she’s so much better than me – she just happens
to be my virtual twin, age-wise!) Tash won by a wide margin, as expected, but
Cathy’s unexpected second place cheered me up considerably after my three
minute mistake on the T.O.D.
In the long distance, I again ran
a lot better in the first qualifying race, finishing second (I’d also qualified
third in the sprint) but was a little disappointed in my race in the final.
Winsplits (a website that lists individual control split times and highlights
in pink where you’ve fucked up) had me in second place after control 7, only a
minute behind (in the forest) the Finnish girl who started two minuted ahead of
me and who would eventually catch the third, fourth and fifth place getters,
forming a mega-train through the forest, with all of them finishing at the same
time! Oh well. After rushing out of control 7 in the wrong direction, I
proceeded to make a three minute mistake on number 8, and again on number 10,
and again on number 14! Whoops. I was definitely running faster than the speed
at which I could navigate, which wasn’t actually that fast, but was faster than
my fitness would allow. At any rate I really enjoyed the race, despite
mistakes, the forest was beautiful and it has inspired me to train harder and
build on my NZ-acquired fitness.
Here are some more of my highlights:
Hanging out with my niece and nephew...sometimes literally!
Sunday, 16 April 2017
Thanks to Dad's laptop and a WiFi connection, I can finally add some photos of our Milford Track hike.
In approximate order:
Dani and Paul (with his kiddie pack)
Andy and Jono
Cathy and Zali (spot the taller of the two)
Dani at the start of the climb...it was still dark!
McKinnon pass...a 'spectacular viewing highlight' of the trip (so we hear)
Rainbow on the descent.
The mountains emerge.
Sutherland falls from a distance.
Jett and Cathy in the typically verdant* forest.
Me looking at my favourite falls.
Jono goes in for the smooch.
The cutaway...which took five years, a lot of dynamite and a lot of blokes with pick-axes.
Our pretty lunch spot by the river on the last day.
One last waterfall for luck.
...and finally, some mud, just in case we were disappointed by the lack of it.
*Dani told me she wouldn't know how to describe just how green the forest was to someone who had never seen it. I advised her to use the word 'verdant' a lot.
Saturday, 15 April 2017
I am just back in civilization after a four day hike along the Milford Track in the Fiordland National Park. It was great - not even especially wet despite the forecast. The one disappointment was the complete whiteout at McKinnon Pass, which is the highest point on the track. "The views are well worth the effort of the climb" said every article, guidebook and brochure. Ah, not so much. But after the steep descent from the pass, we walked into sunshine and rainbows. A fantastic side trip to McKinnon Falls (it was all about McKinnon in those parts) topped off a long but rewarding day.
In fact the only real lowlight of the trip was my big toes, which got a little trashed on the Queen Charlotte, and became progressively worse every day. Even DIY surgery to reduce the giant blood blisters didn't really help. When I dropped a 10c coin on one toe at Milford Lodge this morning, and yelled out in agony, I knew I was in trouble. Let's hope they improve before next week.
As always, for decent photos see Cathy's blog.
Monday, 10 April 2017
It was a fairly steep walk back up the road from my accommodation to the start of the track, which set the tone for the next hour and a half. At the track and road junction, I met a cyclist who had just ridden from Punga Cove - amazingly good going considering that it was about 9.30am (I deliberately started late, knowing I'd have a long wait for the 4pm boat). We both looked at the sign on the track indicating there were 24km to go. 'That's a bit disappointing,' said MTB girl, 'I'm sure the sign 5 minutes back said 21km.' Indeed it did - I remembered it from the day before, when my toes were aching and I was nearing the 5 hour mark.
Oh well. However far we had to go, there was only one direction - UP.
Pretty soon I realized that I'd overdressed. For some reason I had decided to wear a thermal top; my only spare clothing was another long sleeve top and my puffy. Not that it was particularly hot, it was just sunny - and sun + hills + me = sweat.
So I sweated buckets after I passed false summit after false summit, hikers and bikers. Finally I reached the tete de la cours. Needless to say, the views were spectacular.
From there it was gently undulating to the next camping and accommodation spot, where I stopped for a drink and a snack. It was (allegedly) 12.5 km from there to the finish, so I set myself the goal of running the whole way, even through there was a long gradual uphill ahead of me before the lovely downhill home (the rules of jog-hikes are that you don't have to run uphill if you don't want to).
Anyway, I made it - with a short loo stop at a pretty beach camp ground with 3km to go. My legs really didn't want to start running again, but I made them, and we finished the day's jog-hike in just under 3 hours.
I was pretty tired and my big toes were sore (uh oh) but the long wait for the boat went really quickly as I sat around in the sun, drank chain and pear & feijoa juice and more and more hikers and bikers finished their journeys.
All in all, a lovely hike but I think next time I will throw some MTB riding and kayaking in the mix - and bring some friends with me!
Sunday, 9 April 2017
After a relaxing night at Punga Cove resort (which has a range of accommodation, including the 'el cheapo' variety within my budget), I woke up feeling slightly less stiff and sore than I'd felt immediately after my jog-a-hike (thanks, in part, to the penthouse hot tub, that anyone can use). However I was still a bit apprehensive about the amount of climb that my elevation guide predicted for the next day. Factoring in my general overall fatigue levels, and the amount I had slipped a slid on the slopes in my sneakers, I decided to wear my hiking boots and walk briskly instead of jog-hike.
I needn't have worried - the track was generally a lot better than Day 1 (at least on the steeper sections) and there was plenty I could have run. However I think my legs needed the break and I managed the fairly steep 25km in around 5 hours.
Views weren't quite as good as the first day - a lot of sections were densely wooded, even when traversing ridge lines. It was less sunny today too, which generally meant less sweatiness, particularly with the more relaxed pace.
I saw more cyclists today - and on reflection I think this would be the best section to ride. There were hills, sure, but the track was good and they were rideable. And there were many, many sections of lovely tramway type tracks that would have been brilliant to speed along on a mountain bike.
One of the features of the Queen Charlotte track is that you have to walk a little bit 'off piste' to get to your accommodation. This adds a few kilometres to the overall distance, which is somewhere between 70 and 75 km), depending on which map or sign you consult.
Speaking of maps, I couldn't get a decent one. There are plenty of crappy A4 maps around, provided by various tourist establishments, but when I tried to find a proper topographical map, I failed.
It was also pretty amazing the number of people hiking without any map at all - who gratefully poured over the shit maps I offered to show them at various points along the way. Despite being generally crappy, they did at least have an elevation profile, which was useful in terms of figuring out where you where you were, and how much pain you had yet to endure.
After 5 hours I was pretty buggered, but I headed down to the Portage Resort Hotel (where I wasn't staying) while it was still light for an overpriced burger and a reasonably priced (and delicious) NZ craft beer. This seems to have been my dining pattern so far - one expensive meal per day, and various bars and fruit and nuts the rest of the time, supplemented with an evening beef. The burger was average, the beer was delicious, and after a bit if reading and a handful of fruit and nuts I went to bed and slept like a log for 9 hours.
Photos @veronica.thorne on Instagram.
Friday, 7 April 2017
After a night in a slight Fawlty Towers-esque hotel in Picton, I headed out at about 7.30 am to catch the boat to the start of the Queen Charlotte track, about an hour away through her eponymous Sound. I felt slightly apprehensive about leaving some of my stuff with the hotel owner ('It will be very safe with us') until my return in three days time. I couldn't figure out whether he was an alien or Liberace's long lost (and inexplicably married) brother. I guess it will either still be there or it won't!
The majority of my stuff however was coming with me - but not on my back. Thanks to Cougar Line (are they trying to tell me something?) it would waiting for me at Punga Cove Resort. Indeed it was - and when I picked it up after my 3.5 hour jog-hike, I reflected on just how much easier it is to walk without a pack.*
Despite feeling very weary now, I absolutely loved the hike. So much of it was just beautifully runnable (or jog-hikeable) and the scenery was some of the prettiest coastal scenery I've ever seen (possibly too many scene/seens in that sentence). I did see a couple of European kiddies pushing their mud-caked fat tire bikes up one of the more un-runnable (and horrendously un-rideable) bits, which looked like my idea of hell. But most of the track was much nicer (and surprisingly empty).
I will write and add pictures when I have a better/faster internet connection - Sweden it ain't, despite the Scandi-like vegetation and forest smells.
Thursday, 6 April 2017
I arrived in Wellington last night and made my way to my Air B'n'B accommodation on the airport bus. Being the disorganized traveller that I am, I didn't have any cash, so the bus driver let me on for free as it was cash only, it was pissing with rain and she was about to leave. Wouldn't happen in Melbourne!
Unfortunately it has been pissing with rain ever since. I did venture out from my accommodation last night to get some food and NZD, but got soaked in the process. It's a bit disappointing as Wellington looks like a lovely city and the apartment I am staying in is right on the waterfront (highly recommended - hosted by Sebastian and Angus who were great).
Here's a view from the window:
I guess I should head out in search of a (decaf) coffee - which Sebastian assures me won't disappoint. I'm catching a 2pm ferry to Picton and the Weather Channel informs me that the rain is only getting heavier. Hard to imagine but I will take their word for it Luckily it looks like a fine day tomorrow when I start my long jog-hike along the Quuen Charlotte track.
Saturday, 1 April 2017
A couple of days ago, I was thinking about my upcoming trip to New Zealand. Specifically I was thinking about uploading a photo to the World Masters Games site. The organisers asked for a passport-style photo. I didn't have a digital image like that handy, which was a shame because my actual passport photo is quite nice (I thought to myself).
And your passport is where? said a little voice in my head.
Ah yes, that would be in Hobart. While I am in Melbourne.
I really should have written a list.
Tuesday, 7 March 2017
I've been riding to work from Elwood via Port Melbourne lately, which
is a really nice ride apart from the crazy pedestrian crap-shoot along
Southbank and the ferocious sea breeze headwinds. A small detour on the
way home takes me to Acland St, where there are a couple of supermarkets
and a million arty types without jobs drinking beer
in the sun (like me when I'm in LA).
I locked up my bike and
headed to the Acland St Woolworths, where I wandered around aimlessly
for a while, as is my inefficient habit when in an unfamiliar
supermarket environment. Finally I settled on a few items for dinner and
was heading towards the checkouts when I spotted one of the eye
grabbing 'specials' which you would never buy otherwise.
occasions it was two packets of 'Nice and Natural' museli bars for $5.
I'm not usually a museli bar eater but I thought I might buy some on the
basis that I keep forgetting to bring anything to work for breakfast,
and also I was anticipating wandering around the pine forest all day
Friday and Saturday setting up for an orienteering event back in
Tasmania. A handy snack, I thought to myself, would be nice.
wasn't paying much attention as the checkout chick* (who was actually a
bloke) scanned my groceries; but then again, neither was he. However, I
did notice that the total seemed to be a lot for my relatively few
items. So as I moved away from the checkout, I checked my receipt and
sure enough I had been charged $4 each for the boxes of museli bars,
rather than $5 for two.
Channeling my inner Susannah (a dietician
friend who extremely vigilant when it comes to food), I walked back to the
counter to point out the error.
"I'll go and check," said check-out-bloke. And off he went.
inordinate amount of time later, he returned with two boxes of muesli
bars, my receipt and the pricing sticker. He then proceeded to give me a
lesson in Woolworth's dodgy pricing policies. "It says 180 - 192
grams,' he said. 'Which means that if you choose two of the 180 gram
boxes, it's $5. Or it you choose two 192 boxes, it's $5. But if you mix
and match, you get charged the full price.'
'What The Actual
Fuck?' I said. OK, I didn't really say that. I said: 'That's totally
misleading.' In fact, I was so annoyed my the dodginess that I took a
photo of the price tag.
The check-out-bloke then proceeded to
outline my options, which were totally incomprehensible. At first I
thought he was just going to refund me the $3 - since it was obviously
their fault/dodgy policy that had caused the problem. Eventually it
transpired that what he wanted me to do was choose ONE of the flavours,
at which point he would refund me the $3 then go and get me an identical
box so that it would satisfy the 'must weigh exactly the same'
criterion (evidently getting another flavour of the same weight was not
'Fine,' I said, sounding like someone who writes into
the newspaper and signs herself (Mrs) Clare Hawkins-Smythe. 'But you'll
have to go and get me the other box because you already took my boxes
Keen to get rid of me, check-out-bloke readily agreed to
this, refunding my $3 then returning soon after with another box of
Nice and Natural.
'Fuck you Woolworths,' I whispered under my breath as I left their establishment.
retrieving my bike, I rode home slowly via the canal with the groceries
hanging over one handlebar. Of course, the flimsy bag broke, forcing me
to practically nurse the bag as I rode one-handed the rest of the way
home. Finally home, I realised I couldn't carry the groceries AND the
bike up the stairs, so I left the groceries by the door, carried my bike
up, walked down the two flights and then carried the groceries up. Standing in a pool of sweat, I finally had the energy to unpack the
(strangely heavy) bag of groceries. Whereupon I discovered that I'd
accidentally stolen the original two boxes of Nice and Natural, which
had been in my bag all along.
*neither the Coles nor the Woollies in Acland St has a self checkout, presumably (and ironically) because it makes it too for the backpackers to shoplift.
Wednesday, 15 February 2017
This morning I was looking something up on World Clock and noticed a drop down menu for fun holidays. That looks interesting, I thought to myself, I need a fun holiday. Sadly, I was forgetting one of the fundamental differences between Australian and American English - 'holiday' means 'commemorative day' (like 'public holiday') in American, whereas 'vacation' means an actual holiday.
So, I was not treated to list of fun places to go on my next vacation (although I don't really need one, since my next official vacation is to NZ, land of really fun stuff). I did, however, discover that yesterday was not, in fact, Valentine's Day (OK it was bloody Valentine's Day) but Library Lovers Day. And since I love libraries, I will be celebrating retrospectively by returning my overdue library books. Tomorrow is Do a Grouch a Favor Day, while February 17 is Random Act of Kindness Day (meh). But I think my reader(s) will all agree that the one we have all been waiting for is February 18 - Battery Day. Suggested ways to celebrate Battery Day include:
- swapping out old, dead batteries from your [90s] household items [such as your Sony Walkman and your Rabbit vibrator]
- take all the old batteries to the recycling centre [assuming you have a lot of household items that haven't been working for a while]
- check your fire alarm and smoke alarm batteries and replace them if needed [and finally stop them from beeping]
- learn the history and science behind batteries.
I'm certainly looking forwarded to Googling 'batteries' and reading the Wikipedia entries. Then, when I'm done with that, I'll start preparing myself (and my tastebuds) for February 19th - Chocolate Mint Day. Except that, sadly, I have given up chocolate until Easter. So I'll just have to content myself with 'taking a day to relax my brain and stop over-analyzing problems' on February 27 - No Brainer Day.
Sunday, 5 February 2017
I have recently joined Instagram. It was late, I'd had two margaritas, I was in Palm Springs, and my friend Maree made me (kind of). I have a fake name and 10 followers, so I'm not exactly liking up a storm, but I have noticed (or technically, had pointed out to me) an alarming piece of social media etiquette: never 'like' a photo in which your ex-partner is visible. You can still follow them, of course, however you can only 'like' a photo that they have posted if they themselves do not feature in it. This includes photos of your kids alongside your ex - your disdain for your ex automatically cancels out the 'like' you had for you kids (I guess this is why people get divorced).
Apparently if you don't follow this rule, the social media police automatically block your account. In fact I'm told that 'liking' your ex is a worse crime than posting a picture of yourself breastfeeding or wearing a bikini with an un-waxed map of Tassie.
This strikes me as exceptionally lame. By all means, if you don't want to follow someone (or like any of their photos), don't. But to like ONLY those in which they don't feature...what exactly is your point? Are you saying: 'I like your social media presence in general, but I specifically don't like you'; or are you saying: 'Nyah nyah nyah nyah nyah.' Or perhaps the idea is to encourage potential partners who are stalking your ex, by saying: 'I'm still a friendly cool person, I still follow my ex because I'm over it and all, but I really don't LIKE him/her any more, I'm a swingin' single, what's your star sign?'
Maybe it's just my social media naivety but I would be infinitely less inclined to want a relationship with someone who indulges in this type of behavior. It doesn't exactly augur well for when WE break up. And what a lot of effort it must involve, carefully screening every post in case an errant 'like' accidentally captures the back of our ex-partner's head.
It's right up there with excessive hastagging for social media crimes I reckon. And if I was the social media police, I'd be stamping #petty #mean #bitter on any offenders I found.
Tuesday, 31 January 2017
It was so nice to wake up on Sunday morning with no pressing need to be up and packed and on our way. Well, nice for me anyway. I woke up at about 6am and listened to music for a while, so I'm confident that Cathy got at least one hour's good sleep - aside from all my wriggling around of course.
As we sat around finishing our breakfast at the leisurely hour of 8.45, we noticed the Devonport boys crossing the bride some 100m to the south. This was some impressive effort - we figured that they must have left Lake Vera at about 6am, after quickly scoffing down 'Breakfast - Day 4'. So much for us finishing the walk early!
In the end it took us about 2 hours to get back to the cars. There was one fairly decent hill, which took us to the 'lookout' - which we'd entirely missed on the way into Lake Vera due to the rain and mist. Frenchman's Cap was easily visible from this vantage point, but unfortunately not so visible in photos due to the disparity of light. Here's my best attempt:
When we got back to the cars, the boys from Devonport were just about to leave. They offered us a cold beer, but we declined as Tom was driving, I just needed water and Cathy doesn't drink beer. Unfortunately for Dad, he'd stopped for a toilet break so when he returned to the car, spied Cathy's post-walk chips and asked, jokingly, if we had a cold beer to go with them, we were forced to confess that we'd just turned one down!
Overall, the walk was really enjoyable and I'd happily do it again*. Leo was fantastic (and excellent company - he's very funny and chatty and really observant), completing the walk with barely a grumble (that didn't relate to food - he did try to send a couple of meals back to the kitchen, much to his dad's annoyance!) Cathy was a machine and Tom was super strong and very patient with both Leo and Dad on the tougher parts. I'd probably do it a little differently next time but the way we did it, in the conditions we did it in, gave everyone a real sense of achievement. And whatever hike Leo does from now on will seem easy in comparison!
For an alternative blogging viewpoint (with lots of great photos) check out Cathy's blog.
*This isn't the case with the Western Arthurs, which I did with dad in 2004. I was trying to pinpoint a date when Dad reminded me that the day we finished, which happened to be New Years Day, I was calling Cathy to see whether she'd had her baby. That baby was Zali, who was born on January 1st and is now 13 years old. Anyway, back to the walk - it was tough - loads of pack hauling and treacherous traverses. After finishing that walk I filed it under 'never again'. And that was carrying a reasonably light pack (the same pack Leo carried this time in fact) because Dad took all the heavy stuff! By contrast, Dad claimed that Frenchman's Cap was much harder. What a difference 13 years makes.
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