anyresemblance

Triste

Work is frantic. I am running the response to a public tender for something that is reasonably high profile politically. I spend all day on the phone and then returning the calls of people who left messages while I was on the phone. A week has gone by and not one, single, bloody word has been written. I got a call from someone today who said the CEO had seen a report on this topic in the Fin Review and were we responding? Everyone has got an opinion but nobody wants to do any work. Maybe he could write one of the bloody sections. I'm feeling sad. I had to face some uncomfortable truths. I think I have acted correctly but it hasn't cast me in the most positive light. Tonight I did penance by doing the ironing while watching tv with the children. It was very soothing. Yes, I have a cupboard of ironed sheets again.

Lost in translation

This via Liz is the list of the most untranslatable words in the world from professional translators. The word that tops the poll is ILUNGA, a word in the Bantu language of Tshiluba for: A Person Ready To Forgive Any Abuse For The First Time; To Tolerate It A Second Time; But Never A Third Time I think I'm that person.

The mother of all festivals

My sister called me last night. She lives in Spain but she is currently at our father's house, just outside Glastonbury. It's raining, she tells me, so she has willingly given up her tickets to the Glastonbury festival to our niece and her partner. Glastonbury in the rain, uh huh, I don't think so. Anne and I went many years ago. I remember wearing shorts and wellington boots, an unattractive look even then. Sinead O'Connor was playing, and James and the Pogues and all those other bands you stand around in wet fields listening to. Even then we were such home bodies that we went home every evening to warm baths in my parent's cottage. We got free passes since my mother's good friend was the mother of the man who runs the festival. The old ladies went to Glastonbury the year Tom Jones was the headline closing act. My mum got to stand on the side of the stage and watch him strut his stuff. I'm assured she didn't throw her knickers at him.

A note on privacy

I realise someone I know has been searching for this blog. It makes me feel pretty uncomfortable. This blog isn't secret but since I asked for some privacy, please respect it.

It's Greek to me

Ok, I've been a slacker but this is my catch up entry. This weekend my children are with their dad. I've been reflecting on how I set myself impossible targets when the children are here which are largely self-imposed. This week I had my hair cut and coloured at huge cost. I would love to have the money to get my hair "done" every week since the hairdressers manage to dry ti so artfully. I always remember that bit in Working Girl where Melanie Griffiths gets a serious haircut realising that her wild locks are holding her back. I've had feedback from two women in my corporate life that I'd get taken more seriously if I didn't have long hair. They may be right but I had my long hair cut short when I was pregnant with my first child and I hated, hated, hated it. I suddenly felt drab and middle-aged and it took way more effort looking after than my long locks. So, vanity prevails, and I'm keeping the long hair. Early in our relationship, my former husband took me out for a romantic dinner, gazed soulfully at me and murmured, "your hair is like a flaxen thing". Thing? I also picked up a new installment of my jewellery replacement. For any new readers (gosh, I sound so vain), I am spending my way through a wad of insurance money for stuff stolen in the great yarralumla heist last year. Tony, the jeweller, made me a copy of a ring by Bulgari. I luurve this ring. All women I work with luurve this ring. It's got a pink tourmaline, a peridot and a blue topaz with lots of zircons for sparkle. It's so much fun wearing it. It's fueling my new fantasy of running a jewellery shop when I'm grown up. Tony is Greek and also in the shop was Theo the Greek who runs my local supermarket. He has just sold the business and I am distressed that I am going to have to deal with strangers who do not know my children's names. I was remembering that he and his family were so sweet to us when we first arrived in this town, country, knowing no-one. Our daughters have the same name. He was in buying his wife a beautiful watch with a mother-of-pearl face as a thank you present which I thought was another bonus point for him. They were all, of course, raving about Greece's unexpected success in Euro2004. I'm listening to the cd from the June Uncut which purports to be the best releases of recent music. It's pretty ordinary in my opinion. Most issues have an interesting CD but this one is dreary. I do really like Uncut as a magazine and buy it when I see it but why do magazines take so long to get to Australia? At Pilates this morning I was discussing the Clash with a 20 something boy who goes to deal with his sporting injuries. My teacher didn't know who the Clash were which I found astounding considering she is about my age. I went out last night. When I got back to my car, I found a note from my children and their dad under the wipers. I don't think they had their noses pressed against the restaurant window but it makes you realise that there is nothing you can do in this town that goes unnoticed.

Pretty in pink

An exhibition of barbies is pulling in the crowds at David Jones in Sydney. I must try to see this. I particularly I'd like to see her in Akira. When I was a child the doll of choice in the UK was Cindy, the Lady Penelope equivalent of Barbie. Then there was Tressy "her hair grows!". I longed for either of these flowng haired vixens but instead had Amanda Jane, a smaller model with sensible short curly hair and a selection of outfits which included her Brownie uniform and a pinny for helping her mum with the housework. How I envied those high heels. My children are sort of past Barbie though my younger daughter occasionally plays with hers and did get a flashy neon pink Barbie VW beetle for christmas. A few years ago I bought them Get Real Girls, more anatomically normal with positive role models like surfer girl, soccer girl, basketball girl, etc. Alas it wasn't long before the dreadlocked basketball girl was being forced into a little lurex number.

Strike

I drank 2 glasses of champagne last night while preparing and eating dinner and watching Gilmore Girls. I have the most shocking hangover this morning and feel like a drank a bottle of tequila and partied till 4am. I'd like to stand under a stream of hot water but that bloody spider is still there so I have to take more neurofen and then find a large bowl (the mixing bowl?) to capture the monster. It's not that I even mind it being in the shower with me but I am worried the steam will make the walls slippery and it will slide down into the water with me. Eeww. I told the girls I was fragile and that there was industrial action being taken on the domestic front. I wasn't doing anything today except going to see HP3 (Miss S missed out last week so we'd agreed on a rerun). Claire has a nice comment on the swiss approach to industrial action.

I couldn't resist sharing this piece from the Tribune de Genéve today: "About 2000 civil servants demonstrated in Geneva Thursday evening against proposed cantonal budget cuts. Marchers left from place Neuve at about 5:30pm and gathered outside the Hotel de Ville in the old town where a parliamentary session was underway." Only in Switzerland would public servants wait til AFTER work finishes to conduct their quiet, civilised protest! The Swiss: quiet, organised, efficient, perhaps boring, but NEVER disruptive! Here's further evidence, again from today's paper: (The big soccer/football competition Euro 2004 is dominating advertising and media everywhere as Europe prepares for the huge event) "As Euro 2004 in Portugal approaches, authorities in Lausanne have laid down rules aimed at keeping the city peaceful in wake of the games. Football fans will be allowed to celebrate after matches, but not too much. Supporters will be free to hoot their car horns for 60 minutes after games have ended but must then be quiet."

Update: spider relocated to front porch

In trouble

It's a good thing that I'm not scared of spiders. Moths are the only things which freak me out, those big bodied flutterings really scare me and I hate butterfly houses. There is a huntsman spider the size of a saucer in our shower. I have a big french porcelain breakfast cup which I use for coffee. This spider's legs would overhang the ledge, so until I can find a big enough receptacle to put over him and then slide a piece of card underneath, he is calling the shower home. It has been very cold and rained a lot in the last 36 hours. My children would love it if it snowed and reminded me that I promised them we would spend christmas 2005 somewhere snowy. Switzerland maybe? Work was surprisingly good this week. I remembered why I liked what I do and I do like the end of quarter buzz of trying to pull things together. Today was busy routine of girls' activities. I went to Pilates which was soothing and then looked after baby Y while P went to her class. He was a perfect baby, sat next to Miss S while she played on the computer, chased the cats around and played with Miss I. When he got tired, I put on the Clash and he drank a bottle listening to the Guns of Brixton. He fell asleep and Miss I asked me, "how can he sleep with that on?" but Itold her babies are more likely to wake up when the noise stops. Tonight I made meatballs with tomato sauce and spaghettini for the girls and I ate grilled aubergine with mint and haloumi cheese. My father called just as I sat down to eat. He is thinking of meeting me in California in Sept when i am there with the girls. We talked about Yosemite and the Monterey acquarium. He is talking about doing this trip as well as coming out to Australia for Christmas. And he wants to visit Cape Town on his way to Australia. At 80 he seems determined to do all these things before it is too late. He says he goes to too many funerals of people where the conversation revolves around things left undone.

Some bad stuff and some good

I had my final set of gum torture today in time to try and claim some of the huge expense as part of my tax return. I confess I am usually a slacker at tax return time, treating it as my windfall some time next year. This year, however, a tighter cash flow means I'll be racing to get my return in post haste to generate some money to pay for our trip to California and Hawaii in Sept. Since I seem unlikely to make much on my sales plan this year. Sigh. I heard today that an old colleague had passed away on the weekend. He was diagnosed with a brain tumour 18 months ago and finally retired last November. It seemed he would beat this but unfortunately he suffered a relapse last week. He had a rich and full life but I was sad that his gentle and polite way would no longer be around. The funeral is in Melbourne and I won't be able to get there at such short notice but I have thought about him a lot today. Another piece of sad news was that a senior woman I have been working with has accepted a job in Shanghai in another part of the business. It's a great testament to her skills and experience but very sad for those of us who feel like executive churn has hit our part of the business yet again. On the plus side, I left the office at 3:15 to collect my children as our babysitter has a big essay due this week and I told her to take the week off to concentrate on it. It was bitterly cold today and we went home and made cocoa and ate chocolate biscuits. Then I took part in a teleconference for 75 minutes while they did their homework like angels. The telecon was actually productive. We talked about a new (to us) software company that have a tool that will really help our client. They are based in Glasgow and as we talked I was looking at their web site and realised I knew where their offices are in West Regent St as my dad's office used to be there 25 years ago. Of course, I shared this as ground breaking news to my fascinated colleagues. It's close to where the ABC cinema complex was on Sauchiehall St where I worked 4 nights a week as a student showing patrons to their seats and flogging cornettos in the interval. I saw Apocalypse Now 27 times during my tenure there. I was reminded of the worst part of the job when I went to see the latest Harry Potter movie on the weekend (by the way, I thought the movie was great. It had a grainy romantic feel to it with lots of outdoor scenes with rain and mist.) On busy nights, we would have to get our torches out and persuade patrons to shift their seats around so we could fit another couple in here and there. We'd get moans and abuse from grumpy Glaswegians as we did. The cinema was mobbed at the HP movie and I found myself irritated at those people who would sit themselves down so there was one seat between them and the next set of people. Watch it or I'll get my torch out.

Ambrosia

Beetroot pesto. Man, it sounds vile, doesn't it? Let me tell you, it is food for the gods. My friend, P, brought it down with her to the beach house and it was divine. The ingredients said beetroot, macadamia nuts, oil and salt. I would have taken a picture but I was too busy cramming it into my mouth. This was before we ate the salmon roasted in prosciutto, spinach with youghurt, french beans with roasted red capsicum and kipfler potatoes. Not forgetting the apple crumble. I had to crawl into bed as I was so full. Baby Y was an angel and slept through from 7 to 5 giving his mama some well earned rest. I had a relaxing time at the beach. I would like to tell you I saw whales swimming in the bay which I did this time last year but alas no spectacular sights this weekend. The weather was balmy, the bird life was spectacular and Miss I was as sweet as can be. Gosh, it is restful when she doesn't have her big sister to compete with. Miss I and I went to Mogo Zoo on the way home. It's a tiny zoo focusing on endangered species. Miss I and I like exactly the same animals - the snow leopards with impossibly long tails, the red pandas flopped over branches as though it were 40 degrees and they were too hot to move a muscle and the otters racing up and down the pool and hiding in the hollow tree trunks and jumping out on each other.