Merit

Do you remember when you could stay out late on a weekend and it didn’t mean that for the whole of the next week you would have to be tucked up in bed by 7 o’ clock or end up walking around like a zombie during the daytime for the next seven days? No, me neither – both the fatigue and memory loss are signs of something... ageing probably (I’d like to say premature ageing – but I’m not sure that would be accurate. Although, apparently, 40 is the new black). As you may have guessed, I have been doing a passable ‘Shaun of the Dead’ impersonation this last week after staying out beyond the witching hour on Sunday. I was at a gig (Vampire Weekend). Whilst there I got involved in a conversation whereby we tried to determine who would win in a fight between a Moose and a Hippopotamus (just one of each – mainly because we couldn’t agree on what the correct plurals were for them). I pointed out that for this fight to take place one of the creatures would have to travel a very long way and would therefore be at a distinct disadvantage. With this in mind we decided that a neutral venue (roughly half-way) should be selected – we plumped for ‘Stow on the Wold’. I know what you’re thinking, but no, I wasn’t drunk – and for a very good reason (no, don’t be silly, not because I had to be at work the following day)... no, it was because it cost $9 (£6) for one bottle of becks (nothing fancy, just your normal bog standard bottle). That is pretty much the standard price, in bars, over here – not just in the city centre pubs. I just had the one bottle, with a straw, and made it last. The band were very good by the way, I should point out that the conversation took place before they came on... not during their set... that’s just bad form.
As it turned out I didn’t have to sleep-walk my way through the entire week because I managed to wangle Friday off work. We got a text through early in the week to say that ‘your child will be receiving a merit award at this week’s assembly’. There was no indication of which child it was - although, when quizzed George was pretty confident that it wasn’t him (in fact he was a bit too confident for my liking). It was indeed Harriet that received the award for ‘contributing great ideas to class discussions’... I think she must have put forward the moose/hippo/fight question. (Tafka) Hattie’s class also won the ‘Art Award’ for the week and just got pipped into second place for the ‘Sports Award’. George and Hattie’s faction, Wattle (we used to call them houses in my day) also won the faction competition for the week. In fact, I think they must have known I was going because they certainly made it worth my while attending. I even got to see George twiddling his knobs – he has the role of sound engineer/roadie for school Assemblies. The only technical difficulties encountered came at the end of the Assembly – one of the teachers was getting George to crank up the volume of the music, to accompany the kids back to the class, up to 11. The Deputy Head on the other was of the opinion that it should be quieter – as the music was Dancing Queen by Abba I have to admit that I was on the side of the Deputy Head. Talking of Abba, we must be dangerously near to that time of year again... Eurovision (put your money on Greece – it’s nailed on... I should probably have checked to see if they are actually in it before making such a bold prediction, but hey. I just think that in a bid to stabilise their fragile economy they will be given a confidence boosting Eurovision win... totally on merit of course).
George got a new pair of school shoes yesterday (how exciting is this blog getting?). I only mention it because they aren’t actually shoes at all; they are joggers (which translates into English as ‘trainers’). Because the school uniform is basically a polo shirt and tailored shorts they don’t bother getting changed for PE you just do it as you are... so they have joggers as part of the uniform. The really good thing about not having a separate PE kit means that you can’t forget it, and therefore you never have to suffer the indignity of having to do the exercises in your underwear... not that that ever happened to me - well, maybe once (it wouldn’t have been quite so bad if I hadn’t actually decide to ‘go commando’ that day). At least there were no mobile phones in those days (in fact, I think, the phone was still at the prototype stage) so I can safely say that there is no footage of me, on you tube/MySpace. etc., prancing about in my underwear – well, there may be one but that was a totally different incident. Anyway, George got a new pair of school shoes (trainers) yesterday and they are black, red and flouro green but not necessarily in that order. It may be an optical illusion brought on by its vividness but the flouro green seems to be the predominating colour. We were slightly concerned that these day-glo creations may constitute a breach of school regulations, but the only comment George got from his teacher was that they were ‘awesome’ and where did you get them from? If you too, are thinking of getting a pair they are called ‘Asics Gel-Busselton 2’s’ (that doesn’t sound much like the name of a training shoe does it? it’s more like some sort of code). I definitely won’t be getting a pair - there’s not enough beige in the design for my elderly tastes.
Partly as a treat for their good school work, and partly because we are running out of babysitting options, we are taking the kids to see Florence and the Machine. Harriet is currently a big fan, this week – last week it was Taylor Swift (I was going to say Taylor Dayne but that was an entirely different decade). In truth, Wendy, George and Hattie are going to watch ‘Florence’, I’m just going to give my support to ‘and the machine’. The gig isn’t until August and I will have been to the UK and back by then, Wendy will have had another trip to Sydney and the glow from George’s shoes may have diminished a little.
Next week, Wendy is flying, up north, to Broome as part of her birthday celebrations... I’ve got to go now to warn the Broomies of the forthcoming invasion.
By the way, make the most of the good weather, because the first two weeks of July are going to be the wettest on record (put your money on snow – it’s nailed on).

Around the world in a tea daze

You may have caught something of the story of the sixteen year-old Australian, Jessica Watson, who today completed her single-handed/unassisted journey around the world in a 34foot pink yacht. She is the youngest person to have completed such a journey (not necessarily in a pink boat) but she isn’t an official record-holder because apparently she didn’t sail far enough. Eh? She sailed around the World – how’s that not far enough? The fact that she made it round is a cause for national pride, especially after something of an inauspicious start. She was making her way down from Brisbane to Sydney to start the journey when she bumped into a 60,000 ton Chinese container ship. The ship suffered extensive damage – they’ll never get that scratch out with t-cut. Despite this hiccup she managed to get a new hull and mast in time to set off last October. However, she had no further set-backs on her epic journey, I think the word had got out and all the giant super-tankers were steering well clear of her. Even the Somali pirates left her well alone.
I may sound somewhat disparaging of her incredible journey but that’s only because I completed a much more arduous solo feat when I was a mere boy of sixteen. I once voyaged to the bottom of the road to get a box of teabags (single-handedly, mind – only because on this occasion I had failed to persuade/bribe Bob to go instead of me).
In another feat of human endeavour, George and Harriet have this week gained their 400m gold swimming awards. In order to graduate from this level they had to swim: 400m freestyle, 75m backstroke, 75m breaststroke, 25m butterfly and about 10m doggy paddle. According to the certificate, they achieved all this under ‘Chain swim rules’ – I’ve not got a clue what they are. Do you think it’s where you swim ¾ of a length, then get out and then two minutes later get back in to swim another length? No, maybe not. Interestingly, the breaststroke is considered the lowliest of the strokes over here and you are considered weird if it’s your chosen stroke – on the other hand butterfly is considered normal. Competition breaststrokers (over here) are to swimming what goalkeepers are to football – basket cases.
Wendy had a fun-time with her exam to prove that she’s competent at working in the English language. She passed with flying colours. You couldn’t take the exam without showing your passport first – the ex-pat security guard couldn’t understand why Wendy was doing the test when she had a British passport... her answer contained several expletives. There was an Arab gentleman taking the test (there were about 75 people taking it all told) who was entertaining himself by guessing the nationalities of the people there. He asked Wendy if she was German, he looked a little confused when she said she was English – I think he attributed this answer to being part of the fabled German sense of humour. Still, she passed so that’s over with, well almost. If she doesn’t sit her course within 4 years she would have to sit the test again!
George had his school trip to Rottnest last week, and it passed without incident or sea-sickness (as a result he’s now planning to sail around the world - all the way around, the wrong way). He came back with boatloads of interesting facts about Rottnest, like: why no Aboriginal people ever visit the island, why it was a key strategic position in WWII, the fact that there is no source of fresh water on the island. Water for the inhabitants is produced via a de-salination plant, if this plant was to fail there is a back-up... you get to drink your own urine. Not just yours, that of the other inhabitants as well – it’s been treated and is perfectly safe... apparently. Not surprisingly the Quokkas just stick to drinking the early morning due and skimming the top water of the salt lakes.
Right I’m off to start doing my warm-up exercises before the FA Cup final kicks-off... where’s that bottle opener?

If you don’t want to know the score...

look away now.
I remember, when Robbie Fowler signed for Leeds United, Daniel Craig (or it might have been Pierce Brosnan) said to me ‘that’s the final piece in the jigsaw’. If he was thinking of a jigsaw depicting catastrophic financial ruin and getting relegated to the third tier of English football then indeed he was right (sounds like my kind of jigsaw). It was with some interest therefore that I followed the story of the aforementioned Mr Fowler signing for local club Perth Glory this week. He has been signed in an attempt to build on the team’s success this season in which they reached the Quarter finals of the A League. At the press conference to mark his arrival there was no mention of jigsaw pieces (final or otherwise) or indeed of board games of any kind. Instead they seem to concentrate on the fact that whilst Robbie had been keen to come to Perth for football reasons, Mrs Robbie had been keen to go to Sydney for shopping reasons (they stay open ‘til after it gets dark you know). At the end of the day, football was the winner, and we in the west are over the moon Brian. The signing of the former Anfield legend is sure to get a few more supporters through the gates – me for starters. Hopefully my patronage won’t do to Perth Glory what it has done to the Melbourne Storm Rugby League team. Less than 24 hours after I had purchased tickets, to watch them play over here in June, they had been stripped of their title and docked all of their points for the present season (including any they accrue for here-on-in). Effectively, their season is over and they have nothing to play for... making the game meaningless (which is not unlike most of the Doncaster Rovers games I watched in the late 1970s). I clearly have an awesome power if I can bring about such a rapid demise simply by buying a ticket to see them... this week I shall be buying tickets to see Justin Beiber, Manchester United and Noel Edmonds.
Not sure if I mentioned it before but my beach volleyball career has been put on hold due to pregnancy. Steven and Vicky, the central core of the team, went on holiday to Europe last year taking in all of the romantic destinations... Vienna, Venice, Paris, and Stoke. And what do you know, when they get back Steven was pregnant, or was it Vicky? (You’ve probably guessed that I listened even less in Biology lessons than I did in Geography). Actually, I’ve remembered now it was definitely Vicky because she was our inspirational leader and as such she was irreplaceable which is why we decided to call it a day. Well, that and the fact that as a ‘mixed’ team we had to have at least two women playing for us and for some inexplicable reason we found it very hard to recruit women. Even when I promised to keep my knees covered up they declined to join. So, no more volleyball, I have taken up another physically demanding sport... snooker. Judging by my efforts last Thursday I don’t think Neil Robertson has to worry about losing his position as the top Australian snooker player for a little while yet. My problem is that I’ve got a left-handed cue, the balls spin the other way in the southern hemisphere, I can’t see anything further than 8 inches in front of me... oh yeah, and I’m rubbish. Aussie Robertson’s path to the semi-final has been met with total indifference by the media over here. Obviously, the papers in the West don’t cover it because he’s from Melbourne but even the national ABC radio and TV channels haven’t bothered reporting on his progress. It took me about an hour to even find the results in the local paper and then they were disguised as a crossword question. It’s weird really because the paper has lots of coverage of US sports and netball (which I don’t mind because there are usually some photos to go with it) and there’s always a page of surfing news. This week the surfing news is that George and Wendy have taken up the sport. Is it a sport do you reckon or is it a pastime like crocheting or doing jigsaw puzzles? Does that sound like sour grapes because I can’t do it? Yes, you are probably right. Not that I’m really tempted to try it, I have enough trouble simply standing up let alone trying to balance on an ironing board whilst perched precariously on top of a 10 foot wave. Plus, I think we are all agreed, the world probably isn’t ready for the sight of me in a wetsuit. Wendy and George have got a seven foot board to share and at the moment they are managing to do so amicably (taking it in turns to use it, not both stood on it at the same time). Hopefully we will be able to get to the beach tomorrow morning to watch them battle the waves of the Indian Ocean (well that’s the plan at the moment... it all depends on how early morning is).
I realise that there has been a heavy sport-bias in this instalment – so, sorry if you don’t like sport (it must be horrible for you).
Right I’m off now to see if I can find out how Robbo is progressing in the semi-final.