PAUL HARDCASTLE

Not feeling the love today, plodded to work and then did a slightly shorter than usual loop of the City at lunch time for a total of around n-n-n-n-nineteen kilometres. Hence

Felt a bit grotty when I got up this morning. Definitely fighting a cold and it has me on the back foot. The morning dog-walk-coffee got me moving and seemed to clear the phlegm that had taken root in my nose and throat overnight. Too much information? Sorry. By the time I got home I was as clear as a progressing Scientologist, the aches in my feet had subsided and I felt OK to commute on foot. So I did. Trying to remember if there was anything of note on the way in and struggling...nope, just a commute.

I didn't improve much at work. Struggled to control my temperature and broke out a Lemsip Max. By lunchtime the Lemsip had kicked in and I felt OK enough to go for another run. Throat felt a bit soar and I was still not feeling the love. I plodded most of my typical lunchtime loop. I missed out on the piers and dropped maybe a kilometre, but that's OK.

Don't feel like I've written enough, so welcome to my charity clothing bin despair in three movements.

Movement One - Clothes you muppets, CLOTHES!

There is a small car park a few hundred metres from my home where there was once a charity clothing bin. It was operated by a youth with leukaemia charity. I'd sometimes drop stuff in there. It was clearly a clothes bin. Not a vacuum cleaner and box speakers bin. I could never fathom the thoughts of people who simply dumped their old stuff next to a charity clothing bin. Just take your old shit to a charity store or a dump. Don't shift your problem to a charity. They're a charity, help them don't hinder them.

Movement Two - For profit

The bin disappeared for a while and was then replaced with another. The new one looked like the old one apart from the lack of anything indicating it was another charity bin. There was a small name on it, which I have forgotten now. However, at the time I looked up the name and found the mob supplying the bin were a "for profit" organisation that collects rags for industry. I thought that was a bit shitty; this bin had been placed in a spot occupied previously by a charity bin but without making it clear this was now collecting your clothes for their profit. Kids with leukaemia or shareholder returns, now let me think...

Movement Three - Sod it, I'll leave it anyway

The for profit bin was taken away. I think a lot of people had the same uneasy feeling as I did and the new bin did not last long. I walked past the spot today, as I do most days, and saw three bags of clothes left in the spot where the bin had once been. Now I suppose there is an outside chance that the fly-tipper might have thought the bin would be back in a bit, it had just gone to get a coffee...but to me it did look a bit like someone had just left some of their old clothes in a small carpark.

Funny old world.

The Department for Stating the Obvious

Outside of schools the roads are marked as school zones during school hours and the speed limit is 40km/h. There will be triangles painted on the road that a driver will drive over when entering a school zone. There will be a large sign stating that it is a school zone and the hours in which it is a school zone. Where electricity is plentiful there might be a large red circlular light surrounding a number 40 to let you know beyond all doubt that the speed limit is 40km/h. There are probably orange flashing lights too. In fact it would be extremely difficult to avoid coming to the conclusion that the speed limit outside of a school is 40km/h. You would have to be blind or have your head stuck up your own arse to miss it.

And yet...there are signs attached to school railings saying things like "Go 40 for me" with a picture of a child who is presumably appealing to the driver who has missed the painted triangles, signs, flashing lights and kids running all over the place. I have an idea...how about a bit of enforcement? If someone exceeds 40km/h you simply fine them and give them some points on their licence. I mean, wouldn't that work? Or does someone sit in a government department and think "well yes, there is the paint on the road, the signage and the flashing lights, but is that enough? Maybe we need another sign. Yes, yes, another sign! That will do it, and it is so much easier than enforcement!" Award yourself a pay rise why don't you.

All of the above - no parking zones by schools. It would be a revenue raiser...come on, just a little bit of ongoing enforcement. Or my plan B. Rip all the signals down and replace with one that says "You know what, do what you like."

And now this. "Swap it, don't stop it." Yes, apparently if you swap sitting for walking, indoors for outdoors and carrots for carrot cakes then you might become a bit healthier. No! Why don't they teach this at school? Why didn't someone tell me! Praise the Australian Government for edumacating me thusly! For fucks sake, do my tax dollars pay for this? Quite apart from the fact that everyone knows this already, why the fuck would an advert and website make a cakeaholic couch potato decide to get up from their pit of sloth and go for a run to the health food store to get some mung beans? We get it, we know. 

I'm already getting over this rant, so briefly...thanks to the NSW Government for the signs on buses that tell me I should be careful with my bag and not hit people in the head with it. That did help enormously because before those signs I was an ignorant fuck and now I'm cured. I would like to pay a little more tax if possible, who do I need to speak to?

Australia Day, some bad language and the threat of violence

I will try and keep my views on Australia Day to myself - I am, after all, English (despite the second passport.) It is only fair to warn you that I will be dropping the C bomb in his post. It will not, however, be gratuitous. No, in this post I will attempt to accurately record the history of this day, what happened and what it represents. Which is somewhat at odds with the mainstream Australia Day (strike 1! I will try to stop there.)

Today is a public holiday and therefore I had the opportunity to do a single run. And, free from the commute I could hit the local trails. I'd written earlier in a post or a comment that I would run the Manly Dam mountain bike circuit, inspired to do so by recalling that Gary is a mountain bike instructor. I was helped by the weather - it was humid as hell and had been belting down with rain. That plus the fact it was Australia Day should mean the track would be biker-lite. As it turned out it was bike-free. That trail is about 9km, so the plan was to link this with a run along the beach at Manly and then do the Manly to Spit scenic walkway. It was all very Manly (snigger; it's still funny after 12years.)

I left at about 1pm and it was 97% humidity. It is about 1km to the nearest point of the bike circuit, straight up. It was, of course, somewhat wet underfoot. I decided to hop about and avoid as many puddles as possible until the creek crossing; after the rain there was no way I was getting through the water with dry feet. Mind you, the humidity alone meant there was precious little dryness anyway.

I was travelling light, just a $10 note, a tub of vaseline and a bottle of home brew Gatorade. I stopped at the only bubbler on the bike course, in the park where I walk Rowlf each morning. Then it was on to the single track, passing the "no pedestrians" sign as I went. As I said, today I didn't think there would be any bikers that I'd be pissing off. I'll not run the course in good biking conditions. Manly Dam is the most popular of Sydney's relatively few official mountain bike circuits. The heavy traffic it gets and very recent heavy rain had chopped it up quite a bit. So there were plenty of puddles and boulders, but also boards and sections of slippery sandstone. It keeps you thinking.

As I came down the steep section to the creek I passed a couple of lads walking out from a side track. One said something like "hey, jogger!" but I was concentrating on picking out a crossing and paid them no attention. I went around the final bend before the water when a small rock hit the ground near me. Not one I'd displaced but one that had been thrown. "Oi!" I shouted "did you throw something?" The likely lads were about 70m back up the hill from me; as I took a couple of steps back to catch a look at them they look off up a side path. This suggested the answer to my question was yes and I should do some further investigation.

I did the sensible, mature thing and shouted "come here you little CUNT!" and took off after them. They bolted and I surprised myself at how quickly I managed to move considering the conditions and how many miles I've put my legs through this month. I was also surprised at how echoey and menacing my shout had sounded, leaving them in no doubt that a) I meant business and b) I am definitely a Laan-da-na' (Londoner if you must.)

The scrotes were in luck. The adrenaline dropped of quickly and I reminded myself I was 5km into 25km run. A sprint followed by beating the piss out of a...well, I called him a cunt so I may as well stick with that for consistency...a cunt was not an efficient use of my energy. Should the same thing happen in any other month I may make a different decision, who knows? Satisfied that I had at least scared the shit out of them I returned to the main trail, got my feet soaked in the creek and made my way up the hill on the other side.

The rest of the circuit was uneventful fun. I like the boulder-strewn descents around the dam. They are just right for me and I manage to get some pace up by not so much running as falling with a modicum of control. It tends not to happen on many runs. The mountain bike section came and went relatively easily; I was sweating like a racehorse but feeling fine. The next part was a dull road slog down to the beach.

Despite the sun coming out there were not the usual large crowds at the beach. I assumed most people were honouring the day in the traditional manner - gambling and getting pissed off their tits. There was a noticeably greater police presence than you'd expect at a weekend but all seemed good natured enough. I made my way through the flag-heavy corso and picked up the Manly to Spit Scenic Walk.

Most of this trail is not very traily. It is a popular 9km walk and much of it has been sanitised with sandstone steps. Great for walkers but not as much fun for runners. But it is not a road, the views are great and there is still some rough stuff to keep you hopping about. It is a great run to have just down the road - it starts a little of 1km from my home.

Not much to say about it other than I got it done. I knew I'd be sweating buckets so I didn't take a pack and didn't carry my camera(phone), so no pictures of the day until I got home. I managed to not restart my GPS after stopping at a bubbler for a natter so there is a dead-straight and not counted section in the GPS track. It looks over 500m but I claimed it as 500m to give myself a total of 24.5km today and an overall now past 600km.

Still tracking pretty well, even if I do say so myself.

My main problem with Australia Day is that....no, I said I'd be good.

19

The picture is a spot the difference from yesterday and the run is not. I slacked off a bit - 500m - because Sal took the kids to daycare. Other than that it's rinse and repeat. Did you spot the difference in the picture? That is a different cruise ship today, berthed in the same spot as the one I ran past yesterday. Fascinating, eh? Today was a bit cloudier too.

There is a PT I bump into sometimes on a run to work. I passed her today. We shared a few words near the top of the Galipolli steps (or "the steps of you must be fucking joking" as I sometimes call them.) Today she was herding her victim (sorry, client) up the if-these-were-any-steeper-they'd-be-a-ladder steps. Six times. I thought that warranted a friendly "you're both mad", and she pointed out that it was me who was the one running to work. Good call. She wished me well and I kept running to work.

I spent kilometres 2,3 and 4 trying to remember and replace the lyrics to Paul Hardcastle's "19" with Janathon inspired words. It is, after all, day 19. There will be a typing pause as I drift back to 1983...



In Janathon the combat runner typically served a 31 day tour of duty but was exposed to hostile conditions every day, n-n-n-n-n-n-n-n-n-19, day 19, n-n-n-n-n-n-n-n-n-19, day 19

I wasn't really sure what was going on
I wasn't really sure what was going on


OK, enough of that, it's just a bit lame. I identified the lameness on the run and started to think about my totals and toying with the idea of throwing in a cheeky 10k lunchtime run. I nuked that idea straight away. I can't see myself doing it until and unless the humidity drops off. It didn't drop below 90% last night and the highest humidity coincides with my morning commute, which means that by lunchtime I am still throwing fluids down and not pissing. Oh, and my right leg currently feels as if it is about an inch shorter than my left. No, I think I'll skip the lunchtime trot and eat instead.

My waking hours are now spent either running or eating. Because I don't want to carry food with me in the morning - I don't need the extra weight on my back and any food would probabaly get to the office poached - I'm buying breakfast and lunch. On the one hand this is great, because I get to eat loads of bad stuff, but on the other hand this is bad because I get to eat loads of bad stuff. And pay for it. Ah well, nearly February.

And so to the run home which was the usual run home and you've read it all before so here are a few random and semi-random thoughts.

My right leg is shot. Tight from arse to heal, but it feels like it's just tightness in all the squishy, stretchy bits so despite my advancing years I still reckon I'll be OK by, say, May.

I stink. Well, not me, but all of my running gear, my "new" Nikes that I insist upon doing ever mile in and the backpack I wear too and from work. I really stink. It even offends me. I dread stopping at lights; at least when I'm moving the stink is behind my nose. I stink.

I've previously whinged about people who squeeze in front of me at pedestrian crossings despite obviously being slower than me. Today we hit a new benchmark where a doddering old twat who must have been in his 70's actually squeezed past me and stood in the road in front of me! Weaved around him, ran on...

The government have a poster campaign - I run past a couple of the posters each day - warning us of the dangers of ecstasy. It features a horrific bog-turned-drug-den pic. Proper Trainspotting nasty image. In fact so nasty that I reckon it must be a setup. The strap line is 'Ecstacy. Face the facts' or something like that. What facts would they be? The ones that show it kills far fewer people than smoking, drinking and eating peanuts? Now I am not a drug taker, never touched ecstasy, but come on, what a fucking waste of time. Just because you missed the boat on getting tax revenue from it...

{big bit deleted after I reread it and thought better of it}

Ahem. Look, I've had a long day and a couple of beers and the running is a bit dull. But before I go completely off the rails...I ran a bit over 25km today, for not a change.

think happy thoughts, think happy thoughts

Wow, 17degrees with 41% humidity this morning. Not at all summer like. I guess the howling gale I ran into last night has blown the bleugh weather away for a spell. The dog walk was especially pleasant and the sunrise was, again, magnificent.

Were it not a commute on tired legs I think I would have thoroughly enjoyed this morning's trot to work. As it was I got the job done. And then added just a little bit. I'm meeting a couple of friends after work tonight and that means I'll not be running home. So, with Andrew lurking a little too close for comfort I figured a couple of extra morning kilometres would not go amiss. I did the same run as last Friday morning, doubled back under the Bridge and then headed to the office via Barangaroo for a smidge over 14km.

I don't want anyone to think I'm being a slacker with my not running home. So I went for a run at noon. I revived one of my old stock lunchtime runs, a loop around the city that hugs the foreshore as clsoely as possible. At noon in the summer you get to clock up a few more metres by dodging tourists. You realise that Sydney has a lot of lunchtime runners. There was a big group congregated by Circular Quay and a conga-line going around Farm Cove. Cannot say I blame them; 21C and 39% humidity is fabulous summer running weather.

I added a couple of kinks to the end of the run to try and squeeze out a nice round 24km for the day. I got to my office at 23.33 and stopped. Not a bad number, and happy to see a total time of under 2hrs for the two. Also happy to have a slightly longer rest before my next run. And, while I'm being happy about things, I was pleasantly surprised at how OK I felt after having only 3.5hrs between the mornings 14 and the lunchtime 9. Another day done.

I'm properly bloody hungry now.

Meanwhile, later and at home...

Right, I'll slot it in here and hope no one notices (oo-er!)

How is it possible for runningfreeonline to suspect that a GPS tack is a duplicate? I mean really...different time, different distance and my GPS is accurate to within 3m so probably different co-ordinates. Come on! And, why does it get the time and elevation and weather wrong? Come on...I spend more time deleting crap info than I do uploading the good stuff.

Sorry, but it's been bugging me for a while and I needed to get it off my chest.

Had a few beers tonight, need sleep now. Goodnight.

now where was I?

Friday went a lot like this.

 Is there a minimum required sleep required to be able to say you had a night's sleep? If there is I am fairly sure I didn't make it. Harrie gave me a bit of a workout last night. I do the nightshift once the kids are off the boob. If Alex or Harrie wake up before midnight Sal is on duty and after midnight it is me. This, of course, is a stupid deal to enter into. The kids rarely - if ever - wake when bellies are full and they're knackered from the day. But once dinner has settled and they've had a rest...well, by then the clock has struck midnight. Add to the mix the two teeth Harrie has and that she has never got into the sleeping-through routine. Alex was waaaaay better.

So, for the time being I am sleeping on a foam mattress in Harrie's room. I wake easily when she wakes. Laying next to the cot I can distinguish the murmur from the approaching scream. If trouble is brewing I do a quick commando roll from my spot on the floor, gently pat her and she quickly nods off to sleep again. Reverse the roll and I'm asleep again in next to no time. Usually. In fact usually she'll wake twice and I have an interrupted sleep but lose no more than 30mins of my night.

Not so last night. I lost most sleep between 1 and 3; she would not settle. Roll, pat, snooze, roll back. Rinse and repeat. I tried picking her up, talking to her. Nope, last night was not a good night. At around 4:15 Alex piped up asking for milk and waking me from my maybe an hour. I got her back to sleep. She woke again an hour later; I relented on the milk thing and got up to walk Rowlf. (For the record, and in case anyone is interested, I do this mostly to make sure Sal gets a good sleep. I reckon sleep is the key to not going mad when you have babies and small kids. I can get by on far less sleep than Sal and am prepared to push it until I pretty much collapse in a heap. Running, I find, helps give me more energy to cope. I think. I'll probably fall apart in a heap this evening now i've said that. I digress.)

And so started janathon day 6.

I still hadn't given up on the Garmin but it was getting close. Switch on...nothing. Again...nothing...third time...wait...and we're on. And it switched itself off. Bollocks. Another couple of attempts and it seemed to get its act together. At the dog park I threw a ball for Rowlf with my garmin hand and it powered off. I powered it back on and tried again. Same thing happened. I switched it back on and then unclipped it from my right wrist, causing it to switch itself off again. Last night I had done a couple of device resets and had reinstalled the software. It was looking a lot like a hardware fault at this point. I put it back on my wrist, powered it on and it stayed that way until the dog and I got home.

Game for a laugh, I decided to use it on the way to work. An overcast and windy start to the day with the wind coming up from the south as I headed south. Somehow I was protected from the wind all the way to the deck of the bridge. I'd run exactly the same route as yesterday in case the Garmin decided to give up en route, but at the Bridge it was still happy. Not wishing to push my luck I didn't hit the lap button. in fact I didn't hit any buttons. At about half way a guy passed me. He was not running much quicker than me so, despite what I said yesterday about not entering the Commuter Olympics I stuck with him. He didn't seem to be racing, so I stayed with him unti near the end and then put my foot down, easily out-pacing him and maintaining my unbeaten record across the Bridge since moving to the new house. The Garmin was still ticking over, it was a coolish morning. I thought sod it, I'll grab another couple of easy kilometres. Instead of heading straight to the office I doubled back under the Bridge (Red Hot Chilli Peppers anyone?) and then head along Barangaroo, Sydney's developers playground in the making. I copped a full-on headwind as I did that kilometre or so. I wonder if that, plus the backpack with a change of clothes, will come back to haunt me later? I stopped the Garmin at a little over 14km.

And then I decided to check my pace. I hit one of the screen change buttons and the thing went bonkers, rapidly flicking through the three data screens I'd setup. Eccentric no more, the thing is clearly fucked beyond hope. I took a quick video of the disco inferno screen and switched it off. Showered and changed I went to grab a coffe. I ordered and while waiting I tried to power the thing on. No luck. I put it in the top pocket of my backpack. About five minutes later, coffee and toast in hand and in the lift up to my desk i heard the familiar beep of a Garmin Forerunner 305 powering up. My first phone call of the day was to Garmin support. Now, where is that receipt?

 

In happier Janathin GPS news my brother offered to leave his device with me and take mine back to the UK from whence it came, so it looks like I will be GPS equipped for the rest of the month and maybe not condemned to run the exact same route over and again.

At home time the Garmin seemed to limp into life so I fired it up again and headed home. To be on the safe side I ran the exact route I know and have mapped. Good job too, as the thing crapped itself around 500m from home. That was after it started doing it's disco inferno trick while I was running - no button pressing required. I put it on charge and it started to beep angrily at me. It really is not at all well.

The run home was borderline miserable. Chaffing again and I stopped to lube up. I was incredibly tired. When I got home my modem had died, I was on my last legs and the wheels of my week felt as if they were falling off. I stayed awake as long as I could and then that was it, bed time. Sal stepped on on the graveyard shift and I got a sort of reasonable night's sleep.

the commute

I think I should warn you...the general tone of this post changes dramatically at around 4:45pm and there could be a bit of colourful language. But before that, here is the write up for the run to work this morning

crane on a cliff, a photo by Auswomble on Flickr.

Vacation is over and it's back to work day. That means I didn't need to think about where to run. I've moved house since June(athon) and now live 3km further away from the my office if I take the (new) direct approach. My new commute is 10.5km, a nice social distance. There are few options to mix it up unless I feel like tackling more hills than I typically feel like tackling before breakfast. I will struggle to write about this run in any great detail after today, what with it being pretty much the same day in, day out. Anyway, today.

It was another fabulous night's sleep for me. I'd gone to bed a bit after 10:30pm and was woken by Harrie a little beofre midnight and at about 2am. Not to be left out, Alex woke me up at about 4am. Harrie was next at just after 5am. At 5:20 I got up to take Rowlf for a walk. The first day back in the office, my most productive of the year to date, will see me add next to fuck all value. Ho-hum. I don't think the boss reads this...I told the boss I was aiming to avoid any proper work until Monday; I hope he didn't think I was joking...I grabbed my new GPS, switched it on and it swiched itself off. Great. I switched it on again and it stayed on. Better. Rowlf and I headed up the hill to the park and at 2.5km the Garmin was still playing nice. I took it off my wrist and the screen went blank. Arse! I powered it on and hit start. It stayed on until I got home. It is an exccentric bastard of a thing and at this point looks as if it is going back.

Although there had been a southerly change in the weather it was still somewhat sticky, but I'l take 21C and 75% humidity. I got changed, kissed Sal and AJ bye-bye (Harrie was asleep, probabaly catching up. Oh to be able to...) and headed off, taking my chances with the new Garmin.

I expect heavy legs at this time of the year and was not disapointed. The first km of the run (1.13km to be a little more precise) takes me to and down the Gallipoli steps to Spit Bridge and sea level. Once over the bridge I loop back under the southern side - that's the sea level buit - instead of crossing the road. The road is normally ram-jam-packed, but today, half way through the school holidays, it was remarkably clear, hence the remark. I looked for and failed to find the four pelicans I often see perched on the piers out front of the yacht club. And then there is the slog up Parriwi Road. It's actually not to bad. It is steep, but not outrageously so, and it is long, but not horrifically long. I much prefer running up it than down it because my lungs are in better shape than my knees. You can distract yourself looking at the mansions hanging off the east side of the hill and between them out to the ocean. Every so often I race the slower cyclists to the top. Most of them don't realise they're racing (because usually it is only me who is.) It helps keep me from plodding every day. I think it is safe to assume I'll not be attacking the hill this month.

At the top of the street I get to Spit Road and continue to climb, albeit at a gentler gradient. By Mosman things flatten out as Military Road follows a ridgeline. Usually I will take a left at Neutral Bay, heading back down to sea level before up to the Bridge, that being the direct route. Today I didn't fancy it so decided to take avoid a sharpish descent/ascent in exchange for an extra kilometre. With far less traffic than usual on Military Road it was nothing like the lung-busting fume-fest I am used to.So I carried on along Military Road and then cut across St Leonards Park on my way to North Sydney. I stopped at a couple of bubblers in the park, but the water pressure on both was so pathetic that I shouldn't have bothered.

I ran along the side of the Bridge and passed Classic Throttle, drooling over the old Aston Martins in the window and wondering if the uber-rich would buy them on a whim after watching an old Bond movie. At Milson's Point I stopped at a far better bubbler and then it was up the steps to the deck level of the Bridge. I hit the lap button on my still-playing-nice Garmin. There was a southerly headwind as I went across the Bridge that was reasonably cooling. It was still humid and I was still sweating, but at least it was a cooler sweat.

The Bridge's 1.5km came and went in almost exactly 7min. Slow, but tolerably so. I'll need to discipline myself to not get involved in the "Commuter Olympics" this month; my best times on the way to work are usually when I've raced a bike up Parriwi and then decided to either pick off runners ahead of me or defend a lead.

And then I was at work in 11.5km and about an hour.

I've just re-read that, and although descriptive it is a bit of a dull read. Buggered if I know what I'll write if I decide to run home...

...that was written this morning...this afternoon, a little before 4:45pm, I got up from my desk and got changed into my running gear.

I stepped out of the office and switched on the Garmin. Well, I pressed the power button. Nothing happened. Zippety-squat. Shit it! I tried again. And again. Bollocks, dead again. Somewhat pissed off I put the Garmin in my backpack and got my Blackberry out. I went to the location options and told it to update my location. "Location update failed" it told me. I tried again. Same. I rebooted it. Same. I turned on location aiding. Same. Oh for fucks sake, this is just getting silly. I am endlessly frustrated with the Blackberry's "maybe I will, maybe I won't" GPS which today was firmly set to won't. I was around 850km south of where it said I was. I put that back in my backpack and got out my own mobile, a Garmin-Asus Nuvifone that rarely lets me down.

I went to the maps and hit "where am I?" and it correctly located me. Now we're cooking! I cleared the trip log and headed for the Bridge, somewhat annoyed that I had to carry my phone in my hand. But I consoled myself by deciding to run exactly the same course home so I could compare the results from the two Garmin devices. I kept an eye on the screen to make sure it was logging and was happy to see the metres climbing as I made my way home.

When I got to the north side of the Bridge the trip log read 800m. The deck of the Bridge is 1.5km. It seems the trip computer stops logging when the handset locks, something that doesn't happen when in the cradle in the car...but does when in my hand. Great. I mean really, just fucking great. Three - THREE useless GPS devices in my backpack. THREE!

So, dear reader, to the run. Apart from starting about 15minutes later than I'd hoped it was OK. It was overcast but not too hot or humid. The Bridge was a crowded tourist-dodge, but I made reasonably good progress and retraced my morning commute route as close as to-the-step as I could. No cutting corners that had been uncut earlier, plenty of crossing roads at the same spots, running on the same footpaths. There was one minor deviation at Spit Bridge; a little over 10km into the commute home I ran the 3m to a bubbler and then back to the path. If there is a US election style recount at the end of the month I would like that to be taken into account (hehehe!)

Once home I found I had no internet access and was about to go mental with this latest electronic absence until I realised that the desk was neat...I suspected Sal of tidying so checked the wires and popped the ethernet cable back into the modem. And we're back.

It took me a little while to find out how to save a map from a GPS upload on runningfree. Find it I did and that is how I logged the run home. It looks like I'll be doing the same commute each day for the remainder of January's working days, which is kinda cool because I don't need to think about it, but kinda sucks because it will be exactly the same. And it is all or nothing; either I do the whole and log it...or I don't. No getting 5km in and then quitting with 5km in the bag...and no sneaking in a few extra km. I know I could, but I won't because I'm a bit lazy like that. I still need to work out what to do at weekends after my brother and his working Garmin go back to the UK. Let's hope the Blackberry works out the difference between Queensland and New South Wales before he leaves.

Five days and the metric ton-up.

One last thing...I assume it is due to rounding, but the run to work was summarised as 7.3miles and the map created from that very run as 7.4miles. But hey, this is the site that allowed carrirmccoll27 to log  89hours in under two and a half days! I work with data and things like that irk me; not carrie, but the site not lending a hand. Grrrrrrr....

Seeya tomorrow janathoners!

newspaper mache

news paper mache, a photo by Auswomble on Flickr.

A few doors down from where I live is a development of 4 houses that are all very nice if you like houses that look a bit like aircraft hangers. Architect designed, I guess. There is a gate to the driveway and at the top of the drive, just outside the gate, are 4 letter boxes, painted a similarly tasteful-but-bland gray as everything else in the development.

In Australia, it seems, newspapers are typically delivered by a middle aged guy in a car. These "delivery boys" will slow their car a little and throw the paper from the window of the still-moving car in the general direction of the letter box. When I was a boy back in England it was traditional for the delivery boy to put papers in letterboxes. And papers were mostly delivered by schoolkids. But I digress.

Under the letter boxes is the slowly mushing remains of a number of newspapers. It looks a bit of a mess actually. But no-one seems to care. Each day as I walk past I see the mush sitting there. Must have been there for at least a month, probabaly more. Every so often a new paper arrives.

Each day the people who live in those four houses need to come and go through that gate, and each Tuesday, bin-day, they must wheel their garbage bins past the mush to the edge of the street. And each day of each week of the at-least-a-month not one person has tidied up the mess. The rest of the development looks all super-stylish in a glass and dull grey hanger way. I wonder why they let the papers shit the place up?

This is what I have come up with. None of the people living in these four houses recognise the papers - there are at least 3 - as their own. So each and every person has decided that they're not going to pick up someone else's litter, no matter that the now-not-paper-but-rubbish sits on their shared driveway - so sits on the property or each and every one of the residents. Maybe it is because the papers sit just outside of the gate, a gate that shuts them off from the rest of the street, maybe the rest of the world. Maybe a world that they are scared of or do not care for. Who knows?

To balance things a little. Our street is actually a very nice street where the hermits are in a the minority. Our neighbours and us share each other's bins when ours are full and if we see that the neighbours bins are still out in the evening we may wheel them back. In fact, when I had to go back to the UK a couple of years ago Vince even cut the lawn in front of our place when he finished cutting his own. We, you see, do not live behind gates.

Ho-hum.

(for the record, I have seen people coming and going - in their cars, of course, I have not had the opportunity to speak to any of the begated ones - so it's not a case of the papers are building up because all the residents have been murdered and no one has noticed. Well, I don't think it is.)

Hello Rusty

Hello rusty, a photo by Auswomble on Flickr.

I woke up this morning feeling as if my eyes had been glued shut. Fair enough, I had been coughing my lungs up between 00:10 and 00:45, but even so, I was far more tired than I thought I should be. Could be all the running I suppose. The nightcap of Lemsip max and Robitussin are supposed to avoid that. Bugger. On the plus side, the Scholl moisturising cream I had smeared on my toes last night seemed to have softened the tough bits and I could walk properly. I thought very briefly about having a shave and decide against it - Sal is away, it's winter, sod it. Temperature was supposed to be about 9 degrees, but to me it felt colder than the supposed 7 degrees of yesterday morning. Again I put it down to the running having depressed my body's central heating. A brisk walk and a coffee had me sorted.

Where to go today? With a set-off time a little after 7am I could again knock all my miles out in one go. Not many options for the route because I am contractually obliged to end up at work, that and I wanted to get 21km done. So it was straight to the bridge and then I decided to head along Barangeroo, back around the foreshore eastwards and over to finger wharf and Russell Crowe's apartment. I don't know Rusty and wasn't going to pop in for a cuppa; I just know where he lives when he's in town. It's not exactly a secret, what with the 14mil he paid for it setting a record for a flat - sorry, apartment - in Sydney.

I managed to get somewhat pissed off as I came across the bridge. I attempted to say hello - a simple nod, smile and raised hand - to each of the 5 runners I passed as they headed north. Not one - NOT ONE - gave a half decent response. Not one. Now picture the scene; it's about 10degrees, perfect running temperature. The sky is clear and blue and there is little-to-no wind. Perfect. You are running over Sydney Harbour Bridge, looking out onto the Opera House and over the harbour, which is a thing of sublime beauty. The sun is low in the sky and the harbour surface is sparkling. Given all of the above - why so fucking miserable? Sheesh...Some of the folks running around the Opera House and Botanic gardens were friendlier and I therefore assumed they were tourists.

The daily slog get me to Finger Wharf at about 16km and I stopped to take a some pics, none of which had Russell Crowe in them. Then I headed back west and towards the office, which I reached at just under 22km. Once again knackered, once again pleased to get the miles done. My eyes stung with sweat and as I rubbed them I felt the unmistakable grittiness of sweat-salt in my eye sockets. Yum, yum!

What more can I say about today? Well, at about 7km and maybe before I thought "I'm doing this the hard way" and until the end of the run had The Beastie Boys "Three The hard Way" going through my head. And I'm not one to run with music (sorry Audiofuel, I still love your work, even if I don't consume it.)

Lunch was footlong meatball sub on the Italian herb bread with Swiss cheese and all salads. Pretty sure this used to be fatter and damn near impossible to eat without wearing some of it. That said, at $7 it is a good feed and it did hit the spot. I think I need to get my calorie intake up. And, after 8 days, I finally went to buy some cereal and yogurt to leave at work. Arriving at work, starving, I tend to buy my breakfast rather than bring it in my backpack where, after 100-odd minutes of jiggling the fruit would be pureed and the cereal mashed.

different strokes

frangipani
Originally uploaded by Auswomble

Funny old world innit? On our daily walks AJ and I pass trees and bushes and flowers and I make sure I point them out and tell her the names, all of which she remembers and now she points them out to me as often as I point them out to her. She sometimes wants to take flowers and I make sure we grab ones that have recently fallen, explaining to her that we leave the flowers on the tree or the petals on the roses so other people can enjoy them, just as we do. Stop, admire, have a sniff and move on. Alex understands and is happy with that.

Compare and contrast with the kids out front at the moment. They are ripping sodding great branches from our neighbour's frangipani tree and then shredding the ripped branches by smashing them against power poles. And these are not the neighbour's kids. Bits of branch, flowers, leaves - all over the place. To be fair to the kids, the parents are out back of our neighbours' house, leaving the kids to their own Lord-of-the-Flies-devices, so I'm not too surprised. They'd been playing in the road when we got back from the cafe earlier; Sal told them to be careful, showing at least as much concern as...well, you get it.

Now I'm still new to this parenting lark, and I'd be the last person to suggest that my way is better than anyone else's. However...

Fake Tsunamis? What the?

Fake Tsunamis?
Originally uploaded by Auswomble

As each week progresses more of my skanky running kit finds its way out of the house. The wife tolerates my clean kit, but as it gets used it is exiled to the washing line, hung on the bike-cage at work, slung across the wall of our porch and anywhere else out of smelling range. Which is fair enough. Sal's nose seems to especially sensitive while she is pregnant. I have plenty of running kit of various vintages and at the weekend I do the "skank-wash" where my running gear, anything AJ has shit in, and the dog towels are allowed in the same wash load. When running to work or at lunchtime I will rinse my kit in the shower. At home it rarely makes it into the house-proper. So this morning I grabbed a shirt and socks from the washing line where they'd been hanging for a few days. There was a downpour a couple of nights ago so I figured the kit would be cleanish so I could recycle it.

I was not expecting the spider that had taken up residence in my shirt. by local standards he was not especially large, but still a good size and I am glad I checked before stuffing the shirt in my bag or putting it on. Could have had a nasty shock later in the day. I like spiders, think theiy're fascinating. But they do scare the shit out of me. Living in London that was all a bit soft, but living in Sydney I feel far more comfortable with my now completly rational fear of spiders. I helped him on his way, shoved the shirt in a bag and headed to work, taking a slightly different and slightly longer route than usual. Lower legs grumbled briefly, but were fine by the end of the road, already warmed from the daily load-bearing dog walk.

I decided that today I would cut across the golf course that sits between Neutral Bay and Cammeray and then head down Ben Boyd Road before heading up to the bridge. Not a massive diversion, but I've not run down Ben Boyd for bloody ages so it was something newish to keep me interested. Stopping to cross Military Road I had enough time to click this picture. Not sure what the "Fake Tsunamis" bit is about and what it has to do with treasury money. If you're trying to make a point by writing on a tree you'll find an audience that already think you're a twat; in this case the words help confirm that. Maybe this is the work of the same person who writes "cancer is from dog's" on the walls near where I live. That is their possessive apostrophe, not mine. Dog's toys? Dog's tails? Dog's fleas? No idea, but I've got two dogs so I'm double fucked. Oh, hang on, actually I think I'll be OK because the authour is a twat.

Remember in the old days when I wrote about running? On that, I did a slightly faster bridge today. A little after half way I saw a guy in the distance who I figured I'd be able to beat to the steps, and I did. Smart brain was telling me "take it easy, days left to go and no point riskng the knees with any unnecessary pacey stuff" and the (winning) dumb brain said "go on, have a go!" Not a very different nor an especially interesting run this morning, but it was 8km and that means I can keep up the averages with 8km at lunch.

About 8.5km actually. A clear, warm day in the City. Took it fairly easy, a stock-run...er...well that's about it really. Mostly because I'm off home now, which seems far more attractive than staying at work banging on about how much my legs hurt.

One last thing. Forgot to put the insoles back in my damp trainers at lunch time. After about a km I was wondering if I'd had a dramatic weight loss...in just my feet. Anyway, finished the trot before confirming my suspicions. No drama running in slightly modified shoes. So for today I shall conclude that all the stuff about matching the shoe to the foot blah blah blah is nonsense. Might change my mind tomorrow morning.

shooting myself in the foot?

OK, I will try and get this whine out of the way once and early.

As part of Janathon I need to use runningfreeonline. Which I am. But I'm really not enjoying it. The site scores high for being free, and does have many features. In fact it seems to have most, if not all of the features you can think of. And therein lies one of my issues. It is so, SO busy that I get lost in it. When I bought my Garmin they had a site called MotionBased which was also a bit busy - not as bad as RFO, but still not a pleasure to use. Garmin seem to have learnt from their over enthusiastic mistake and their new offering, garminconnect, is quite nice. As it dailymile, which is where I typically check-in. My bro uses runkeeper, and that is pretty cute.

So come on RFO, please streamline and give us a few nice big friendly buttons. Love the masses of info, but not at the expense of ease of use. Then there is the miles-kilometres thing. If I map a route in miles then log a run over that route I want to share it in kilometres. In Aus we like our kilometres and bigger numbers make me feel as if I've run further (ha!) Please get the maths right. Or at least try some maths. Today my choice of km over miles seems to have simply replaced the unit appendage and left the number alone...everyone will think I'm slacking.

But hey, that probably doesn't matter now I've written all that. I'm likely on a Janathon blacklist - no prize for him! Ah well..In my defense, I've only linked to RFO, not the other, competing sites. Hey, it's only december, maybe no one will notice.

Right, with that off my chest, here is the news. Today I did one of my stock runs, a loop of the CBD taking in the piers to the west of the bridge and then the tourist draw cards - under the bridge, around the opera house (I am sure some joker will rename it the Oprah House while her majestic chatshow queenness is in town) then through the botanical gardens and back to the office. Fabulous day for it, humidity down, temp still about 26 and clear blue sky. The only real challenge was dodging Orpah's disciples, who as far as I could tell where getting tickets and then getting interviewed. All seems very strange to me, but a balding, sweating, huffing little bloke out in the heat of the day is probably strange to most of them, so honours-even.

House Episode 11 - are we there yet?

How many months since I could last be arsed to put finger to keys to give an update on our painfully slow progress towards getting persmission to add another couple of bedrooms on our house? Four. Anyway, after hating on the son-of-our-neighbour's-landlord for a while we have moved on to slack-jawed incrdulity at the workings of council. Stormwater planning is our last hurdle. Well, the last one we know about. We had to do two things; ask our neighbours for stormwater easement access to their property ("can we dig a hole in your yard, bury a stormwater pipe and then put your garden back as it was?") and put together a stormwater management plan in case our neighbours said no. Which they did.

So we asked our neighbours and they said no. But,we didn't ask them right. We needed to make sure we made a fair and reasonable offer, and apparently saying we will pay all costs and make good any repairs was not fair and reasonsble enough for council. So we had another go and slung a two grand sweetner on top, compensation for inconvenience. The neighbours once again said no, which is fair enough. We had Plan B, the absorption trenches plan from a hydrological engineer, so we're all good, right?


Well no. The stormwater plan showed our trenches near a retaining wall and we needed an structural enginner to certify that the wall would not be impacted by the trenches. It didn't matter that the hydro engineer was also a structural enginner. Oh no, you see he was working in his hydro capacity. And that isn't structural. So he had to come back, kick the wall, draw another picture and say the wall he showed on his plans would not be impacted by his plans and would still be there if we follwed his plans. So now council are happy right?


Well no. The stormwater plan is ok, but the second letter to the neighbours isn't. The part where they indicate whether or not we can have easement access was on the third page, after the details and the offer. I had foolishly inserted a page break. And I'd not inserted page numbers - I was marked down for that as well. So (deep breath) I need to insert page numbers and move the signature part to page two. Then get the new and improved letter signed by neighbours who must be sick to death of me asking them the same question so they can give the same answer. You see council don't know that our neighbours read the last letter. I'm amazed that council can recognise the signatures as kosher, but there you go.

We're now being held up because council don't like the formatting I used. No problem with the content. My initial reaction was "You're fucking joking right? I mean for fucks sake, if you want to know if our neighbiours read the letter you could, I dunno, call them, or pop around and ask? How the bollocking fuck do you know it is even our neighbours' signature on the letter? I could have signed them myself! I didn't, but I could have."

Having had the chance to sleep on it my reaction is now "You're fucking joking right? I mean for fucks sake, if you want to know if our neighbiours read the letter you could, I dunno, call them, or pop around and ask? How the bollocking fuck do you know it is even our neighbours' signature on the letter? I could have signed them myself! I didn't, but I could have."

And how about this; two weeks ago I asked if this new letter was OK. Council could have been just a wee bit helpful and told me what fucking font to use. For fucks sake.

House Episode 10

After a year with not so much as a shovel of dirt excavated from our yard I have lost much enthusiasm for the whole house thing. It'll happen, but I'm buggered if I know when or how much it will cost or what colour it will be. Meh.

Anyway, neighbour had a grumble so we're moving a wall 200mm away from their boundary. Of course, if they'd had the good sense to talk to us, when we asked them to talk to us so we could work with them, we may have put a skillion roof on or done one of many other things to lessen their the impact of our renovation upon them. But they didn't, they chose to piss off Sal instead. Not a smart move.

Council are now a stumbling block. They have a bit of a hard-on about stormwater, what with a recent re-classification of our street into one "subject to local overland flooding." AAAARRRggggHHH! We're all going to be swept away! Or not. As far as I can tell "subject to local overland flooding" is council-speak for "hill." We're on the high side of a hill, the bottom of our garden is at the bottom of the hill, from where the bottom of our neighbour's garden rises. Unless our garden floods to a depth of around 12ft our neighbours' properties should be safe from the cascades of doom our renovation may cause. But, of course, there are a whole heap of hoops to jump through. Council listed a load of criteria, a bit beyond our architect's realm and therefore we engaged a hydro-engineer (kerchung!, naturally.) The letter from council was awfully nice, and said if we had any enquiries we should call their engineer.

So, our architect, engineer and I have called the council's enginner. Or tried. Many times. We've left messages. We've emailed him. We've made more phone calls and left more messages. The guy is a fucking shadow. And the kicker is - if we don't get our submission in within a couple of weeks we get penalised. Deep joy. Council can, basically, ignore us and then penalise us. Great. No, really, fucking awesome work. Love it.

Aren't you glad I came out of blog retirement?

...and a Happy New Year

Yes I know I should have posted a review of the year in which AJ was born here on my ever-less-frequently-updated blog, and I will. However, that reeks of effort, whereas I can toss off ill-educated spleen vents with relative ease. And let's be honest, that is what you expect. So, some random musings.

First; next time you have the opportunity to "let's be honest" in conversation try to say "lesbian nest" instead. Said quickly it sounds similar enough that you will get away with it, and it will brighten your day just a wee bit.

Apparently McDonalds Drive-Thru are now open 24hrs at participating reataurants. Surely that has always been so?

There is a huge freeway-side billboard beside the freeway I ride by on my way home. The bear-bile advert (well, anti bear bile actually) is long gone and it is replaced with a massive Pepsi advert. As far as I can tell Pepsi is a fizzy drink that has not changed significantly in decades, so that ad does little more than scream "we're still here you know!" Thanks for that.

Top news item yesterday on the Sydney Morning Herald told us that Heiress Casey Johnson had been found dead at age thirty, in LA. Who? I suspect this is news here in Sydney because she was rich, a piss head and had plenty of lesbian lovers. Maybe because she was a reality TV show star, though not on any show I know about. We love that shit here in here in Sydney. Cannot fathom why it was not on the Guardian website. Props to my brother for pointing out that this is, actually, news because it is new. Climate Change, war, famine, plague, scientology and so on - not new.

Enough for now.

dead nuns and doctors

Seems Mary McKillop has been up to good again. I thought the operation to seperate conjoined twins Krishna and Trishna was an incredible medical achievement carried out by a team of highly trained and skilled surgeons. Apparently the success was due to the intervention of Mary McKillop, a nun who has been dead for over a hundred years. Just goes to show what I know. She has an impressive track record does Blessed Mary. She has cured inoperable cancer and leukemia and saved a child who has horrific burns after being involved in a car accident. Sadly, Mary was unable to save the kids legs. I'd like to know how many people have died after being prayed for and ask the Sisters of St Joseph of the Sacred Heart to try and exaplain to me Mary's selection criteria. Presumably in the case of the twins she was watching tele and thought this joined-at-the-head-op was a bit cool.

While the nuns are at it they can explain to me the differences between their believe system, witchcraft and voodoo.

Blessed Eminem is up for canonisation. This from the progress report on the Sisters of St Joseph of the Sacred Heart's website

In September 2008, this book was given to two doctors, chosen by the Congregation for the Causes of Saints. These doctors scrutinised the documents and had access to all X-rays, scans and medical reports from the cured person as well as other references to the illness from medical literature. They were asked to give an opinion on the question, “Can the cure be explained by scientific or medical means?” When the doctors concluded that the cure could not be explained by medical or scientific means, all the material was further studied and discussed by a Medical Board, whose members were also chosen by the Congregation for the Causes of Saints.

Let me get this right; we make the leap of faith (ha!) that if something cannot be explained by medical or scientific means we can attribute it to the intervention of a dead nun? You're fucking joking, right?

But wait, theres more; apparently she has brought a bashed Irishman out of a coma. She would have heard about him from the TV news. According to the website.

Doctors had advised them (the parents) that there was no hope for their son.

Can't find any mention of that in the news coverage, just that he was and continues to get medical treatment. Maybe Mazza jumped in a bit quick on this one.

I feel a slight pang of guilt when I consider the could-be-levelled accusation that I am having a pop at that which provides comfort to people in times of need. But only a very slight pang. "If in doubt then dead nun" is utterly propostrous and I wish it was not presented as news.

you just don't get it

Here we go again, more well intentioned nonsense in the do-good arena. Walk Against Warming is, on the face of it a fine idea. What could be more green than walking to raise awareness of something we're all aware of, letting politicians know what we the people know they already know?

We are encouraged to wear sky blue laces.

OK, but what if you, and almost everyone else, does not have a pair of sky blue laces? How are people supposed to know just how green and caring you are if you're not wearing some badge of honour? I guess you'll need to go and buy some sky blue laces. Laces that you almost certainly don't need. The production of which has raised your carbon footprint just a little bit. I'm sure no one will notice. After all, being green isn't about you, it is about big nasty polluters. The bastatrds! The most important thing you can do is put on a big visible "green as fuck" something or other that is, lets face it, far easier than actually doing something yourself. THINK, for fucks sake.

The website, of course, sells laces. It also sells Walk Against Warming t-shirts. Maybe I'll buy one. No wait, I don't need another t-shirt. Ah fuck it, let me consume a bit more anyway. After all, it is for a good cause, the cause of everyone being able to see how green I am. Good old me!

If I click through I get to the Nature Conservation Council of NSW website where they tell me I can

Show your support for Walk Against Warming and buy a t-shirt - revenue helps fund the organisation of the Walk.

So the revenue from shirt sales goes towards funding the walk. It does not go towards any initiatives that could make the slightest difference, like maybe the Stop Buying Shit You Really Don't Need fund? Just once I'd like to visit a do-good site, click on the always-present Shop link and be presented with that message; Don't buy stuff you don't need.

No chance.

can I have the mash instead of chips?

Any day AJ smiles at me. In fact, any day I see AJ happy. That's father's day. First sunday in Spetember? Rather arbitrary if you ask me. Fathers' day was a concept started by church folk that was widely ridiculed until some bright sparks discovered you could make money from it. It is now one of those Hallmark Holidays that, you guessed it, this grumpy old bastard has little time for. Part of my problem is the social pressure to buy shit that isn't needed and hand it over wrapped in paper that would be better put to use, or rather left as trees. Same for cards.

Of course if AJ, when old enough, decides to get me something for Fathers' Day I will be delighted and touched and a little embarrassed. I will try to explain that she really need not have gone out of her way because the calendar has a couple of little words in one box out of 365. If she feels like getting me or Sal or anyone else something then she should, regardless of the date and double-regardless of peer, advertising or any other pressure.

My second problem with these "some-role-or-other" days is implied in the name "such-and-such day". What about the remaining three hundred and sixty something days? Are they not for that person? Who are they for? One for dad, one for mum, the rest to oil the wheels of industry? Well quite frankly bollocks to that. If AJ wants to do something special for me on May 17th who am I to stand in her way? One day get-out-of-jail-free-for-being-a-prick-on-every-other-day is hardly balancing the books.

I can sense an a counter argument heading my way, so I'll try and head it off. But, the case for the defence goes, we are all so busy these days that it is easy to forget and it is therefore nice to have a day set aside to remind us we should say thanks to dad. Or mum. Or a secretary. Hm, not really. The issue, you see, is not a need for a special day in order to continue living hectic, forget each other lives. We need to sort our lives and our priorities out and not forget about being nice to one another. All the time. Don't outsource your obligation to be nice to a corporation that, in excahnge for your money, will remind you to make dad a cup of tea in the morning. One morning.

One more thing. By funneling everyone into restaurants and pubs for lunch on that one day we reduce variety and quality of service on that day. We went to the Clovelly Hotel for lunch - for the record it was Sal and Mara who were treating their Dad Mike, though Mike being Mike he ended up paying. We all had the schnitzel. On (almost) any other day you can get the chips swapped for mash; but not on fathers' day. Too busy in the kitchen. Hold on a moment; today is fathers' day, a day dedicated to each father, a day on which fathers can be spoilt. Therefore, if dad wants mashed potato he should be allowed to have mashed potato. One fucking day of the year! Just one! I demand mash for my dad! Sorry, we're too busy, but if you'd like to come on any other day of the year (ok, with the exception of Mothers'day etc.) we would be only too happy to replace your chips with mash. That is assuming you managed to get a table. It was rather busy yesterday and some people were turned away when, on other weekends, they would not have been turned away, and they could have had their schnitzel served with mash.

All that said, we had a table with an ocean view, there was no set menu - don't get me started on special-day-set-menus - but full choice from the normal menu and Sal had not, on behalf of AJ, got me a card, present or wotnot. We had a lovely lunch (I ordered the chips, Sal and Mara wanted mash) and a thoroughly pleasant time was had by one and all. Alex was on great form, cuteness cranked through the roof and I, of course, pretty much kept my thoughts to myself. No one likes a non-conformist. Bad for business.

One last thing. Sal bought AJ the hat she is wearing in that picture as a Fathers' day present. I have a similar hat that I found in the Harbour, that has been chewed by Rowlf and is my (current) favourite hat. Now dad and daughter have matching hats, though AJ's gumming of the peak of hers has not had quite the same impact as Rowlf's gnashing of the peak of mine.

smoke and mirrors

A story about a dead smoker's daughter. In 2002 a jury recommends 28000000000 dollars in punitive damages in favour of a smoker with lung cancer who claimed she was duped by a lack of health warnings from Philip Morris. The big numbers were punitive damages based on the tobacco company being bastards. The judge reduced the figure to 28000000. In 2009 a Jury decides (9-3) a figure of 13800000 is to go to a new plaintiff, the daughter of the original plaintiff who died in 2003, aged 64.

Now, I am not fan of tobacco companies, far from it. They should be fucking hammered for any cover ups and wilful endangerment to life in the pursuit of stock-holder wealth creation. But awarding a massive payout to the daughter of a woman who kept smoking after becoming aware of the health risks is a bit fucking rich. She started smoking at 17 and smoked for over 40years.

Sad though it is for the woman to die what was probabaly a horrible death, and for her daughter to suffer too, it is worth noting the mum had a good innings. She was born around 1939-1941 when the average life expectancy in the US was 63.62. (That link is to a pdf, so I'd not bother clicking and trawling through it. Trust me.) She lived longer than average life expectancy, albeit only just, despite refusing to give up smoking, something she knew was bad for her.

Hammer the company; but lets not talk-up fuckwits.

And another thing. Rather than ban smoking in certain public places - restaurants and cafes, pubs, railway stations and so on, and rather than putting no "smoking signs", often ignored, outside of offices how about ban smoking everywhere and make those who wish to cater to smokers while they smoke provide for them? I am getting sorely fucked off with smokers being herded into areas that are really rather nice. Sydney is blessed with particularly nice weather and I like to sit outside. But as smoking is now banned in almost all enclosed spaces you find dense concentrations of smokers outside. Bollocks to that; give them a fucking sealed room in which to chug on their cancer sticks so the rest of us can breath the relatively clean air outside our cafes. And never, EVER remove the butts from the sealed room so that over time the inconsiderate fucks can drown in a sea of their own waste. And no apology is offered to so-called considerate smokers. If you're that fucking consierate you shoudl consider quitting.

Ah, that was better.

not so superannuation

So I am obliged to hand 9% of my salary to some form of superannuation fund in order to build a retirement nest egg. I got my statement today.

In the last year my fund lost 8.39%
Over 5 years it returned 2.08%
Over 10 years it grew by 2.96%

So, even over 10 years, and funds are always keen to tell you that super is a long term investment, the fund has returned under 3%, or as I prefer to call it, less than it would make if they simply put my money in a fucking bank.

It gets worse. I am an investment coward and elect to place my hard-earned cash in a conservative fund. That means 23% of the fund is invested in cash and 28.8% in international fixed interest. That suggests over half cannot be lost. So, my investment fund managers have managed to really fucking bollocks things with less than half of the money the law requires me to hand them.

I've been in the fund since early 2007 and they have managed to lose 5.07% of all the cash I've handed them. Fuckers.

Time to look into a self managed super fund. For fucks sake, I'd have more cash left if I'd shoved it in a sock instead of handing it to these twats.

An addendum; I have a friend who works in the investment game. I asked if he was in the shit and he said no, he was doing well because his company was doing relatively well. Oh yes, they were still losing our money, but had no lost as much as their competitors. Oh, well that's alright then.