Curiously Minty

Homework

No, I won't write your 600 word response on the themes in Looking for Alibrandi.  You are the child of migrant parents, albeit those of the dominant cultural theme in this country, and you know plenty about tensions between the way things should be done (ie, the British way) and the way things happen here.  You know what it means to be a catholic school girl.  You also know plenty about eastern suburbs culture and indeed your older sister spent two years attending the school in which the film version of the above teen novel was set.   In addition, you are the child of a broken home so I think you can wax at length on the vagaries of having divorced parents.  Plus, you are fully capable of tearing off 600 words since you write reams of teenage vampire fiction in the privacy of your own bedroom.

Besides, I have lots of homework of my own to do.

The killer app

I am at work.  I only planned to come in to print off a humungous document to review but then it was pretty quiet so I just stayed.  Then it got busy when people noticed I was here and I have been slogging away.  I flew home yesterday afternoon and snoozed the afternoon away but this proposal is not getting written to my standards so I am back in the chair.  I am wearing jeans and a t-shirt and my hair in a pony tail so I'm not really in the corporate vibe.

I had one teleconference with my current boss which was completely and utterly pointless and wasted 40 minutes of my life I will never get back.  I spent the last 10 minutes of it messaging with a fellow escapee about where we could go for his leaving dinner when we were both in Sydney at the same time and who else we would invite.  I then had a utterly pointless 30 minutes on the phone with said boss.  I then got outed in my new role to a person who I have a fair amount to do with over the years and not much of it positive.  I discussed with my trusted colleague a lot of this intrigue and I said that entering this new role I could do with a map of the "here be dragons" variety except really it needs to be an application for my blackberry that sets off a signal when I venture into the realm of some of the difficult people I am going to have to deal with.

Last night I went to the year 8 fashion show.  My youngest had made a very cute sleep suit.  I was amazed at her seamstress skills.  She certainly did not get them from me.  The year 12 pieces were mostly good - a bit too much Gold Coast style for my liking but one kid had stuff that I would have bought off the rack but what I really envied were the knee high burgundy suede boots that one of the year 12 girls was wearing.  

Next week I am meeting my new boss's bosses who are flying in from Shanghai and San Francisco.  It was suggested I might stay at the same hotel as them but I remain faithful to the 4 Seasons.

Editor's note: drugs ruined my grammar - nothing else can explain the torturous sentence structure above. 

Bed rest

Normally I maintain a denialist approach to illness.  I am incredibly intolerant of it in others, rarely suffer from it myself and when I do feel a little under the weather, a nap and a cup of tea usually suffice.  This thing I am suffering with (and I suffer in silence) laid me very low yesterday and I took myself to the hotel at lunchtime and was directed by friendly concierge to the local medical centre.  They could not see me for an hour so I had a pedicure and checked my mail on my BB.  Imagine my surprise when the old doctor told me I had acute bronchitis and prescribed me some massive dose of antibiotics forthwith (another thing I rarely take but sometimes you just have to kick it).

I texted a bunch of people - I am sick, I can not speak, do not disturb me and took to my bed.  I was feverish and one stage was thinking "oh boy, if someone from the hotel comes into my room and sees me I hope they dial emergency and not Mary-Kate Olsen".  I had to take the drugs with food and could think of nothing that I could eat other than yoghurt - this lovely hotel sent me up a tray with creamy Greek yoghurt, berries and more camomile tea.  I tell you the 4 Seasons is a way more considerate nurse than the ones I get at home.  I did not think I could get on a plane home and to be honest, being home would mean being oppressed by all the things to be done and the opposite of "well, I just have to lie here on these crisp white sheets and get better".

Daily bread

I worked, I toiled, I took a brief time out to watch the race with the rest of the office and returned to my desk.  It was swelteringly hot.  I left the office at 6 and got sunburned trying to wait for a taxi but a train stuck on the harbour bridge meant everyone was jostling for transport.  I decided to get the bus which had the advantage of being higher up and letting me see over the parapet and admire the harbour as we crossed.

The civilised, peaceful hotel bar of last night was overtaken by loud Melbourne Cup overflows so I had one drink (for medicinal purposes) and retired to my room to eat (drink?) tomato soup.  It tasted like heinz cream of tomato but since that is what my mother fed me when I was unwell, I rather enjoyed it.  I had a hot bath, idly watched television and slept 8 hours.

The intake of legal pharmaceuticals are producing an odd assortment of dreams.  Last night I dreamed I met, accidentally, a blogger I admire greatly but we were both unhappy about the intersection between the physical encounter and much preferred our long distance relationship.  I recall she was hiding under the covers while I plaintively intoned "I thought you were raised by wolves". 

Today is much cooler - 22 as opposed to 37. 

Better late

I am unwell.  This is rare for me but I have the sort of throaty rasp that has people saying “oh you sound terrible” and a worse hacking cough when I laugh.  Last night I checked into the hotel with a sorrowful expression and a plea for a good room as I was poorly.  Not only did I get the harbour view but the assistant manager sent up a plate of fruit and a pot of camomile tea.  That made me very good about ending my brief fling with the Shangri-La hotel and returning to the Four Seasons (take that S-L for giving me a crap room two weeks ago).  

Today is a public holiday in Canberra but I am in Sydney working.  This is ok since a public holiday on a Tuesday sucks unless you have taken the Monday and gone for the whole long weekend thing.  And frankly, being sick in a luxury hotel room is better than being sick at home and having to juggle the demands of children.  Especially since their father has just returned from two weeks in Europe and being pathetically jet-lagged instead of seizing the reins of parenting.  My leaving town forces him to do his stuff.  Last night, I watched Watchmen on the movie channel in the hotel room, slurped onion soup, drank copious amounts of water and slept in a gloriously large king bed with crisp white cotton sheets.  Honestly, there are worse places to be unwell.  

I quite like the being slightly deaf too as it keeps me huddled in a little cave of work.  (Apart from this blogging lark, of course).   It is blisteringly hot.  I am glad and promise not to complain about heat until April.  This winter was so long and sucked so much I am delirious with happiness that summer has arrived.

In consequential

I did not feel up to my normal Saturday morning grueling personal training as I awoke with an annoying cough.  Instead I cut the grass.  It is very soothing to see the orderly stripes appear.  I was rarely allowed to cut the grass growing up, I suspect it was associated with heavy machinery and motors and therefore in the man's world and then my father would stand heavy guard to make sure the stripes were to his satisfaction.  The end result satisfies me as much as washing the kitchen floor where my black and white tiles emerge clean and sparkling.  Neither result lasts but it is pleasing for a while.

Older daughter practised parallel parking.  She got it right about 50% of the time but she is improving.  Younger daughter sat in the back seat and opened the door to check how far we were from the kerb each time.  Older daughter has gone to see the latest Saw movie which I imagine is just right for Halloween.  We're just bunkering down for the evening.  I just scored an Easton Pearson skirt on ebay for a trivial sum that pleases me greatly.  It looks like a storm is coming in after a hot, sultry day so time to batten down the hatches.

Not going quietly

How did it happen that I spent the morning being diligent in getting my tax in order and paying school fees and getting my finances in order and then went and blew $$$ on shoes and new coat?  In my minimal defence, I would marry this coat if it were legal.  Trelise Cooper, cobalt blue with paisley lining.  I kid myself I will wear it to a wedding in December but since that wedding is a) in December and b) in London  I think it will be nowhere near warm enough as it is sort of heavy silk.  Whatever, I am wearing this coat with black pants, with a black pencil skirt, with my pyjamas.  You get the picture.  The shoes?  Matt black snakeskin with a sling back and medium heels.  Very, very practical when you have to take your shoes off going through airport security which I have done 6 times this week.  

Yes, six times. I have done 3 day trips to Sydney this week since the father of my children was in the UK and I had to be there.  Next week he is back and I will be there again but at least staying in a good hotel.  And then the week after I transition into my new job.  Hooray, hooray.  I really am not sure what new job is about but it has many positive characteristics.  a) it is a lot more creative than current job b) it is new ground and has scope for new ways of doing things and a tolerance for making small mistakes along the way c) everyone I have met in the team so far is very smart which keeps me on my toes d) it is focused across the whole business not just the small but egotistical part of the business I am currently in and (most exciting) it means I get to work with teams in China, India and Latin America, Southern Africa.  Of course, shallow person that I am, I am already considering the shopping possibilities but it will be fun to get out of my little silo and back into the big picture.  

A consequence of this travel is that the girls have had to take care of themselves a bit more though frankly making your own breakfast and remembering what books to pack is well within the capability if not the wit of teenagers.  It’s tiring running a pit crew.  

Spring is sort of arriving.  I haven’t had to turn the heating on.  I didn’t take my coat to Sydney.  I am still wearing nylons but may get to bare legs next week.  But everyone around me is sick, at home and at work and I really do not have time to be sick so am taking care of myself.

thus spake

I laughed out loud when I read this as I have a secret crush on becky. Not only does she update with rewarding regularity but she always makes me laugh with her candour and straightforwardness.  Oh yes, and she knows something of my country of residence which is a rarity, you know.  

On Friday, my youngest daughter was semi-unwell.  Since a raging variant of flu seems to have been laying everyone at work low (except me), I allowed her to spend the day at home with instructions on no television, etc.  Imagine my displeasure when I dropped by the house to discover her a) watching Burn Notice b) wearing my dress that I was trying to sell on ebay.  Sheesh, she does such a poor job of misbehaving.  I was way more sneakier than she and did not leave a trail of clues to my misdemeanours.  As penance, I made her put all my crime fiction collection in alphabetical order.   Things we noticed.  There is a disproportionate number of authors beginning with C and M in my collection.  There are quite a few Ps as well as I *heart* Pelecanos.    I had a bag of duplicates and airport novels that I took down to the second hand bookshop.  $35 was not too shabby a reward for these though I promptly spent that on some domestic trivia.  Still money for nothing is how I see it.  My ebay selling has netted me $500 in the past month which with the fantastic exchange rate is about 250 pounds towards our spending money.  

So focusing on trying to get my girls to accept responsibility for their actions and choices, I'm reading Too Safe For Their Own Good.  Right now I am also reading Alifair Burke (B, see).  It was only $5 at the post office and I was in a queue to buy overnight envelopes (sending off my ebay sales)  This book irritates me, I think on how it portrays getting ahead in the workplace.  Office politics is too depressing.  Plus, they have the death penalty in Oregon?  This surprised me, maybe because my only experience of Oregon was Portland when it was full of Rajneeshis. 

I am also reading In Xanadu by William Dalrymple in support of my daughter’s travel fiction class though it is exactly what I’d expect a 22 year old Cambridge student to be writing. In other words, in love with one's own cleverness.  I'm very glad I did not read this 20 years ago.

Grazia magazine.  I am hooked.  Perfect combination of now fashion, a modicum of gossip and weekly so I can buy a read on regular flight between Sydney and Canberra.  

On the weekend, I made butter.  I can’t tell you how easy it was if you have a heavy duty food processor.  Tip cream in the food processor and whiz.  First it whips, then it gets stiffer, then it goes grainy as it starts to separate and then there is a lump of butter sitting there in the buttermilk.  You drain that off, wash and whizz with ice water a bit more.  I then worked it between two wooden spatulas for another 5 minutes to get more of the water out, pushed it in a ramekin and voila.  Butter.  I didn’t salt this one so I can compare flavours but it is very light and clean.  The shocking thing was to be reminded of how butter is all the fat of cream.  I made a loaf and ate thinly sliced bread and butter for breakfast with the apricot jam from last year.  Not quite as self-sufficient as this guy who made the salt for his BLT.  Though as my daughter remarked, oh my god, he took sea water from Bondi!  Does he know how many people have peed in that sea?  

Watching MotoGP.  Right now, I like Simoncelli with his lanky limbs and wild hair.  So well mannered and sportsmanlike.  I’m even deciding that I like Rossi again.   Also watching, Friday Night Lights – slowly - as I lost momentum when the disk was damaged and amazon had to replace it.

Weather - 11C.  Forget that, this is supposed to be Spring.  I don't expect to be wearing my winter uniform at the moment.

It hurts my eyes

Since I am attempting to renew posting with some greater regularity I thought I would also update my template.  Bad idea, since the options all seemed so garish and confronting and peppy.  And that sure is not my mood, so I have reverted to the old one which much better suits my sober self.

This weekend was wet, cold and gloomy.  We have had the coldest September in 40 years and October is shaping up not much better.  Apart from a weekend in Queensland and one hot day in Sydney, I have been enduring winter.  I will be in London for much of December so do not even get the benefit of the slow slide into summer.  This is having a serious impact on my vegetable garden as I certainly do not feel like weeding and preparing the beds when it is so icy cold and it hardly seems the weather to plant tomatoes.

I got a quote for renovation works.  It is quite disheartening.  It's not that the quote is excessive but that for a marginal increase in cost I could build a brand new house.  The only downside would be finding somewhere else to live for 6 months but I am seriously considering this option.  My little cottage has the worst insulation, ancient wiring and dodgy plumbing.  And one could hardly call it heritage.  We'll see.

Oldest has been testing the boundaries.  She claimed she was old enough to stay overnight at her father's house while he was in Melbourne.  She may be right and I certainly did at her age but I was not about to extend the same freedom to her since I don't believe she has anywhere near the street smarts that I did (do).  So I refused to countenance this and made her stay with me.  That night her father's house was broken in to.  2.16am if you believe the evidence of the unplugged hi-fi.  She was very, very shaken to think she could have there alone with the robbers.  Of course, I have my theories about how many of her friends and their friends may have known the house was empty (grr, facebook) but then there is also the open house and potential buyers tramping their way through and assessing the value of the goods.  They stole the Macs and left the PC.  My dearest cat who was staying there disappeared (it's a long story but my lovely cat has gone to live with her father though I soon expect his return as the upkeep of animals is not his forte) but returned the next day after my anxious calling and searching.  At least he was safe, and she was safe.  Lessons learned.

Inside Outside

I have mentioned that my oldest is learning to drive.  I learned to drive in very different circumstances but I have adapted to Australian driving conditions, after all, they at least drive on the same side of the road even if the procedure at a two way cross roads is alien to me (you mean, it is not first arrival to go first and I have to wait and see if they are going straight on or turning?) and drive way too close to the car in front (or is this just peculiar to my city) and do not seem to know how to reverse park. 

But I digress, it was the subject of how to refer to the slow and fast lanes that led to a serious disagreement.  You see, to me, the left hand lane, or the one closest to the pavement is known as the "inside lane" and the one closest to the middle of the road is known as the "outside lane".  So when I gently said "watch out for someone coming up on the inside lane" she wailed and said "you and Daddy are confusing me, the driving instructor says they are the other way round!".  Well, being the reasonable mother I am, I retorted that the driving instructor was wrong and how ridiculous it was. 

A few days later I picked up a hire car in Brisbane and was driving my two girl pals, one Australian and one South African to Noosa and I recounted this tale to them and they astounded me by telling me that they thought the driving instructor was right.  I mean, they totally and fundamentally disagreed with me.  Since we were stuck on the highway in a monstrous queue of traffic I had no alternative but to ponder this but I took the opportunity to test it further at dinner that night with two other girl friends, one Australian (and an automotive engineer to boot) and another born in Zimbabwe, but raised in England and Australia.  They sided with me.

This was getting serious.  By the time we got to dinner on Saturday night, we were all implacably sure of our positions and were roping in the waiters and other diners to get their opinions.  I can tell you, opinion is hotly divided but generally speaking Australians refer to it in diametrically opposite terms than those of us who learned to drive in the UK.  I even put it to twitter (quite a lot of wine had been drunk by then) and this learned person (who never ceases to amaze me with the breadth of their knowledge) pointed me to this.  Well, now I can see why we saw things so differently. 

But what really amazed me was that I could have lived all these years in this country and it is only in the past month that I have even realised that there was a different way of looking at this.  Now, I am wondering if there are other certainties that I have held dear, the foundations of which are about to be rocked.  Up is down.  Tomatoes are vegetables.  Who knows?

By the way, the dinner was at Berardos.  It is very Noosa, white queenslander, white linen, most excellent.  I ate crab and coconut salad and wagyu beef and pineapple tarte tatin.  I drank Tyrells Vat1 Semillon 2002, Stefano Lubbiano 08 Riesling, and Tatachilla 2004 Shiraz and then some Pelorus to finish the evening.  We were celebrating my birthday and it was perfect.