anyresemblance

Tooth and nail

Today I had my nails done, a newish but satisfying ritual. I go to American Nails in Civic staffed by charming Vietnamese girls who boss you around. Some of them have a tenuous grasp on English which they use to good effect. In choosing a colour today, my nail technician (is that the term, nail artiste? naildresser?) said "you choose colour". I point to one. "You choose colour", she repeats, more vigorously this time. After this went on for a bit, I realised she was really saying, "Don't choose that insipid pale thing, choose a real woman's colour". Which is why my nails are now flamingo pink.

Do you ken John Peel?

I was shocked to hear John Peel is dead at 65 in a hotel room in Peru. For someone with such a wry view of life, it sounds too much like a rockstar death. It's hard to measure the impact he had on my musical tastes. My children find it impossible to conceive that the launch of pop music on the BBC was a big deal and listening to John Peel at night was the measure of grooviness. I can remember the first time I heard the Sex Pistols, the Undertones, Joy Division, the Fall was on all on his radio show. I loathed some of the stuff he played, I still find the Fall unlistenable (which may have more to do with brother of loathsome girl I shared a flat with playing that and PiL constantly) but he did challenge me to listen to the unknown. I read that Teenage Kicks was his favourite ever song. I'm going to dig out my copy to play tonight in requiem. There is a whole host of music I never would have heard if not for him for which I am immeasurably grateful. And he loved the Archers, too.

Moving swiftly ahead

My father arrived today. He fell asleep on the sofa at 8pm and went to bed at 8:30 thereby proving himself, in my opinion, to be a perfect guest not cluttering up my life too much. Within 40 minutes of his arrival he had cajoled my daughter to accompany him to the shops ostensibly to purchase a weekly edition of the Daily Telegraph (he'll read the Guardian at a push) but came back disconsately with the Canberra Times and a bottle of Jameson's. Poor dad, the Canberra Times is a shockingly dull newspaper and along with my refusal to listen to local radio fuels my appalling grasp of local politics. I went to get my hair done today and sat outside with various chemicals colouring my grey away while on a teleconference. Then my colleague tracked me down while I was getting my hair dried and we discussed another knotty business issue. Plus I got to read a whole Who cover to cover. An excellently productive morning.

I'll probably regret this but...

I was prepared to write something about romance gone wrong but remember my intent to remain stoically silent on such subjects. But fuck it hurts.

In a lather

Chanel off Australian Idol. My pal, K, a senior bureaucrat in the Queensland govt phoned me to say "what the fuck is going on, I voted for her 5 times, it's all you bloody Cbr people voting for Hayley". Not me, I protested, I told the girls they couldn't use my phone if they voted for Hayley but I have to confess I thought Chanel's time had come and she was gracious in defeat. Hope we hear a lot more about her. Then there is the caddish Philippoussis dumping our Delta for party girl, Paris.

Treating Delta Goodrem caddishly - if that is what Philippoussis has done - is emerging as a crime on a par with shooting Bambi.

My, my, could the soap lather up any more? Machinery of government changes are causing turmoil at work. I got so bored with all the speculation on what it might or might not mean that I announced I was going to a strategy meeting at 3pm but really went to Manuka with my pal, M, to look at what I could buy with my last remaining insurance money at the jeweller's. I saw these divine watermelon tourmaline drops but they are about $2000 beyond my budget. Then we went to Creations to admire the pearls then we had a cup of coffee at Grande's. And we did talk about work so it was all entirely legitimate in my opinion.

Block but no tackle

Yesterday I drove to Tuggeranong three times. Birthday parties, basketball and the like had me clock up a hundred kilometres. On the last bit, K called me and suggested she and T come over for a pre-dinner drink. They arrived at 6:30 armed with a litre bottle of Evans and Tate they had brought back from Margaret River. After we had drunk that, we opened the Oyster Bay Chardonnay, they gave up on thoughts of dinner and we ate cheese, bread, grapes and cherry tomatoes. I'd like to give a witty rendition of our conversation but to be perfectly honest I can't remember what we talked about though the L Word was in there, why Elvis Costello was coming to Canberra, should I spend Christmas with them in Queenstown and what constitutes luxury in a hotel were on the list. K&T are in the process of building a boutique hotel in Queenstown. I'd like to hate them but they are too nice. My sister in England does "mystery guest" appearances for some hotel chain and amused me with her last visit to a 5* establishment in London. She had a list of demands she had to make that included phoning up to ask for a yoga kit - they were able to produce this plus instructional dvd within 20 minutes. K was so impressed with this that she told me that yoga kits were on her list of things to get for the hotel. Personally, I think the nicest things in hotels are fresh flowers in the rooms and big bottles of Penhaligon bath products. The hotel where I had my wedding night had these. Today, of course, I was a trifle jaded. I took the girls to see Princess Diaries 2. Oh my, Julie Andrews sings hip hop with Raven. Some things should not be done. It was terrible but my children have no critical discernment and thought the whole thing was fabulous. Then we went to David Jones to buy a duvet since I realised my dad arrives on Tuesday and I have no bedding since I lent all the spare stuff to my ex when my step-son came over and am in no mood to negotiate its return. I know it's only mid October but I managed to spend a good 30 minutes admiring all the christmas decorations for sale. I do wish DJs would get rid of those bloody blue reindeer they bring out every year to decorate the store. Miss S is trying to make extra pocket money to buy some jeans. I am impressed at her endeavour. She offered to walk to the shop tonight for the first time ever and she helped me clear up the room her grandfather will be sleeping in. We did a good job and it looks nice - no yoga kit, however.

Lies, damned lies and ...

As all bloggers know, there is a shameless vice in reading your stats and working out who has referred you or what arcane and bizarre thing someone was googling when they stumbled on your site. I hit a peak today and can only assume that someone else was having a slow and tedious Friday and chose to work their way through my entire archive. I hope this provided an entertaining alternative to productive work on a rainy Friday. Inspired by small hands tantalising promise of a recipe for Working Mothers Pizza Crust, I made pizza tonight. It's true you can rise the dough in the time it takes to change into cosy clothes and pour a glass of wine. We ate it watching Troy. What a load, only enlivened by Miss S trying to work out who the characters were - she had to read La Guerre de Agamemnon last term and only knew French names - and Miss I putting on a cheer show for Paris, alias Orlando Bloom (or "Orly" as DisneyGirl likes to refer to him).

Silence is sometimes the best answer

I'm trying to separate the debris of my own messed up head from the stuff that is worth getting worked up about. Not worth bitching about: 1. unequal division of parenting - yes, it's unfair but so what? That's why I'm not married any more. It's not going to change (I got an updated and improved spreadsheet today) so I'll get over it. 2. work - yes, it's a grinding bore at the moment, but I know that and I'm looking for something else. 3. my boss - yes, he's unreliable, erratic and infuriating but I've known that for the 8 years I've known him, he's not going to change. So, that probably leaves the mass of annoying humanity and my daughters' messy bedrooms to whine about. That should still leave enough topics for blogging. Today, I had coffee with a prospective employer in Manuka and lunch with one of my project teams at Rubicon in Griffith. Yummy. Got back from lunch at 3:30 which always seems like a highly satisfactory state of affairs.

Idolatory

According to my daughter, who got it from my step-son, who shares classes at Canberra Uni with Hayley from Australian Idol, she (Hayley, that is) is the teacher's pet. No parochial town loyalties in our house. You see, with children returned home, we are once more slaves to AI. Oldest daughter is bereft that Marty is out, since he sang a Darkness song at his audition, he is her god. Oh, and my babysitter told me she got a hand-written postcard from Mike reminding her to vote. I forebore from asking her if I could have it.

A question of etiquette

When you ask the father of your children to update you on his travel schedule between now and Christmas and he then e-mails you an excel spreadsheet and said spreadsheet details that a) he is away for two weekends in a row when he is scheduled to have the children, and b) that he is away for the weekend of daughter's birthday party which he is supposed to be arranging, and c) he gives you no context or justification for this schedule is it ok to be pissed off?