First item of the year

Hiya folks,
Wishing you all ‘a good one’ in 08.

I’ve just got back from spending two weeks in New Zealand and there will be further posts.

This is going to be an interesting year for me. I intend to quit my job at some point. The company is relocating into an area of the city which is stupidly hard to travel to. It doesn’t help that that part of town is also a bit of a soulless desert.
I curious to see where I end up this time next year.

I’ve got a few bits and pieces left over from last year and I’ll post them now.

For those who found that the YouTube videos of the ‘Bondi to Bronte Swim’ to be chewed up beyond comprehension by the compression artefacts (Click here for entry,) I’ve compiled a series of VEOH videos.

Online Videos by Veoh.com

Online Videos by Veoh.com

Online Videos by Veoh.com

There are also some photos of the Christmas party…

Entry for January 10, 2007: I’ve been back at work since Monday.

Spent the weekend cleaning. Read about the Japanese nationwide spring-clean on the web...

One of the Japanese traditions I most anticipate is The Great Cleaning that proceeds New Year's Day -- otherwise known as o-sooji. (The o is honorific denoting greatness, sooji means cleaning.)

Traditionally, New Year's in Japan was a time to wipe the slate clean of the cobwebs: debts, grudges, unfinished business as well as the thin filaments hanging from the ceiling and dust bunnies behind refrigerators. Much has gone the way of the samurai dressed in warfare armour but the spirit of the tradition remains intact.

So on the days leading up to New Year's, workers, business owners and homemakers commit their time, spray bottles and buckets, cleansers and rags, dusters and mops, and hands and knees to cleaning their properties. Homes are scrubbed top to bottom -- windows too! Employers "knock off early" so employees can clean their desks. Shopkeepers from the operators of the small noodle shops and izakaya (Japanese pubs) to the large department stores will emerge from behind closed doors and be seen sweeping steps, sidewalks and stoops. Mostly men but many women too will be scrubbing their automobiles spotless and placing on the hood small ornamental pieces of greenery representing fresh tidings.


Only today have I cleared the pile of ironing I had sitting on the bed. I bought clothes for the new year in the sales.

I finished off the yearly ‘family type stuff’ with a drive up to dads farm for a couple of days of country fresh air last week.
It was nice to see big fluffy cottonwool clouds in the sky as I drove up the highway.
Currently blue skies are drought skies over here.

I think that the happiest I’ve been in a long while, was driving up to dads and back. Not the arriving there, but the drive itself.
Threading through the country side, music blasting out of the radio, stopping off in tiny rural towns for drinks and snacks.


I helped dad round up some calves, then we snagged their ears with electronic tags.
I’ve read about this sort of measure in the U.S. where animals are tracked by computer to quickly shut down disease outbreaks like BSE or foot and mouth.
After seeing the chaotic business of animal movement in the U.K. I reckon this is probably a good thing.

The calves in the 'cattle crush' (metal fence arrangement designed to allow a single person to handle half a ton of unhappy muscle and bone) were shitting all over the place, and I’m told that the dogs like to lick it up, especially when the wind has formed a bit of a crust on top (hay I felt sick after hearing the story, I’m just passing on the joy!)

There were also the swarms of flies, which didn't seem to bug dad very much. I guess that's what you get when you lump a group of animals together in one spot.
A while back, dung beetles were introduced to the area in an attempt to reduce the 'turdage' (that's an official measurement. much like tonnage.)

While the calves were penned up, we cut marking wedges out of their ears, and I’m told that the weirdly intelligent Indian Minor birds like to peck away at the discarded triangles of flesh. These sly little buggers were perched strategically (trust me when I say that this word is very apt for Indian Minors) around the area while they waited for the humans to clear out.
Dad finished the job, with trickles of blood running down one hand.

As usual when visiting parents (even at my age) I arrived home totting a bundle of food.
A bag of cherries, Chocolate brownies and a slice of pizza for my lunch.



Aims for the New Year…
I’m thinking that it would be nice to finally fix up the kitchen, so I’ve got that to look forward to.
Post more videos.
Get a flat mate, or turn my residence into an illegal b&b.

I’ve been back at work since Monday.

Spent the weekend cleaning. I was reading about the Japanese nationwide spring-clean on waterbaby blog.
Only today have I cleared the pile of ironing I had sitting on the bed.

I finished off the yearly ‘family type stuff’ with a drive up to dads farm for a couple of days of country fresh air last week.

It was nice to see big fluffy cottonwool clouds in the sky as I drove up the highway.
Currently blue skies are drought skies over here.

I think that the happiest I’ve been in a long while, was driving up to dads and back. Not the arriving there, but the drive itself.
Threading through the country side, music blasting out of the radio, stopping off in tiny rural towns for drinks and snacks.

I helped dad round up some calves, then we snagged their ears with electronic tags.
I’ve read about this sort of measure in the U.S. where animals are tracked by computer to quickly shut down disease outbreaks like BSE or foot and mouth.
After seeing the chaotic business of animal movement in the U.K. I reckon this is probably a good thing.

As usual when visiting parents I arrived home totting a bundle of food.
A bag of cherries, Chocolate brownies and a slice of pizza for my lunch.

Entry for January 07, 2007: New years message

Hiya,
It’s a new year and I’m back to blogging.


First up, Christmas.
I can be a 'grumpy old man' when this time of year rolls around.
I don't have a TV so I get to miss a big chunk of the commercialisation type thing, and this has helped reduce the degree of season surliness.
Some of the best Christmas’s I've had, was when I was travelling and living in hostels.
Christmas would be a coming together of all the strangers that were living in the hostel at that moment.
Not having friends and family around forced everyone together and it was simple and nice.

No baggage or expectation, Just food and fellowship.


This year I was a dirty whiner, and told everyone that I was sick of spending the Christmas/New year period isolated in my flat next to the beach in sunny shiny Sydney (yeah I know, I said I was a dirty whiner)
So I had heaps of invitations suddenly appearing (I will take anything from a ‘pity fuck’ down to a ‘pity dinner party’ or ‘pity meet up for a cup of coffee.’)

My immediate relatives and I got together the day before Christmas. Four generations sitting around a long table, the top of which was uneven as it was jerry rigged from a series of small table’s hidden beneath a couple of table cloths.
I think I made the comment ‘when did we become the Walton’s?’
All the girls were trying to out ‘domestic goddess’ each other. All the boys were trying to out talk each other.
At one point I visited the toilet which was down the other end of the house, and realising the I could still hear everyone perfectly, muttered to myself ‘gee we make a lot of noise when we all get together!’

The thing with ‘hanging out’ with family is that I don’t get a choice in who these people are. So I get to hang out with all sorts, including people with right wing political views. These people have started making comments like ‘what a disaster Bush has been,’ and I’m left weirded out that it’s taken them almost seven years to work this out.


Christmas day dawned grey, and it was real quiet out on the streets (I set fire to a couple of cars and no one noticed.)
A ‘quiet one,’ is where the family has disappeared off to celebrations with their partners families.
I detoxed by drinking a few refreshing G&T’s. Ate oven fries, crumbed fish, and drained a bottle of red for Christmas dinner.
Afternoon saw some golden rays bathing the city.


Boxing Day
Saw me arriving for dinner with my mates. A lovely couple who have a deaf little dog, a brilliant liquor cabinet, and who have finally found a sunny corner for their two ‘pot plants.’

Then there was a BBQ with an ‘inner circle’ group from work, so my commitment to building contacts within the industry is proceeding nicely.
There was the usual bitching about our respective employers.
Most of the people had bought their kids along, so in the future I will need to find a child that I can steal for a night.


Chilled out till New Years Eve, where I joined a billon other bodies in the city.
In Sydney a lot of people gather down at the harbour where we watch fireworks mounted to the high curving iron span of the harbour bridge, from barges floating down in the harbour, and from a few of the tall buildings in the city.
The fireworks started and the concussive shock of the ignitions, showers of sparks reflected in walls of windows, the spotlights mounted on the bridge, sweeping the swirling gunpowder smoke haze, was giving me World War Two flash backs, and I wasn’t born then!
One of the rocket platforms floated in the harbour twenty meters away from where I was standing.
My clothing shivered, and the wharf that I was standing on shook with each air burst over head.
Supposedly three tons of crackers where burnt that night.

I was standing close to a group of girls who were screaming in some sort of prepubescent multi orgasmic release.
I kept looking around to see if Robbie Williams or Johnny Depp had suddenly materialised somewhere nearby.
I left around two, and noticed on the way back home that lot’s of women were wearing really impractical footwear. Lots of minuscule-flappy-sandaled-heeled numbers. I reckon some would be cleaning out between their toes when they got home, what with all the debris lying around like mashed cans spilling puddles of beer, cigarette butts, broken glass bottles, vomit, possibly blood, and sticky discarded chips smothered in tomato sauce.

The only people more busy then the buses and street sweepers at two that morning, were the ambulance crews.

New years message

Hiya,
It’s a new year and I’m back to blogging.

I was hoping to get a few things finished off last year like the Spanish dolphins peice, but December has been pretty busy, so I’ll finish these items off in the next couple of weeks.

First up, Christmas.
I can be a 'grumpy old man' when this time of year rolls around.
I don't have a TV so I get to miss a big chunk of the commercialisation type thing, and this has helped reduce the degree of season surliness.
Some of the best Christmas’s I've had, was when I was travelling and living in hostels.
Christmas would be a coming together of all the strangers that were living in the hostel at that moment.
Not having friends and family around forced everyone together and it was simple and nice.

No baggage or expectation, Just food and fellowship.

This year I was a dirty whiner, and told everyone that I was sick of spending the Christmas/New year period isolated in my flat next to the beach in sunny shiny Sydney (yeah I know, I said I was a dirty whiner)
So I had heaps of invitations suddenly appearing (I will take anything from a ‘pity fuck’ down to a ‘pity dinner party’ or ‘pity meet up for a cup of coffee.’)

My immediate relatives and I got together the day before Christmas. Four generations sitting around a long table, the top of which was uneven as it was jerry rigged from a series of small table’s hidden beneath a couple of table cloths.
I think I made the comment ‘when did we become the Walton’s?’
All the girls were trying to out ‘domestic goddess’ each other. All the boys were trying to out talk each other.
At one point I visited the toilet which was down the other end of the house, and realising the I could still hear everyone perfectly, muttered to myself ‘gee we make a lot of noise when we all get together!’

The thing with ‘hanging out’ with family is that I don’t get a choice in who these people are. So I get to hang out with all sorts, including people with right wing political views. These people have started making comments like ‘what a disaster Bush has been,’ and I’m left weirded out that it’s taken them almost seven years to work this out.

Christmas day dawned grey, and it was real quiet out on the streets (I set fire to a couple of cars and no one noticed.)
A ‘quiet one,’ is where the family has disappeared off to celebrations with their partners families.
I detoxed by drinking a few refreshing G&T’s. Ate oven fries, crumbed fish, and drained a bottle of red for Christmas dinner.
Afternoon saw some golden rays bathing the city.

Boxing Day saw me arriving for dinner with my mates. A lovely couple who have a deaf little dog, a brilliant liquor cabinet, and who have finally found a sunny corner for their two ‘pot plants.’

Then there was a BBQ with an ‘inner circle’ group from work, so my commitment to building contacts within the industry is proceeding nicely.
There was the usual bitching about our respective employers.
Most of the people had bought their kids along, so in the future I will need to find a child that I can steal for a night.

Chilled out till New Years Eve, where I joined a billon other bodies in the city.
In Sydney a lot of people gather down at the harbour where we watch fireworks mounted to the high curving iron span of the harbour bridge, from barges floating down in the harbour, and from a few of the tall buildings in the city.
The fireworks started and the concussive shock of the ignitions, showers of sparks reflected in walls of windows, the spotlights mounted on the bridge, sweeping the swirling gunpowder smoke haze, was giving me World War Two flash backs, and I wasn’t born then!
One of the rocket platforms floated in the harbour twenty meters away from where I was standing.
My clothing shivered, and the wharf that I was standing on shook with each air burst over head.
Supposedly three tons of crackers where burnt that night.

I was standing close to a group of girls who were screaming in some sort of prepubescent multi orgasmic release.
I kept looking around to see if Robbie Williams or Johnny Depp had suddenly materialised somewhere nearby.
I left around two, and noticed on the way back home that lot’s of women were wearing really impractical footwear. Lots of minuscule-flappy-sandaled-heeled numbers. I reckon some would be cleaning out between their toes when they got home, what with all the debris lying around like mashed cans spilling puddles of beer, cigarette butts, broken glass bottles, vomit, possibly blood, and sticky discarded chips smothered in tomato sauce.

The only people more busy then the buses and street sweepers at two that morning, were the ambulance crews.