Thursday, February 26, 2004

I am going to a wedding on the weekend.

I love a good wedding, there is no other event where the brides’ father might make a 45min speech, or where one of the guests might flash her nether regions to Bert Newton (true story!) and yet the whole thing still turns out ok due to the lavish lubrication supplied by free alcohol.

So this particular wedding is rather large, for 325 people no less. I’m thinking the bride and groom are going to be little specs on the horizon for this event, where we will be lucky to catch a glimpse of them as they glide by. I am seriously thinking of taking my binoculars. And as it fitting with the scale of such a wedding, from all reports they are going all out. There is a Band and a DJ, a wedding cake and other cake, even an after wedding reception party organised.

My own wedding by comparison was like having someone over for vegemite sandwiches. But my wedding was perfect – its just that now it is in the past. Every now and then I get a little misty eyed about having my wedding all over and done with. I see some beautiful flowers or something and think, “wouldn’t they be lovely for a wedding?” and realise my time is gone. So I’m thinking that when one day I eventually go to Vegas I am definitely renewing my wedding vows in the Chapel O Love (ala Momo). I can even sing the song on the way…


Friday, February 20, 2004

On Monday night, Mr R and myself had an appointment at the local travel health clinic in preparation for this crazy-but-exciting trip to South America. We don’t actually leave until June, but I knew that you needed time for some vaccinations (like Hep A and B) as you need a series of injections.

After spending an hour with the nurse, who proceeded to explain that we shouldn’t eat or drink anything much when we are away, to make sure that stay away from rabid animals and to basically spend most of the holiday aware that a deadly disease could latch on to us at any moment so don’t have too much fun.

Then we had ten seconds with the doctor, where he jabbed me with SIX needles and an oral vaccine. Hep A&B, polio, yellow fever, measles-mumps-rubella, tetanus, and others that I cant spell or remember.

I tell you, that tetanus hurts like anything and I now have a lumpy itchy arm for the pleasure of that injection. Plus a $500 addition to the credit card.

So I am getting a bit, well, scared. Not of travelling as such, but all the bloody medication we have to take with us. There is going to be no room left in my pack at this rate.

This is what we have so far:

Iodine for purifying water
Two types of anti-biotic (which one to take is fully dependent on the consistency of the diarrhoea I’m going to get, described very colourfully on the packaging)
Gastrolyte (blackcurrant flavour)
Malaria tablets
Industrial strength insect repellent that you cannot leave on your skin for too long or your arm/leg/face will fall off
Insect repellent for our room
Insect repellent for our clothes

You’d think we were travelling to the middle of an undeveloped country. Oh shit (lets hope that’s not literal!), we are.


Wednesday, February 18, 2004

Things I learnt (or remembered) on my week at the beach with two friends, a 4 year old boy, a 2 ½ year old girl, a 10 week old baby, my husband and three surfboards.

There is nothing like the feeling when you arrive at a beach house and pull apart the musty curtains to a 180 degree view of the beach and sparkling ocean.

Pubs with outdoor play areas in the beer garden on a mild summers’ evening are the best

When you are 2 ½, there is often no need for clothes

When you are 4, washing your hair under the shower is the equivalent of someone pulling out your fingernails

It is possible to read the same book seven times in a row without pausing for breath, and not get sick of it

When all else fails, throw a tantrum (I am practicing this one often)

Camera out = Chocolate frog. There is no point smiling for the camera first off. If you scowl and turn around first, then your Mum will bribe you with a chocolate frog to smile.

When at the beach, everyone always wants the same bucket and spade, even though there are thousands of them lying around.

4 year olds cannot surf, despite their uncle’s mis-guided beliefs

I want a baby as perfect as our holiday baby, that slept for 12 hours every night and nearly all day too, except when he was smiling at you and making perfect baby “goo” noises. If there were a way to guarantee this, I’d have a baby tomorrow.

Living without television for a whole week helps one re-discover the joy of conversation.

My husband looks very cute in a wetsuit

Even if fully clothed when visiting the beach, when you return home there will always be sand in your knickers

Playing golf on a course full of kangaroos (and therefore also full of tourists) can be detrimental to ones’ game. Or at least is gives you something to blame.

When you listen to Playschool’s “I am the garbage man” 12 times in a row on the way home from a beach holiday, it is still not enough

The sound of the crashing waves in the background makes one sleep very soundly.

I want a beach house (I’m dreaming…)


Thursday, February 05, 2004

Sometimes you have those moments in your life when you just, well get things. For example, you may have been struggling with a difficult mathematical concept, and then suddenly it is just like the cartoon lightbulb flashes and everything falls into place. I try not to struggle with any mathematical concepts, so that was a purely hypothetical example, but you get my drift.

I am not what you would call the most co-ordinated person when it comes to ball sports. I’m not a total klutz, but to put me on a scale of the order people got picked for school sports teams, I’d be somewhere towards the end, but before the blind kid. I blame this totally on my parents, who didn’t manage to produce a brother who would throw things at me so I would get good at deflecting them.

This lack of talent for ball sports was none more evident than in the primary school Friday afternoon inter-school sports competition of Newcombe. I think that’s a little like volleyball, but you can catch the ball, a modification that you’d think would suit my level of ability. As it happens, I was actually picked early on to participate in this game, firstly because the person picking was new and didn’t know me, and secondly because I was very tall for my age.

So anyway, in Newcombe you have to rotate the team around, so that everyone has a turn serving. Why this happens is beyond me, its like rotating positions on an AFL field so everyone has a turn in the ruck, when really only the ruckman is any good.

Predictably, I couldn’t serve. It was rather complicated to actually punch the ball, and it was a long way over that net, I had not a hope. It got to the point where my team mates would audibly groan when it was my turn to serve.

I embarrassed myself with this serving failure for a number of games (this was some sort of tournament I think) and before I knew it, it was my turn again. The opposition were smiling, knowing a point was coming their way. I walked to the serving spot, took a deep breath, drew back my fist and bam – the most perfect serve anyone could ever do. The opposition were so shocked they didn’t even catch it – it was an ace! My team actually cheered. From then on I was the best server our team had – and for one brief sporting season I was the host of the Newcombe team.

Of course this glory didn’t last. Next term was softball and I was relegated to the outfield, but every now and then, something reminds me, and I think of that one fleeting moment of sporting glory, and smile. It’s nice when that lightbulb goes off.

* * * * * *

As if you’d notice the difference, given how often I actually post anything here, but I am on holidays next week – spending a week down on the west coast with Mr R and some friends and their 2 ½ year old girl and 10 week old boy. Fingers crossed for a sleep in past 7am. We may just be crazy.


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