Paper Mountain

Over the past few weeks I have neglected to notice the small pile of papers on my desk accumulating. It was only by chance one day that I sat down at my desk with a cup of tea and decided to look up from the computer screen. Stopping in mid sip, my eyes widen to take in the huge paper mountain before me.

An assortment of questions begins filling my head - Where on earth did this mountain come from? How long has it been growing? Did I grow it? What shall I name her?* Whatever the case I’m gong to be the first to the summit and quickly scull down the last of my tea and rush to the kitchen for some equipment.

A while later I return with a spoon and blunt knife (digging gear) some string and plastic bag ties (climbing gear), two bourbon biscuits and a packet of milk (rations). I contemplated a bottle of oxygen, but could only find the fire extinguisher, and decided pure CO2 or foam was a bad idea! Finally I armed myself with the PAID and ENTERED stamps and set off.

Having sourced my knowledge of mountain climbing off Discovery channel I decided to set up camp at the base of (the newly named) ‘Mount Data” and pull out my homemade map formed using paperclips, since the mountain had consumed all the paper! Checked the compass, which pointed straight for the paperclip map, but tried to mark my current position. Unfortunately this ended up in a paperclip daisy chain and made my map unreadable, so I packed it away neatly and consumed the first bourbon.

Two hours later I leave camp and begin the trek. What seems like hours of stamping (trekking), shuffling (climbing) and filing I finally reach campsite two. It’s here I encounter the first signs of life in the form of a goat. I ask for directions, but unfortunately can’t speak fluent goat and it just walks away without even a backwards glance. “Fine I find my own way then just don’t eat my mountain!”

I decide to not stay long at campsite two and consume the last bourbon and milk quickly. Another four hours into the journey and I look at my watch…Shit 4:25 it’s nearly home time – maybe I’ll try and reach the summit tomorrow.**

* Who do I contact to register new mountains for geographical records?

** With any luck the goat will consume my mountain!

The Earwig Jig

I consider myself musical and enjoy dancing when I get the opportunity, although being fairly shy about my unique style only dance at home in the lounge with the curtains blinded. Don’t get me wrong I have rhythm!* But have a tendency to flap my arms uncontrollably and leap around like a kangaroo on speed…even more so after a few beers! (Don’t believe me? Just go to Deanos (local pub/club) one weekend – I’m already blushing thinking about it, but thank fully too drunk to notice the laughter at the time).

I only refuse to do a line dance or anything with country music. Although there has been the rare occasion where I have been seen to Foxtrot and Quickstep, but I tend to be waltzing out the door by the third country song, since I can’t stand the depressing lyrics and am normally too pissed to stand let alone dance. It’s quite enjoyable making up new titles for country songs though like:

“I lost my cowboy boots on the hokey pokey down town alley round the corner”
“Stop that dixie dog drivin’ a train of daisies round my heart”
“Take my money, my wife and home, but leave my guitar alone!”
The list goes on…**

Just recently I have created a new dance, which I like to call “The Earwig Jig” Basically you feel a tickle (say down you leg, on your arm or across the back of your neck) leap up, hop from foot to foot while turning in circles and slap the invisible beasties frantically. This is enhanced with the lyrics “F***ing horrible little b**tards!” This is quite amusing especially as a spectator…even more so when there are no earwigs in sight and you realize it’s all in their heads.

* I can play most music, I hear (hopeless at reading music though), on a piano and have even accomplished mission impossible – with both hands (Nyree!)
** The saddest part about this being I’m am very close to true country song titles – look it up if you don’t believe me!

And this picture sends a chill down my spine! Will be jigging any minute now!

Moving Overseas

A new experience, a new challenge and even more chaos!

We have finally decided to stop talking about moving overseas and take action on our words. Dan requires his mates ticket to get any further in life as a sailor and more so to appease his mind that constantly reminds him he is a 32-year-old deckhand.

I haven’t experienced this “I’m getting old and what have I achieved?” factor yet since I’m only 25 (although pushing 26), but feel I should stop wasting time now, (stop having children for a start) and get some qualifications under my belt before it’s too late.

With the mission set it’s time to get motivated…begin the countdown

Flood!

Dan is currently away on a ship so it’s back to the old routine for the girls and me for a few days. (whatever routine that was?)

We pull up in the drive-way after work, one girl grizzling, for no apparent reason, and the other two pestering me for food before we even enter the house! So I quickly unload them from the car and traipse upstairs burdened with children, bags, mail and milk (I have contemplated getting another set of arms surgically fixed onto my torso, but I will go into detail on another post). After feeding the wild animals and making sure they were settled I head back downstairs to check on the washing machine.

This morning I had good intentions to try and catch up on the washing, only to find the washing machine isn’t draining properly. My first thought was “Not another bloody child’s sock up the pipe!” but on closer inspection it appeared the whole machine was having a bit of a spasm and verging on giving up completely!

Being a fairly practical girlie I decided to turn my hand to some basic plumbing and swap the dying washing machine for the top-loader sitting in the laundry. A thought in the back of my brain reminds me there was some problem with the top-loader, but I brush it off with “It’ll be ok by now surely”, as if it has fixed itself while sitting unused in the laundry?

So I grab a screwdriver and some grabbing things (ok…I’m practical, but I don’t know the name of the damn tools!) and head toward the pipes at the back of the machine. As I squeeze in I look up and see the power cable…oops, might be better to un-plug the machine first – water and electricity not a good mix! Using the grabby things (which I will call pliers just because it’s easier) I turn the taps to, what I believe is off. Standing up I begin to unscrew the hose link attached to the washing machine, when I hear a horrible sound of rushing water followed by a sudden high pressure leak. I quickly jam the hose back on and look back at the taps “They are definitely off – Where’s the water coming from?”

After a quick phone call to a male friend (yes I crumbled and thought a woman wouldn’t be able to answer my question…sorry!) for advice, I am lead to believe it’s only a little pressure left in the pipe and will drain away. So I go ahead and unplug the pipe…

…Five seconds later the bucket is full and water is still gushing!!!

I leave the hose in the bucket and dive back under the bench with the pliers to attack the tap. No sooner do I touch the blue plastic and it breaks off in the pliers – “Oh god – don’t panic!” Shaking frantically, while becoming completely soaked I hear mum at the front door, before I could stop myself I yelp “HELP!!” in a ridiculously high pitched voiced. She came through and immediately grabbed the hose, which had now completely overflowed the bucket, and held it in the sink above me, while I attempted again to grab the, now thin piece of, metal with the pliers and twist it to off. When I eventually get it turned off I notice the last of the water dripping onto my back – of course how typical – I only removed the drain hose from the sink coupling and water going down the plug hole was escaping out of this new gap rather than going down the drain!

So now I am completely drenched…cue the girls with more demands and whinging. Mum/Nan now leaves me to attempt the second (hot) pipe and tends to the girls. I turn back to the sopping carpet and half plumbed washing monster. Yet again I am caught by the dodgy taps, but thankfully I’m prepared and react quicker in turning the tap off to save myself from getting scolded.
Ten minutes later the top-loader is connected and washing its first load. Although I am a little weary when the water rushes back in! Thank fully though all is well and connections seem to be secure. The only evidence of my disaster being the sodden laundry carpet and fairly flushed me!

999

Today at work I answered a call from the Police Station. They informed me they had just received a 999 call from telephone number 25113, which they say was a payphone registered to the Falkland Islands Development Corp. I thought for a second then replied to the officer “But we don’t have a payphone in the building?”

Following a few minutes of debating about how that number surely couldn’t be listed under FIDC, I eventually resorted to saying I would check the building for anyone in distress and call back.

After determining everyone was ok upstairs and down – I headed back upstairs to my office. As I entered, I was told the Police had called back and found where the phone number was located…the abattoir!

So I am now left with images of a sheep escaping the pen, running for the phone, dialling 999 and screaming, “They’re going to kill us all baa!”