You know what gets up my nose?

Excessive hair, apparently.

Fathers day 2010 will be remembered for the thoughtful gift Ms Canada handed over with a smirk at dinner with my offspring.  A nose hair trimmer. Hint, hint, apparently.  I’d only just trimmed my eyebrows though - they were getting too long at about 30mm for the longest hairs…..

The aforesaid offspring sprung for a very touching card and an infeasibly large block of Toblerone fruit and nut milk chocolate.

And here’s something else that gets up my nose:

What’s the deal with the ad for new hand soap pumps that dispense soap by sensing your hand under the spout so that you “don’t have to touch the dirty pump handle”?

Look, you’re dispensing soap to wash your hands, right? You’re going to wash them after dispensing the soap and wash off any “germs” the pump handle might have on it.  What sort of idiots do the designers of these things think we are?

Happy Fathers Day to you all!

Nescafe Blend 43 no more.

Dear co-workers,

Yes, there are now coffee bags and an honesty jar upstairs near the Charity Chocolates in our office.   I know you have questions.

FAQ

How much do these pouches of the devil’s brew cost?
Well, based on the current exchange rate and possibly due to recent militant action by the Federated Union of Arabica Coffee Pickers, the supermarkets are currently charging a frankly ruinous $9.19 for 28 coffee bags.   Since that equates to about 33 cents per bag,  I’d say 35 cents for one or a flat dollar for three would cover it.

What are you doing with the profits?  Are you hooking us on coffee to fund your shamefully extravagant lifestyle?
As I am scrupulously honest to the last, the extra two cents made on single bags and the single cent earned after a volume Special Discount will be invested wisely in a hedge fund against further coffee bag price rises.  If, however, you think I should just pocket the proceeds, let me know.  I should have enough to cover my initial investment and buy a Big Mac by sometime in 3Q 2025.  (That’s the Japanese 3Q, by the way.)

Who will manage continued supply of the coffee once we succumb to addiction?
Well, I’ll take the “proceeds” and top up supplies as regularly as I can.   However, anyone likely to pass a supermarket is welcome to take the cash and bring back the goodies.  Alternatively, Comrade, you could form a Revolutionary Committee and serve our generous employer, with a demand for decent coffee as an employee benefit.

Can my customer visitors have a coffee bag?
Of course. But don’t forget to fill in an expense claim for the 35 cents and get it signed so you can reimburse the kitty.

You choose rubbish coffee, you idiot!  What if I want a different variety of bag?
I understand your concern and completely agree that it’s a shame that we don’t have your variety here.  And I’d like to thank you for volunteering to go to the shops next time we need coffee so we can all try your preferred blend.

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Birthday, bl**dy Birthday!

Poised almost halfway between the half century and unaffordable retirement, a 55^th birthday isn’t one of the “biggies” that people celebrate with extravagant parties.  It was mine on May 1st.  Thank you for all the birthday wishes, by the way.

There are only two truly significant “fiver” birthdays.  Five, because it means you’re finally old enough to go to school and your exhausted parents can finally stop paying for child care. And 65, when you can at last officially retire, claim your retirement savings without being extravagantly taxed and start getting reluctantly given “seniors” discounts for pub meals, McDonalds coffee and train tickets.   75 is a pretty good number too, but then any birthday after about 72 is one worth celebrating a little too enthusiastically.

55 is getting close for most people these days to the last birthday they will have that doesn’t involve small grandchildren underfoot.

My siblings have instituted a convention – we all get together at the home of the afflicted brother or sister on the occasion of their 50^th birthday.  Since the first, my own low key Chinese restaurant meal with my siblings, children and mother, the subsequent celebrations have expanded each time.  The last, only a week or so ago in Queensland for my youngest sister, included a cast of thousands – siblings, spouses, nephews and nieces,  children and her first grandchild.  Most of us descended on her home near Warwick where she and her partner effectively have two houses on a block of land. All rooms were full, there were tents and a camper, and Ms Canada and I managed to reserve the prime suite, their well appointed caravan. With a BBQ, an all-you-can-eat meal at the local RSL ($14.50) and a huge breakfast at the Yangan pub on Sunday, no-one went hungry.

There’s only one 50^th to go – in another  4 years, but in the meantime we have my mother’s 80^th.

Then it starts all over again, with my 60^th in 2015.  How did I get so old?

World Championship Top Gear-ing

If you’re reading this outside the Home Country or Antipodean Colonies, you will not know of “Top Gear”.  Probably.

A TV show that’s ostensibly about cars, this UK production stars three irascible Englishmen who test drive improbably expensive muscle and luxury cars, banter amongst one another and undertake equally improbable “challenges”.

It’s not about the cars.  Strangely, you don’t have to be a car fan to like Top Gear at all.  Just sit back and listen to the “boys” blather on.

As for the “Challenges”….

Years ago on our local TV, there used to be a show called “World Championship Wrestling”.  No matter that all the action was local and the closest to the World it got were wrestlers called Mario Milano, an Italian fish and chip shop owner and Spiros Arion, the “golden greek”.  Every week, viewers would thrill to the  gravel tones of Jack Little, inviting “wrestling fans” to tune in.   Everyone knew that the matches were choreographed, but despite that,  it was popular.

Just like the Top Gear “Challenges”.  You know full well that the trials and tribulations are 70% script written, but watch for the sheer enjoyment.

I’ve just been watching an episode where the boys traveled by 2nd hand four wheel drive across the Andes, breaking down, crashing and generally raising mayhem.

But, for example… it’s hard to take a supposed lone “stranding” seriously, when you know there’s at least one extra vehicle with the camera and sound man standing there filming the man bemoaning his lonely fate

Top Gear. Top program. Top Fiction.

Endings

I’ve avoided writing about my job over the last year or so, mainly because it deals with a large distributed client base and I didn’t (and still don’t) really want to inadvertantly cause problems for either myself or my employer by saying the wrong thing.  So excuse me if I name no names. ( Dean has made a habit of giving his workplaces fanciful and (perhaps) significant names – like “Tombstone”.  I’ll refrain from this as well, lest I let something slip).

In early February, though, I handed in my notice.  Today’s my last day. 

Ribs, ribs, ribs, etc…

Fat Sally’s at Oamaru, NZ is a rather popular pub and restaurant, recommended by the Lonely Planet Guide.  Ms Canada and I took their suggestion and indulged in a beer, a wine and after perusing the menu, I decided to doubly indulge in their Ribs, Ribs, Ribs!  (No Half Serves)

Now your correspondent (mostly) knows his limits, and since Ribs, Ribs, Ribs! comes with potato chips,  I requested a small salad substitution.

The picture tells the story.  If they’d had Ribs, Ribs! or maybe just Ribs! I would have been quite happy.  As it was, I was both happy and bloated, not to mention feeling somewhat guilty at overindulging.

Here’s the thing.  The folks on the table next to us also both got Ribs, Ribs, Ribs!, but with chips.  Imagine my plate, with a 50cm layer of chips then the ribs.  And they ate it all, I presume.  Better men than I, and one of them was a girl, and not a big one.

Bog Standard, not.

I’m weighing in to the over or under argument.

Over, not under.

Right, got it?

In case you haven’t, coming soon to a loo near you – and you know who you are – is my probably soon not to be patented – toilet roll holder accessory that simply makes it impossible to hang your toilet paper by the wall and be able to get any paper when you need it.  It enforces the God-endorsed (in a personal revelation – prove me wrong!) configuration of toilet paper hanging over the top of the roll toward you, rather than the heretical and abhorrent alternative.

Plumb(ing) crazy

There are small things that conspire to annoy the less worldly traveller. The colour of street signs, how close to the safe speed limit the suggested road curve speeds are, whether there are public toilets in towns or whether you have to buy a coffee to use some restaurant’s dunny (self defeating  at best, since it just sets you up for the next one), or the baffling array of confusing shower taps.

And it’s the latter of which I write.

What happened to the simple two taps each for the bath and the shower?  Every motel we visit seems to have bought their bathroom fittings from “obscure taps-r-s”.  Whether it be a special button hidden behind the shower curtain that you press to switch taps from bath to shower, a small paddle on the shower rose that controls temperature and is guaranteed to drench you with cold water before you can figure out where the hot setting is, or a completely unmarked joystick which provides a one-armed-bandit option for choosing whether you get scolded or frozen, motel owners conspire to compete as to how many half dressed, damp guests arrive back at the reception desk sheepishly asking for directions as to how to get a decent shower.

Bentriders do Wendouree … again!

Once again, a group of eleven intrepid recumbent riders have braved the pointy fingers of ridicule to contest the Lake Wendouree Challenge relay.

There’s already a Youtube video at:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OzNPJgiqU_E

As team manager, my leaderly duties reduced the number of laps I rode, so I figure in the video mostly racing around in the transition area swapping armbands between riders, but I do appear on the bike in its fairing once coming into the area, and I’m the guy in the blue top passing the cameraman (on the bike without the fairing) in the final “victory lap”