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Archive for the ‘Adelaide’ Category

Smile Because He Has Lived

I attended a funeral today. Normally I wouldn’t post such private events of others on here however the event was significantly different that I wanted to mention some details.

Firstly, the funeral was held in the  Adelaide Crows Football Club Rooms. This is apt as Australian Rules Football (of which the Crows are a team) is a form of religion over here. The power of the game enraptures people and it makes sense that for this man, an agnostic whose sporting passion was this team, held his final moments in their presence.

This gave a unique spin to the funeral and it’s wake. Below the area where the service was held was a massive open area gymnasium where, presumably, players practice their kicking when its raining. (?? – no idea. I don’t have a sporting bone in my body) This allowed the children and their suited parents to kick footballs to each other after the service.

Children were invited and well catered for. The large open area allowed a group of dedicated people to sit with all of the children ( if they wanted) and do artwork with the arts and crafts provided. This turned out to be a stunning idea.

As a result of this, it was the first funeral I have ever been to where I held a teddy bear throughout (the teddy in question, Georgie, belonged to my niece and was  abandoned with gusto when she realised there were better toys on offer.) Teddy Bears at funerals are curiously beneficial. People may have looked at the bearded guy in the suit holding the teddy with curiosity but you could tell they were jealous they hadn’t thought of it.

Adelaide is an incredibly small town where the degrees of separation are two instead of six. After the service I met up with a friend of mine, Michael, who makes my feeble attempts at maintaining friendships look herculean.  Michael has been in town for two years and not contacted me.

Ever.

Michael, a doctor turned Catholic priest, (as you do), was then beaten up with Georgie for a full five minutes for being a crap friend.

I do not cry at funerals. As anyone who knows me this is not for a lack of sensitivity on my part. Just a weird quirk that it is the one time I am stoic. However today, while I watched a three-year old girl playing with her friends making art and bubbles, laughing and chatting happily at the same time as her father was having his eulogy delivered, and her without a care in the world…God love her……I got teary.

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Tales from my Belt Part 2

South Australia  had introduced a no plastic bag policy in shopping centres in 2009.  When you now buy groceries you either remember to bring your cloth bag (which you keep for grocery emergencies in the back of your car and forget whenever you enter a shopping centre} or you can buy a new cloth bag at the counter ( to go with the twenty others you keep in the boot of your car that you bought the last twenty times you went shopping). Or you could do strategy three which is the one I adopted  after I realised I was slowly going bankrupt buying cloth bags. Strategy 3 is buying as much as you can carry in your hands and  just shop more frequently. In the false economy of the environmentalist, you help the environment by not using plastic bags but by driving your car to the shops ten times more often than you had done previously.

Anyways….. sometimes I get keen buying groceries and buy more than I can carry and then I am forced to use whatever is available, more often than not stuffing things into my pockets and looking like a homeless person. Thus it was yesterday that I was struggling with my groceries and had stuffed some toothpaste and mouthwash into my pockets and I slowly but surely realised that  the weight in my pockets meant I was losing my pants in the middle of the supermarket.

Score!

New belt hole! The diet is working. I’m still fat but a notch less fat.

Voila:

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… and Everything In Its Place

My brother and I, God love him, are very alike and very different in many ways. One of the ways in which we do differ is our response to anal retentiveness orderliness.

I am fastidious for the most part. Everything has its place, anything could have a filing system if you tried really hard enough and if something is not in its rightful place then I develop a tic. Some of that is a joke.

Wrapping presents should be a work of art. Perfect folds and invisible tape and colour coordinated ribbon. My family openly mock me. (My brother looks like he wraps his presents with his feet. Fortunately he married a woman who completely understands the need for colour coordinated perfection under the Christmas tree. Finally a comrade in obsessiveness!!)

My brother needed his portable hard drive to be defragged. I’m not sure why he required my computer to do this but I was happy to help, even before I realised Id have free range access to his *ahem* filing system on the hard drive. Bear in mind there is nothing of importance on this hard drive; it is solely to house all of his films and dvds and television shows that he has acquired.

However my brothers filing system is essentially it can stay where it falls. Files were scattered in a way that made higgledy piggledy embarrassed with shame.  Top Gear would be next to Glee would be next to The Dark Knight would be next to Wallace and Gromit. It pained me to look at it.

So he left me the hard drive to defrag ( which took 10 and half hours to do so!!!! 500 gb will do that) and then I suggested I could sort out the files for him. He agreed. Let it be known, for the record, he agreed.

It is now perfection. Everything has  been impeccably filed. Everything has an order, all the doubles have been deleted, all the typos were fixed….. It took me forever. 500 GB will do that.

He will hate it. He will have no idea where anything is. No idea at all though it works out perfectly in my mind’s filing system. I, however, am ecstatic. His ten-year old nephew who despaired for his filing “system” will equally be impressed.

And I don’t mind that he will curse my name when he tries to find things now. The important thing is I can look at his computer filing system without my eyes bleeding.

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Still on nights. Still loving it. Still grabbing snippets of films that play on the television behind my head. Tonight’s genre: horror.

When you are being chased by a murderer, the best place to hide is a closet or a toilet. No exit that way. Well thought through.

If you have a climactic battle with the murderer at the end of a film and you think you’ve killed the murderer in a battle to the death, don’t drop your weapon next to the prone body of the killer and act surprised when same killer mysteriously rises from the dead using the weapon you’ve conveniently left for them.

If you do manage to knock the killer down in a battle to the death, best to stake them through the heart. Even if they’re not a vampire that will sort them. And if they are a vampire, you’ve got all your bases covered. Decapitation will also work.

If you’re a sheriff or some type or authority figure in a horror film, your IQ will be subnormal. If you had the vaguest inkling of intelligence as sheriff you would have worked out the paper-thin plot before the first commercial break.

If ever you are in a haunted house, do not freak out at poltergeist moving the furniture around. Before bed, leave your house really messy with plates thrown on the floor etc, and then in the morning the house will be cleaned and the plates put away.

Walking into the woods alone because you forgotten to take your Vitamin Z tablet when you know there is a murderer on the loose is Darwin Award stupidity and deserving of the inevitable outcome.

If you hear a noise in your house and you ask “Who’s there?”, and no-one answers, and the house is super creepy and the lights don’t work and there’s a storm outside, don’t go further into the house to see what the noise was. Leave the house and get someone to come with you and act as a human shield moral support for you.

It’s a sign of a special type of horror film that when the heroine  is hiding from a killer, you yell at the screen to tell the murderer where she is cos you reallllllly want this dreck to end.

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This came in the mail today. As I ordered it a week ago, I was not surprised to see it though pleasantly surprised at the speed with which it came.

In case you can’t read it, the book, Blue Box Boy, is a memoir of Matthew Waterhouse who played the companion Adric in the television series Doctor Who from 1980 to 1982.  Tragically I did not need to look that up.

When he became a companion in the show I was 15 and 16. A very young 15 and 16. I was completely smitten with Doctor Who and still am, to a degree. When Waterhouse was a companion, I was obsessively keen. Joined the fan club. Bought the merchandise. Watched the show religiously.

Some of these things are still true.

Whats interesting about reading this book though is its capacity to be a time capsule of my life at the time of watching. I look back on my teens with amazement now.

Instead of posters of big busty woman (still in denial at 16 and soooooo much later) I had posters of the Doctor Who companions. Instead of dates with big busty women ( denial, denial, denial) I was meeting anoraks at Doctor Who conventions.  Instead of shagging like rabbits like all of my friends, I was home collecting Doctor Who figures.

You have a LOT to answer for, show.

The book itself is very good. It would appear that joining the show was not the superbness Waterhouse was hoping for. Which is ironic really as the show itself, at that time, wasn’t the superbness I remember either.

Certainly with the benefit of hindsight.

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It’s interesting what posts generate responses. I can’t predict it. Something I think will be hysterical gets no response, something I do as a desperate attempt for blog postings is HUGELY popular and generates loads of positive emails. (I’m looking at you, Word Around Town)

So my intention was to carry on with my Depths of Night Duty spiel with different themes however I  received a lot of email responses about it (why do people send me emails and not comment on the blog? No idea)

Anyways one of the emails I got was the take on police films from a genuine Realio Trulio Policey  so I thought I would lift it wholesale pay homage to what real policeys think of the media that portrays them.

The following is mystery Policey’s words:

“I’ve noticed a few things about Police films which are complete shit…

Police officers work together better if:
1) The more experienced one, who up until the beginning of the film has always worked by himself, is paired up with;
 a) a rookie
 b) a woman
 c) a minority
 d) a gay
 e) an ex-lover (from (a to d))
 f) a cute animal or kid
 g) anyone, by orders coming”straight from the fifth floor!  you got it?”
2) Anyone, as long as they are polar opposites; yuppie and a slob, racist dinosaur and a black, misogynist and a woman, staid family man and a suicidal cop-on-the-edge or by-the-books cop and a wildcard maverick, particularly if they start out hating each other.
3) One of them is about to retire and the other is crazy.

Every crime can be solved.  Usually with the death of the crook.  And, in two hours, no less.  With no paperwork.

Prostitutes have hearts of gold.

All cops like and get along with each other and are all competent and hard-working.

All captains are black.

All cops, no matter their age, fitness or weight, can out-fight someone no matter their opponent’s age, fitness or weight.

All cops are quicker on the draw that anyone else.

All cops can shoot a gun/knife out of someone’s hand (which, shits me to absolute tears!) ”

Thanks, mystery Policey, for writing todays blog. Oh and time to get back to the firing range buddy. You need to be able to disarm with a bullet. I don’t feel safe otherwise.

And by racist dinosaur I presume you mean bigoted person who has been in the job too long as opposed to Tyrannosaurus Rex police Constable who hates velociraptors…. Personally, I would kill to see that film.

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Happy Birthday To Me

Dont panic. It’s not my birthday and you missed it. My Birthday is on June 29. You missed it then. 🙂

Wesley sent me a birthday card before my birthday from Charlotte, North Carolina and we weren’t hopeful it would arrive in time for my birthday in Adelaide, South Australia.

As you can sort of see, the card was posted on the 21st of June

Today, the 28th of September I received it. That’s almost 3 months late. One of the things that can happen (note to my  international fan base) is that if you write SA instead of South Australia then the letter/ post etc is likely to go to South Africa. It’s wierd like that.

HOWEVER not in this case. In this case, and according to the absolutely unclear photo below, the card arrived in Newton (my nearest post office) on the 24th June.

I know the pic is not clear but, trust me, it says the 24th June. So it arrived in South Australia 5 days before my birthday and today, 28th September I get it. So my question, and it’s not an unreasonable question, is what has it been doing in the last 3 months? Did it slip behind a desk? Did it get sent elsewhere? (no evidence of that on the envelope) Was it, and I suspect this is the truth, held by an evil employee of Australia Post whom, for some unknown reason because I am a saint, has a grudge against me??? This one makes the most sense.

Anyway my birthday card. Three months late and still gratefully received, thank you Wesley and Trey.  My birthday stretched for three months this year. That’s a record, even for me.

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