13 December 2007


I wasn’t going to post (if you can’t say anything nice, etc) but for the sake of all within mumbling range I really should vent. I’ve been a bit cranky. Those who’ve shared house with me call it wearing the cranky pants, though I prefer ‘Grumbellina’, it sounds a lot nicer. Can’t put my finger on it. Should be feeling up after visits from family etc and a sunny and moody grey non-work day on the Mornington Peninsula with an afternoon visit to a chocolatier and touring (ok, got me, lounging around) Merricks Estate. Here’s a few (trivial, indulgent) possible causes…

sticky flies
lack of sleep
overconsumption of wine
cabin fever
crazy dreams about boys who’ve left
award-winning pies that trick you into eating them and leave your digestive tract to deal with the aftermath
reality doom books
perennially split fingers and lips
boatloads of people people people

Find of the week: Merricks Estate pinot noir (hello santa!)

Coveting: free time and a very long bush track

04 December 2007

eggplant doesn't digest

I know this because, after sailing almost the entire east coast of Australia, I’ve just had my first onboard barf. Having withstood a sweaty galley in the lumpiest sea-states skip has encountered in his forty-something sailing years, I finally succumbed on a wee outing from Queenscliff to Flinders. Blame not the sea, but last night's hardcore imbibing. Excess is a grandiose understatement. Pink wine segued nicely into red but my no-barf record was in danger when we started on vodka shots (sweetened with lychees, yum). Four of us emptied a whole litre of ‘woddy’ in this way, mysteriously acquiring Russian accents into the bargain. When I awoke, I knew it was bad. Not only could I not face coffee, I couldn’t recall going to bed or how I made it into my long johns without falling over (must check for bruises). Anyway, after no coffee or breakfast, I started feeling up at the prospect of cheese and tomato toasties for lunch. Should have known that the galley time required to prep toasties for seven, in my fragile state, would be the end. After about half an hour below, I started re-living the ‘hug the bucket’ part of skip’s safety briefing. That’s how I know eggplant doesn’t digest. I finished making the toasties and sat and watched everyone eat recovery lunch. Pooh.

And in other news:

1. I once thought the ubiquitous 'other duties as directed' catch-all was designed to compel you to keep proper files... bah! Now I know it's meant for cool stuff like puppeteering! At the Two Bays launch on Sunday I was the tail end of the giant Weedy the Seadragon. (Weedy being the Victorian marine emblem.) And this is why I don’t have any photos of Andrew Denton’s big hair. (I had readied myself for him to be little but not the hair to be big.) Or Weedy. Or much of the launch at all. I was consoled by a surprise cheer squad of friends from my corporate Melbourne past, but especially D, who said I showed excellent tail characterisation.

2. I’m writing this whilst fondling a bag of frozen peas. Tomorrow I will have a very big finger but am lucky to still have finger after incident with a spring line which in the dark I thought was off but was still on. Finger got squashed in between line and boat. F@!** ouch. Blame it on my stupid faulty head torch. On the bright side, same finger on other hand is now fully recovered from rope burn after botched gybe some weeks ago.

3. Still coming down from sensory overload in Melbourne. Eg:

Endgame, Derrick Jensen; The slow guide to Melbourne
music: Feist, Kaki King, Cat Empire, Machine Translations
movies: Into the Wild (Margaret gave it five stars and I agree)
etc: Dumbo Feather and a kitsch little Chinese soup place on Swanston street and everything in Degraves Street and Collingwood and the Vic markets and Merricks Estate wine and rooftop movies

4. Have succumbed to Facebook. Was lured in to see a Swiss friend's photos and discovered half the literate world is signed on. Despite continuing reservations I have now logged extreme time there. It cannot be maintained.